THE OLIO.

From the Saturday Eveaing Poa.

 THE FALL OF w ARSAsS.
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 Mourn, 0 mourn for Poland,

 The home Of the fearless brave, For her patriot hearts all tried and true, That with freedom have fonnd a grave. Mourn for her high and ancient name, The great and proui Warsaw; Where the Russians shout of triumph rings And the Gossack's dread hnzza. Mourn for her kingly palaces. In smoking ruins laid; For the blood afher naughty high-b nEons Staining the rufian's blade. Mourn for her helples innocents, Her beautiful and fair; dor her villages sacked, and her harvest

 feids,

 By the hands of the Russ laid bare. Mourn for her many fatherless, Whose loud and lonely wall, And the cry of the widows woe IS borne On the wings of the rising gale. Mourn for her mighty fallen, And her weapons of war cast low; For the rights of the people trampled on By their proud Maiscoyitc fee. Mourn for the land made desolate, By sickness x sword and flame. Forthe fate of a brave nation that brings A curse on the despots's name. Mourn for unhappy Poland

 For her best and bravest slain; And their scatter,d bones which bleach

 upon.

 The wide and naked plain. Mourn, mourn for Poland For her bright and beacon star; For the light of it's beam is quenched now, In the crimson tide of war. - OSCAR.