rt Moultrie, and at
Savannah, where he received his death-wound in carrying
off the flag which was intrusted to him.

THE POLE'S FAREWELL.

BY WM. H. C. HOSMER.

Warsaw, farewell! Alone that word
Fame's dark eclipse recalls;
The voice of wail alone is heard
Within her ruined walls--
Her pavement rings beneath the tread
Of bondsmen by their master led.

Hope kindles on my native shore
No more her beacon fires--
The Northern Bear is trampling o'er
The dust of fallen sires,
And signal ever to destroy
Hath been his growl of savage joy.

Oh! for one hour of glory gone--
An arm of might to hurl
The Czar, in thunder, from his throne,
And Freedom's flag unfurl;
Then welcome, like a bride, the grave,
Unbranded by the name of slave!

Our snowy Eagle[3] screams no more
Defiance high and loud;
The wing is broken that could soar
Through battle's smoky cloud,
And wounded by a coward's spear,
His perch is now lost Poland's bier.

Once happy was the hall of Home,
Now Desolation's lair--
Blood stains its hearth, and I must roam
A pilgrim of despair,
Leaving, when heart and brain grow cold,
My weary bones in foreign mould.

[Footnote 3: The Ensign of Poland is a White Eagle.]

THE FORTUNES OF A SOUTHERN FAMILY.

A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.

BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR.

PART I.

"Oh! it is pleasant for the good to die--to feel
Their last wild pulses throbbing, while the seal
Of death is placed upon the tragic brow;
The soul in quiet looks within itself,
And sees the heavens faintly pictured there."

Now, would that I could wield as magic a pencil as did Benjamin West,
that mighty paint-king, how quickly would glow upon canvas one of the
most beautiful and magnificent landscapes that ever entranced the eye
of a scenery-loving traveler--a landscape upon which you might gaze
enraptured every day for years, as I have done, and yet never tire nor
grow less fond of beholding it. I would paint for your especial
gratification, a living, a breathing picture of my old homestead,
endeared by so many joy-fraught hours, and the surrounding scenery,
through which I roved until I knew its every nook and corner as well
as my dog-leaved spelling-book, by the venerable Dilworth. But, as it
is, dear reader, I must be content to offer you a rude "_pen