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"On this day perished two generals, the Duke of Montebello and St. Hilaireboth of them heroes, and the best of Napoleon's friends. He wept for their loss. They would never have deserted him in his adversity; they would never have been faithless to the glory of the French people. The Duke of Montebello was a native of Lectoure. When a chef de bataillon he distinguished himself during the campaigns of 1796 in Italy. As a general he covered himself with glory in Egypt, at Montebello, at Marengo, at Austerlitz, at Jéna, at Pultusk, at Friedland, at Tudella, at Saragossa, at Eckmul and at Essling, where he found a glorious death. He was cautious, sagacious, and daring; before an enemy his presence of mind was not to be shaken. He owed little to education-Nature had done every thing for him. Napoleon, who had witnessed the progress of his mind, often remarked it with astonishment. For manœuvring five and twenty thousand infantry on the field of battle, he was superior to all the generals of the French army. He was still young, and would have become more perfect; perhaps he might even have reached to a proficiency in the highest branch of tactics (le grande tactique) which as yet he had not understood.-St. Hilaire was a general at Castiglione in 1796. He was remarkable for the chivalry of his character. He had excellent dispositions, was a kind companion, a kind brother, a kind relative. He was covered with wounds. Hisattachment to Napoleon commenced at the siege of Toulon. They called him, alluding to Bayard, 'le Chevalier sans peur, et sans reproche,'”

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Speak! from the shades and the depths disclose,
How Sigurd may vanquish his mortal foes-

Voice of the buried past!

"Voice of the grave! 'tis the mighty hour

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When Night with her stars and dreams hath power,

And my step hath been soundless on the snows,

And the spell I have sung hath laid repose

In the billow and the blast."

Then the torrents of the North
And the forest pines were still,

When a hollow chaunt came forth

From the dark sepulchral hill.

"There shines no sun through the land of dead,
But where the day looks not the brave may tread;
There is heard no song, and no mead is pour'd,
But the warrior may come to the silent board
In the shadow of the night.

"There is laid a sword in thy father's tomb,
And its edge is fraught with thy foeman's doom;
But soft be thy step through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,
For the viewless have fearful might."
Then died the solemn lay,

As a trumpet's music dies,
By the night-wind borne away

Through the wild and stormy skies.

The idea of this ballad is taken from a scene in "Starkother," a tragedy by the

Danish Poet, Ochlenschlager.

The fir-trees rock'd to the wailing blast,
As on through the forest the warrior past
Through the forest of Odin, the dim and old,
The dark place of visions and legends told,
By the fires of northern pine.

The fir-trees rock'd, and the frozen ground
Gave back to his footstep a hollow sound,

And it seem'd that the depths of those mystic shades
From the dreamy gloom of their long arcades
Gave warning with voice and sign.

But the wind strange magic knows
To call wild shape and tone

From the grey wood's tossing boughs,
When Night is on her throne.

The pines closed o'er him with deeper gloom,
As he took the path to the monarch's tomb,
The pole-star shone, and the heavens were bright
With the arrowy streams of the northern light,
But his road through dimness lay!

He pass'd, in the heart of that ancient wood,
The dark shrine stain'd with the victim's blood,
Nor paused, till the rock, where a vaulted bed
Had been hewn of old for the kingly dead,
Arose on his midnight way.

Then first a moment's chill

Went shuddering through his breast,
And the steel-clad man stood still
Before that place of rest.

But he cross'd at length, with a deep-drawn breath.
The threshold-floor of the hall of death,

And look'd on the pale mysterious fire,

Which gleam'd from the urn of his warrior-sire
With a strange and solemn light.*

Then darkly the words of the boding strain,
Like an omen, rose on his soul again,
-"Soft be thy tread through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,

For the viewless have fearful might!"
But the magic sword and shield
Of many a battle-day

Hung o'er that urn reveal'd

By the tomb-fire's waveless ray.

With a faded wreath of oak-leaves bound,
They hung o'er the dust of the far-renown'd,
Whom the bright Valkyriur's glorious voice
Had call'd to the banquet where gods rejoice,
And the rich mead flows in light.
With a beating heart his son drew near,
And still rung the verse in his thrilling ear,
-"Soft be thy tread through the silence deep,
And move not the urn in the house of sleep,
For the viewless have fearful might!"
And many a Saga's rhyme,

And legend of the grave,

That shadowy scene and time

Call'd back to daunt the brave.

* The sepulchral fire, supposed to guard the ashes of departed heroes, is frequent

ly alluded to in the Northern Sagas.

But he raised his arm-and the flame grew dim,
And the sword in its light seem'd to wave and swim,
And his faltering hand could not grasp it well-
From the pale oak-wreath with a clash it tell
Through the chamber of the dead.

The deep tomb rung with the heavy sound,
And the urn lay shiver'd in fragments round,
And a rush, as of tempests, quench'd the fire,
And the scatter'd dust of his warlike sire

Was strewn on the champion's head
One moment--and all was still
In the slumberer's ancient hall,
When the rock had ceased to thrill
With the mighty weapon's fall.

The stars were just fading, one by one,
The clouds were just tinged by the early sun,
When there stream'd through the cavern a torch's flame,
And the brother of Sigurd the valiant came

To seek him in the tomb.

Stretch'd on his shield, like the steel-girt slain
By moonlight seen on the battle-plain,

In a speechless trance lay the warrior there,
But he wildly woke when the torch's glare
Burst on him through the gloom.
"The morning-wind blows free,
And the hour of chace is near;
Come forth, come forth with me;
What dost thou, Sigurd, here?"

"I have put out the holy sepulchral fire,

I have scatter'd the dust of my warrior-sire!
It burns on my head, and it weighs down my heart,
But the winds shall not wander without their part
To strew o'er the restless deep!

"In the mantle of Death he was here with me now,
There was wrath in his eye, there was gloom on his brow,
And his cold still glance on my spirit fell

With an icy ray and a withering spell

Oh! chill is the house of sleep!"

"The morning wind blows free

And the reddening sun shines clear,
Come forth, come forth with me,

It is dark and fearful here!"

He is there, he is there, with his shadowy frown,

But from his head is the kingly crown,

gone

The crown from his head, and the spear from his hand
They have chased him far from the glorious land
Where the feast of the gods is spread !*

"He must go forth alone on his phantom-steed,
He must ride o'er the grave-hills with stormy speed,
His place is no longer at Odin's board,

He is driven from Valhalla without his sword!

But the slayer shall avenge the dead!"
That sword its fame had won

By the fall of many a crest,

But its fiercest work was done

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*Severe sufferings to the departed spirit were supposed by the Northern Mythe logists to be the consequence of any profanation of the sepulchre,

G. MAXWELL, 140, BALTIMORE-STREET, BALTIMORE.

HAS JUST PUBLISHED

IRA HILL'S THEORY

OF THE

FORMATION OF THE EARTH.

The various kinds of rocks, mountains, coals, gypsum, e. shewing the causes of the positions of the different rata of relics, of alluvial deposits, and the animal and getable remains, which have been discovered in them many parts of the world; with the causes of the general eluge, and several subsequent ones, that have partially undated our planet, together with the explanations of le causes of the ocean receding from its ancient bounds, d of the formation of mines of salt. Shewing the uses of rivers diminishing and becoming dry on the Istern continent.

The causes of Europe, Africa, and a part of Asia ing warmer than in remote antiquity;-and why the eserts extend their bounds.

With plain explanations of many other phenomena, I accounted for according to reason, philosophy, and ripture. "Study nature-nature is a friend of truth." N. G. MAXWELL, has in press, and will publish the rst of October, A Collection of Surgical Memoirs; the Baron Larrey, first surgeon of the grand army Russia, Saxony, and France, during the years 1812, 315, 1814, &c. &c. Paris, 1821. Translated from e French by J, Revere, M, D. &c,-The following are e subjects of these Memoirs:-1st, On the use of oxa in affections of the eye, ear, organs of speech, aralytic affections of the muscles, diseases of the hip int, spine, &c. 2d. On the seat and effects of nostala. 3d, On the properties of the iris. 4th, On wounds the intestines. 5th, On fractures of the neck of the nur. 6th, On wounds of the bladder, &c.-The noIty and interesting nature of the topics, particularly e first, and the high reputation of the author, render y recommendation of this work unnecessary.

ders for these publications are received by O. Everett, 13 Cornhill

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The price to subscribers will be One Dollar and a Half per volume, payable on delivery of each volume. It is not intended to print many more than shall be subscribed for, and the price will be raised on the completion of the edition.

The works will be printed from the latest English edition, and vo lumes 4 and 5 are already done to show as a specimen of the edition. An early subscription is respectfully solicited.

Subscriptions to the above works are received by the Publisher, 12 Cornhill, and by Munroe & Francis, No. 4 Cornhill, Boston; by George Dana, Providence; Cushing & Appleton, Salem; and John W Foster, Portsmouth.

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