accursed Black. He spurred his steed,-he arrived at the summit of the hill. Beneath him lay the waves of a tranquil sea; in the middle of which he perceived the Black, whose horse bore him, stoutly, through the waters. The king did not hesitate a moment, in following. He plunged into the sea, and urged the pursuit.

Suddenly, the sky darkened; the surface of the water began to crisp into a gentle foam; and the wind arose, with a low moaning voice. The storm was nigh-it came nearer and nearer, till it burst in its rage. The loud laugh of the Black rose above its fury, and directed his pursuer.

A gallant vessel was beaten to and fro by the waves. She stemmed their fury; when a flash of lightning kindled her, in a moment, from prow to stern. The king was near the vessel,-he saw the crew lower a boat, which was instantly filled. In a moment more, he saw the Black, who spurred his horse into the overladen boat. It overturned; and the yell of agony was drowned, again, in the exultation of the destroyer. But, in glutting his appetite for death, Reichter had forgotten his pursuer. The monarch sprung forward, and caught the Black in his gripe: "Mine,-mine,-mine!" shouted the king.

"God and St. Martin defend us!" exclaimed the archbishop of Prague; "your majesty, in starting

from your nap, has overset the table, and torn my ears off, as near as may be."

tone;

"Peace!" said the king of Bohemia, in a royal "but what is this ?-where am I ?-Oh! I have had such a dream !"—and he recounted it to the listening courtiers.

"It is very strange !" said he, on concluding,—it was so like reality;-that hideous voice!--my ears tingle yet."

"So do mine!" said the archbishop of Prague.

"And what is worse," continued his majesty, "I feel, as I think, the effects of that cursed crupper, yet!"

STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

BY CHEVIOT TICHBURN, ESQ.

WHEN the morning awakes in the valley,
And the dew in the sun-beam is bright,

Then, forth, with light foot, let him sally
Whose heart-like his footstep-is light!

But he whose worn spirit is failing,
Whose heart but exists as a tomb,-
Will roam when the raists are prevailing,
In the cloud-woven veil of the gloom!

For the gloom to his spirit is meeter,

To the shade of his fortunes more true;And the scent of night's flowerets is sweeter, -Like the last faded hopes that he knew!

FOUR UNPUBLISHED POEMS.

BY THE LATE JAMES THOMSON,

Author of "The Seasons."

1.

In Murdoch's Life of Thomson, mention is made of his being frequently a visitor of Sir WILLIAM Bennet, of Grubbat. The following Lines were written when Thomson was about 14 years of age.

A POETICAL EPISTLE,

то

SIR WILLIAM BENNET, OF GRUBBAT, BARONET.

My trembling muse your honour does address !
That it's a bold attempt most humbly I confess.-
If you'll encourage her young fagging flight,
She'll upwards soar and mount Parnassus' height.
If little things with great may be compared,
In Rome, it so with divine Virgil fared;
The tuneful bard Augustus did inspire,

Made his great genius flash poetic fire!
But, if upon my flight your honour frowns,

The muse folds up her wings and dying-justice

owns!

2.

HYMN TO GOD'S POWER.

HAIL, power divine! who, by thy command,
From the dark empty space,

Made the broad sea and solid land
Smile with a heavenly grace!-

Made the high mountain and firm rock,
Where bleating cattle stray,

And the strong, stately spreading oak
That intercepts the day!

The rolling planets thou mad'st move,

By thy effective will,

And the revolving globes above

Their destined course fulfil!

His mighty power, ye thunders! praise,
As through the Heavens you roll,
And his great name, ye lightnings! blaze,
Unto the distant pole.

Ye seas! in your eternal war,
His sacred praise proclaim;

While the inactive sluggish shore

Re-echoes to the same!