quits:
Whoe'er thou art, that shalt this face survey,
And turn, with cold disgust, thine eyes away.
Then bless thyself, that sloth and ignorance bred
Thee up in safety, and with plenty fed,
Peace to thy mem'ry! may the sable plume
Of dulness, round thy forehead ever bloom;
May'st thou, nor can I wish a greater curse;
Live full despis'd, and die without a nurse;
Or, if same wither'd hag, for sake of hire,
Should wash thy sheets, and cleanse thee from the mire,
Let her, when hunger peevishly demands
The dainty morsel from her barb'rous hands,
Insult, with hellish mirth, thy craving maw
And snatch it to herself, and call it law,
Till pinching famine waste thee to the bone
And break, at last, that solid heart of stone.

* * * * *

LAY OF THE WANDERING ARAB.

"Away, away, my barb and I,"
As free as wave, as fleet as wind,
We sweep the sands of Araby,
And leave a world of slaves behind.

'Tis mine to range in this wild garb,
Nor e'er feel lonely though alone;
I would not change my Arab barb,
To mount a drowsy Sultan's throne.

Where the pale stranger dares not come,
Proud o'er my native sands I rove;
An Arab tent my only home,
An Arab maid my only love.

Here freedom dwells without a fear--
Coy to the world, she loves the wild;
Whoever brings a fetter here,
To chain the desert's fiery child.

What though the Frank may name with scorn,
Our barren clime, our realm of sand,
There were our thousand fathers born--
Oh, who would scorn his father's land?

It is not sands that form a waste,
Nor laughing fields a happy clime;
The spot, the most by Freedom graced,
Is where a man feels most sublime!

"Away, away, my barb and I."
As free as wave as fleet as wind,
We sweep the sands of Araby,
And leave a world of slaves behind!

* * * * *

NOSTALGIA--MALADIE DE PAYS--CALENTURE.

_(For the Mirror.)_

This disease, according to Dr. Darwin, is an unconquerable desire of
returning to one's native country, frequent in long voyages, in which
the patients become so insane, as to throw themselves into the sea,
mistaking it for green fields or meadows:--

"So, by a _calenture_ misled,
The mariner with rapture sees,
On the smooth ocean's azure bed,
Enamell'd fields and verdant trees.
With eager haste he longs to rove