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