Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust In mortar and in stone; Who rears a wall, or builds a tower, Or makes on earth his throne; My monarch throne's the willing wave, That bears me on the beach; My sepulchre's the deep sea surge, Where lead shall never reach; My death-song is the howling wind, That bends my quivering mast,-- Bid England's maidens join the song, I there made orphans last. Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me Oft, oft, by frith and flood, I called ye forth to feast on kings; Who now shall give ye food? Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea, For of earth's proudest lords We served thee oft a sumptuous feast With our sharp shining swords; Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear Armed thousands shout my name. Nor see me rushing, red wet shod, Through cities doomed to flame. My race is run, my flight is flown; And, like the eagle free, That soars into the cloud and dies, I leave my life on sea. To man I yield not spear nor sword Ne'er harmed me in their ire, Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts, And Asia pour'd her fire. Nor wound nor scar my body bears, My lip made never moan, And Odin bold, who gave me life, Now comes and takes his own. Light! light there! let me get one look,-- Yon is the golden sky, With all its glorious lights, and there My subject sea flows by; Around me all my comrades stand, Who oft have trod with me On prince's necks, a joy that's flown, And never more may be. Now put my helmet on my head, My bright sword in my hand, That I may die as I have lived. In arms and high command. In the prose department the most striking is the description of Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale of the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will repay the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a pleasing little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine bit of humour, in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the late Sir George Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that liberal patron of the Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction into such a work as the present. The letter of Lord Byron, too, from Genoa in 1823, will be interesting to the noble poet's admirers. Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C. Rolls, after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's "joyful" picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a little "Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing by Clarkson Stanfield--a sublime picture; Fonthill, an exquisite scene from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a picture by Howard; the Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff; and last, though not least, Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers, transferred to steel, by J.H. Robinson--perhaps the most attractive print in the whole series.