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THOMAS CAMPBELL.

BORN, 1777; DIED, 1843. Principal Works.Pleasures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming,

Theodric, Pilgrim of Glencoe.

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.
On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless say the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden show'd another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet-sound array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd,

To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven ;
And, volleying like the bolts of heaven,

Far flash'd the red artillery.
But redder still these fires shall glow,
On Linden's hill of purpled snow ;
And bloodier still shall be the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
The combat deepens : On, ye brave!
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!
l'ew, few shall part where many

meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

SUPERSTITION.

in a

DURING the last war between Austria and Turkey, a Baron was sent with recruits to the Austrian army, which was then near Orsowa. Close to the

camp, village on the road, lived a gipsey suttler, to whom the soldiers applied to have their fortunes told, and the baron, ridiculing their superstition, in a jeering manner held out his hand to the oracular sybil. “The twentieth of August!” said she, and in a manner so peculiar and impressive, that she was urged to explain what was meant; but she would only repeat the same words, bawling after the baron, " the twentieth of August!"

About a week before the twentieth of August, the gipsey dame entered the baron’s tent, and begged he would leave her a legacy, in case he should take his departure from the world on the day mentioned ; offering, on the contrary, that should he live to claim it, she would compliment him with a hamper of tokay, with which to drink his kind remembrance to her. “The gipsey,” said the baron, in his after relation of the adventure," seemed to me to be mad; for though a soldier is always in danger of dissolution, I certainly had not supposed mine so near as the twentieth of the current month. I therefore consented to the bargain; I pledged two horses, and two hundred ducats against the old woman's tokay; and the paymaster of the regiment laughed heartily while writing the contract, which was regularly signed, sealed, and delivered."

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The twentieth of August arrived. It was the baron's regiment which had to furnish a piquet for the night. Of the two officers who preceded in command, the senior was on a sudden taken extremely ill; the other, in mounting his horse, was thrown by the animal, and had his leg fractured in the fall. The duty therefore necessarily devolved upon the baron, who, with two hundred men, proceeded to his post, which was a mile distant, in front of the army, and protected by a marsh covered with rushes, where, with swords drawn and carbines ready, they waited the approach of day. All was silent till three quarters past one o'clock, when shouts of “Allah! Allah!” were heard, and in an instant the whole of the first rank were overthrown.

The baron received eight wounds from a sabre, and his horse was shot dead, and in falling, fixed under him the leg of his rider. In a short time, the whole of the Austrians had fallen, and as the victors were to receive a ducat for each head, they frequently advised each other not to leave any one behind, but a convulsive start of the horse liberating the leg of the baron, he succeeded in reaching the marsh, where, sunk to his knees in mire, he fainted from loss of blood, and lay senseless for several hours. At length, however, he reached the advanced posts, and was thence conveyed to the camp, where, in about six weeks, he recovered and joined his regiment, and on his arrival, the gipsey brought him the tokay. The matter seemed "passing strange," but the mystery was explained by the desertion to the Austrians, of

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two Christians of Servia, who, upon sight of the prophetess, declared that she often visited the Turkish camp by night to report the movements of the Germans; that they had heard her describe their various positions, and that a Turkish cypher was her passport, which cypher being found upon her, she was condemned to death as a spy, and on being interrogated previous to execution, she gave the following detail of her predictions.

She confessed, that by her double office of spy, she had learned many things from both parties; that from those who came privately to consult her on their future fortune, she had obtained a variety of secret particulars; and that she was not without some obligations to chance. That as to what immediately concerned the baron, she had fixed on him, in order to make him a striking example, and to confirm her authority by having predicted his fate so long before hand. At the approach of the time appointed, she had excited his enemy to attempt on the night of the twentieth of August, an attack against the post of his regiment. Her knowledge of the officers enabled her to ascertain their rank in the service; she had sold wine to his commander which had produced his illness; and the moment before the second was setting off, she had approached, as if to sell him something, and had, unperceived, found means to slip up the nostrils of his horse a piece of lighted amadou or vegetable tinder, which had occasioned his unusual violence.

THOMAS MOORE.

BORN, 1780; DIED, 1852. Principal. Works.-Irish Melodies, Lalla Rookh, Poems, and Songs

JERUSALEM.
FALLEN is try throne, O Israel !

Silence is o'er thy plains ;
Thy dwellings all lie desolate;

Thy children weep in chains.
Where are the dews that fed thee

On Etham's barren shore?
That fire from Heaven which led theo

Now lights thy path no more.
Lord, thou didst love Jerusalem!

Once she was all thine own;
Her love, thy fairest heritage,

Her power, thy glory's throne,
Till evil came and blighted

Thy long-lov'd olive tree,
And Salem's shrines were lighted

For other gods than Thee.
Then sank the star of Solyma,

Then pass'd her glory's day;
Like heath that in the wilderness

The wild wind whirls away.
Silent and waste her bowers

Where once the mighty trod,
And sunk those guilty towers

Where Baal reign'd as God!
“Go," said the Lord, "ye conquerorg!

Steep in her b'ood your swords;
And raze to earth her battlements,

For they are not the Lord's ;
Till Zion's mournful daughter,

O’er kindred bones shall tread;
And Hinnom’s vale of slaughter

Shall hide but half her dead."

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