Where do I see her?-on a throne?
No! in a dungeon,-not alone.

Who shares the captive's doom?
On whom is fixed her ardent gaze ?
Where fall her eyes' illumined rays,
Dispelling that dim gloom?

On him they fall, whose words of fire
No mortal spirit doth inspire,

But His who ruleth all!

Who calls His chosen, from their birth,
Who calls them from the ends of earth-
Yea-and they hear His call!
Though all unconscious whither led,
Along the paths He points they tread-
And Claudia bows her princely head
To hear the words of Paul!*

5.

Nor hears in vain!—in after years
Behold her daughter's son appears-
Hail to the heaven-born chief! +
Caught by a Christian's hallow'd flame,
And trampling upon earthly fame, ‡
Aside he casts his crown and name
To spread that blest Belief!

'Tis his, to higher crowns to soar
Than e'er were culled from earthly store-
Than Rome or Britain give!
Along dark Europe's heathen strand
To plant the CROSS in many a land,
And bid them hear and live!

It was a mother's lips had taught

The Faith with which his soul was fraught

Which Paul had taught before !

golden wreath; and we learn from Dio Cassius that such an ornament was worn by Boadicea.-Cambrian Plutarch.

The Claudia mentioned by St. Paul in the last chapter of his second Epistle to Timothy, though married to a Roman, is believed by the best commentators to have been a British princess of the family of Caractacus, who were in captivity at Rome at the same time as the apostle.

+ Lucius or Llewer Mawr, the grandson of Claudia, is said to have relinquished his throne in Britain and travelled over Europe, with the sublime view of christianising its then heathen and benighted lands. His skull and that of his sister Claudia, crowned with chaplet and diadem to denote their royalty, are preserved at Coire in Switzerland, where they were seen by the Rev. Canon Townsend, on his journey to Rome in 1850.

And live there, Heaven! who slight immortal Fame?
Who, then, with incense, shall adore our name?
But mortals! know, 'tis still our greatest pride
To blaze those virtues which the good would hide.
Rise, Muses, rise!-add all your tuneful breath-
These must not sleep in darkness and in death!

POPE's Temple of Fame.

Pure from its Hebrew source it well'd-
As purely still its course it held

In British Llewer Mawr!

6.

And see a British Queen ascends
Thy throne, imperial Rome! *
Helena there the faith extends

That bless'd her island-home.
Its conquering Sign thy hosts adore,†
And to her glorious son restore
(Coincidence of fate!)
Unconsciously the name of Mawr
In Constantine the Great!

7.

Descending with the stream of Time,
We meet with many a soul sublime,
And deed of high renown.

Arthur is there-auspicious name!
Still foremost on the rolls of fame;
Hoel, who struck the sounding lyret
With all a bard's and hero's fire,
And Rodri, Alfred's high compeer,§
Nor less to native glory dear,

Uphold that ancient crown.

8.

They vanish-those illustrious forms!
And dark succeeding clouds and storms
Involve Llewelyn's race;

And now no more a throne they fill,
But kingly thoughts and feelings still
Along their line we trace.

III.-1.

Yet bravely they-ere destiny o'ercame—
For nine long centuries that throne upheld!||
No foreign lord could their allegiance claim,—

Still Norman, Dane, and Saxon, they repell'd.

The Empress Helena, wife of Constantius Chlorus, and mother of Constantine the Great, was, according to the best authorities, a British princess, queen of North Wales in her own right.-See Warrington, &c.

+ IN HOC SIGNO VINCE.

High-born Hoel's harp and soft Llewelyn's lay.-The Bard.

Several of their poems are preserved.

§ Rodri Mawr, or Roderic the Great, who united Wales into one kingdom, and was one of the most able and prosperous of its sovereigns, was contemporary with Alfred, and ancestor of the Hoels and Llewellyns.

For that immense period of time did the Britons, who had retired into Wales, bravely defend and maintain their liberties after the rest of their country had yielded to foreign invaders.

Till, from their native Britain driven to roam

Defeated-dying-exiled-but unchain'd

In Cambria's wilds they sought a worthier home

Still Freedom's fight they fought-still Freedom's boon retain'd!

Then hail to the race of the hero and bard,

Who the foes of their country defied!

Who sought but in freedom the warrior's reward,
And died when that boon was denied!

2.

Died-but not ALL!-a remnant left

Of that primeval race

*

In freedom lived-in freedom live-
For freedom yet their lives would give-
Though crowns no more may grace.
But find perchance in humbler fates
More peace than on a throne awaits.

And even in these degenerate times,
Like them to yearn for darken'd climes,
Where he might call from hate to love,
From hell on earth to heaven above-
Another Mawr arose ! t

With learning gifted, more than man
Can scarce attain in mortal span,
'Twas his to cast, the CROSS before,
That learning's rich and varied store,-
The better lore he chose!

The Gift of tongues by Heaven bestow'd,
To Heaven he deem'd its service owed,
To shed, through error's dark abode,

The light, from THENCE that flows!

But fate forbad!-the WILL alone
Accepted at the Eternal Throne,
His native soil retain'd

All that, in life, could life impart

To humble hope, and contrite heart,—

When Heaven had claimed his nobler part,

All that in death remain'd!

* Descended from Roderic, the youngest brother of Llewelyn, last of the reigning princes.

The Rev. John Mawr (or as he spelt his name Mawer), D.D., was vicar of Middleton Tyas, near Richmond in Yorkshire, in the latter part of the reign of George II. and beginning of George III. and died there November 18, 1763, aged sixty. It is recorded on his monument that "he was descended from the royal family of Mawer, and inferior to none of his illustrious ancestors in personal merit ; being the greatest linguist this country every produced. He was able to speak and write twenty-two languages, and particularly excelled in the Eastern tongues; in which he proposed to his Royal Highness Frederick Prince of Wales, to whom he was firmly attached, to propagate the Christian religion in the Abyssinian empire, -a great and noble design, which was frustrated by the death of that amiable prince."

3.

For me the lowliest of a race
Long humble and obscure—
'Tis yet a vivid joy to trace

The deeds that must endure

On History's constant page, 'tis true,
But fade unless fresh tints renew.

On tombs where Time the hand hath laid
Not solid marble can evade,

The characters decay and fade,

Till pious hands restore :-
Thus be it mine, again to trace

The Hero's, Bard's, and Christian's grace,
The glories of Llewelyn's race

And the line of the lofty Mawr!

4.

Then hail to the HERO-the CHRISTIAN-the BARD-
Who lived for their GoD-for their COUNTRY who died!
For the great-for the good-twine the triple reward—*
Be their deeds our example—their deaths be our pride!

Silent the Harp!-the trembling tones expire-
The warm gush of the glowing heart is o'er;

The heart that caught a spark of Cambria's fire,

And dared-on kindred wing-with Cambria's bards to soar!

The Welsh Bards used to deliver their maxims and chronicles in Triads, or themes and stanzas of Three. Could there be a nobler triad than that of Patriotism, Valour, and Piety, which so many of these ancient worthies presented?

THE INFANT WORLD.

AN ALLEGORY.

(From the German of Rückert.)

LOVE held the infant World on her arm-
How calm lay the infant, how tranquil and warm!
The child flew away from the mother's breast,
Whose glance follow'd after, with grief opprest,
And maturity's wisdom in all its pride
Could ne'er like its first gentle innocence guide.
Like wandering bees that have lost their queen,
Thenceforth the lost tribes of the earth were seen.
Return, mother Love! to the world's dark wild,
And take pity again on thy long lost child!

ETA.

THE CAPE AND THE KAFIRS;

OR,

NOTES OF FIVE YEARS' RESIDENCE IN SOUTH AFRICA.

BY ALFRED W. COLE.

CHAPTER VIII.

Wagon Travelling.-Life on a Journey.-Sporting and Reading.-Pleasant Roads -A Night in the Wilderness.-Meditations.-Occasional Discomforts. —An agreeable "Honeymoon."- Drunken Servants. Missing Oxen. - A Bill for Damages.-Serious Drought.-A tempting Glass of Water.-Excitement among the Cattle. My handsome Bushman.- His amiable Character. A narrow Escape.-Hottentot Christianity. - Missionaries. - Independent Gentlemen.— Pure Morals.-Frightening a Farmer.

WAGON travelling is decidedly slow work. In an age when even Parliamentary trains manage fifteen miles an hour, and expresses fifty, it seems odd that, in any portion of the globe, a man can be satisfied with twenty miles in a day. Such, however, is a fair day's travelling in a Cape wagon. The same span" (or team) of oxen take you the whole journey, whether the distance be thirty miles, or three hundred; and as the poor brutes get nothing to eat but grass and water-and, occasionally, a very scanty supply of both-it can hardly be expected that they will pull your lumbering and well-laden wagon more than the distance I have mentioned, day by day.

After all, the journey is not so tedious as might be imagined. It is like so many days of pic-nicing, with fresh scenery each day, and in a glorious climate. Your wagon is, of course, well-furnished with tea, sugar, coffee, wine, flour, eggs, fresh and preserved meat, vegetables, and in fact all that refreshes the inward man; for, be it recollected, that there are no inns, or at least so few that no wagon-traveller thinks of visiting them, and you are not expected to ask for the farmers' hospitality on the road, as you do when you travel on horseback.

Your wagon is your travelling-carriage, your commissariat, and your home. A long stretcher with a mattress on it is slung in the wagon, and serves you for a lounging-couch by day, and a bed by night. When there are too many in the travelling party to sleep in the wagon, it is usual to carry a tent to be pitched at night for a "bedroom." Hotentots sleep under the wagon, or under a bush close to the fire, and prefer it to a feather-bed.

Your

Travellers should always take their guns with them, as they may chance to get some sport on the road, not to mention the possibility of an unusually hungry hyena or leopard venturing to make a midnight attack on their oxen. At six in the morning we will suppose our equipage to start. At about ten we "out-span,"-that is, take out the oxen and turn them loose to graze, and prepare for breakfast. Dismiss from your mind, good reader, all thoughts of hedges, and ditches, and enclosures, we are in a land where such things exist not. Our Hottentots

VOL. XXIX.

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