Though she said, "You know I'm dying." In her heart green trees are sighing; Not of them hath pain bereft her, In the city, where we left her: "Bring," she said, "a hedgeside blossom!" Love shall lay it on her bosom. ELLIOTT. ALEXANDER AFTER THE RETREAT FROM LUTZEN.--"The Emperor of Russia passed the night of the battle at Pegau, whither his britcka containing his papers and camp-bed had been brought; and, after having been twenty-four hours on horseback, Lord Cathcart and his staff found the bare floor of a cottage so comfortable a couch, without even the luxury of straw, that no one seemed in a hurry to rise when we were informed soon after daylight, that his imperial majesty was about to mount and depart, and that the enemy were approaching to dislodge us. The emperor slowly rode some miles toward the rear, along the Altenburg road, conversing with Lord Cathcart about the battle: he laid great stress upon the report of the commandant of artillery as to the want of ammunition, which he assigned as the principal reason for not renewing the action; he spoke of the result as a victory gained on our side; and it was afterward the fashion in the army to consider it as such, though not perhaps a victory so important in its consequences, or so decisive as could have been wished. At length the emperor observed that he did not like to be seen riding, fast to the rear, and that it was now necessary for him to go to Dresden with all expedition, and prepare for ulterior operations: he then entered his little traveling-carriage, which was drawn by relays of Cossack horses, and proceeded by Altenburg to Penig."--_Cathcart._ [From the Dublin University Magazine.] SONNETS FROM THE ITALIAN. UPON THE DEATH OF THE REDEEMER. BY MINZONI. When, in that last, loud wail, the Son of God Rent open graves and shook the mountain's steep-- Adam, affrighted from his world-long sleep, Raised up his head; then stark and upright stood: With fear and wonder filled, he moved around His troubled eyes--then asked, with throbbing heart, Who was that awful One who hung apart, Gore-stained and lifeless, on the curst tree bound. Soon as he learned, his penitent hand defiled His shriveled brow and bloodless cheeks, and tore The hoary locks that streamed his shoulders o'er. Turning to Eve, in lamentation wild, He cried, 'till Calvary echoed to the cry-- "WOMAN! FOR THEE I'VE GIVEN MY LORD TO DIE!" TWO SONNETS ON JUDAS. BY MONTI. I.