THE REVOLUTION IN RUSSIA.
From Lapland to the land of Tamerlane,
Kamchatka to the confines of the Turk,
The spirit tyrants never can restrain
When once awake is mightily at work.
Liberty, frantic with a fearful hope,
Out of long darkness suddenly arisen,
Maddens the dull half-human herds who grope
And rend the bars of their ancestral prison.
Over the wan lone steppe her couriers speed,
The secret forest echoes her command,
She smites the sword that made her children bleed,
And Death and Havoc hold the famished land.
But God overrules, and oft man's greatest good
Is won through nights of dread and days of blood.
TEA'S APOLOGIA.
Loved by a host from Noah's days till now,
Extolled by bards in many a glowing line,
My purple rival of the mantling brow
May laugh to scorn this swarthy face of mine.
I care not: many a weary pain I cure;
Cold, heat and thirst I harmlessly abate;
I bless the weak, the aged and the poor;
And I have known the favor of the great.
I've cheered the minds of mighty poets gone;
Philosophers have owned my solace true;
Shy Cowper was my sweet Anacreon;
Keen Hazlitt craved "whole goblets" of my brew;
De Quincey praised my stimulating draught;
What cups of me old Doctor Johnson quaffed!
A WISH.