10 MARCH 1855, Page 12

TO TEE CZAR.

We look around for thee, and thou art not there! With thy last breath, oh thou great enemy ! Thou takest a dreadful glory from the sky. And, in a half remorse, we still stand where Death led thee from us by his secret stair, Baffled and silent, down to vacancy ; Then, as one lays a thrilling story by, Turn back regretful to the common air. The grand poetic wrath has left the strife; The glorious hate, that fed our hearts with fire Like a first love, has vanished from our life,

To send the soul out for a new desire—

No more the passionate triumph of an hour, But the grave victory of world-redeeming power.

L. B.