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OF .'*^ Pom Rv AND Song WITH Choice Selections of Prose CONTAINING Ptiii lii.si Pkoiu CTioNS oi iHi; Most Ci:i.hiikAi i I) \i iM(ik> Ol VI.; A0E5 ANf) Coi NIRIliS INCLUDING THE GLORIES OF NATDRH; HOME I.IFH AND RURAL SCENES; hAMOUS BALLaUS NATIONAL AIRS ANl) LOVE SONGS; CHILLjHOOD AND YOUTH; PATRIOTS AND HEROES; TALES OF THE SEA: THL likl(iHTl£ST UL;M5 OK IHt \V()KLD> MASILk .MI,M)> EMBRACING SCOTCH AND IRISH MELODIES; TRAGEDY AND SORROW, SACRfcb POEiVS, WIT AND WISDOM; CYCLOPEDIA OF POE IICAL QUO! Ai!ON»; BIOGRAPHIES OF ALITHORS, ETC., ETC THE WHOLb FORMING A COMPUrn: LIKRARV OF POF IRN , PkOSR AND >()N(i CO.WPII ID A\[) KDITED By henry davenport NORTHROP Anlhor of " I'ferlfs«s Uciitrr," "Cr{)\vii Jewels,' htc.,HtC, MAGNII'ICENTLY EMBELLISHED WITH 250 SUPERB PHOTOTYPE ENGRAVINGS AND ILLUSTRATIONS IN WOOD R. A. H MORROW, ST. JOHN, NEW BRUNSWICK. Kitlrrnl iiici>iillii« lt> Art »f Congress, In tlic jc;ir i.S<;7, hv IIORACH C. 1"RY, In llic OllKc ul" tlii; I.ilmiriuii of Cuiigitss, iil Wus'iingtoii, I). C. 1 .;• • c- V i M PREFACE I M ACAULAY, in his l)rilliani essay on Joiin Milton, says: "Wr lu)I(l that tiir, most wonderful and splcmlid proof of L;cniiis is a ^^rcat po'in prodiKccl in a civilized a,i;e." Adopting, such a slandartl, this new aiid peerless volunit; is a inai^Miilicent repository of tiie j^cnis of Ljenius, j^Mthered fmm die nio^it celehrated authors of all countries anil a^M-s. its delij^htful pai^t^s are enriched liythe most beautiful and entrancinj^ selections of I'oetry, I'rose and SoIl<^^ These arc all ( lassified and arran;^feil uniKr tlu'ir appropriate titles. llnMi;. SwKi.T IlnMi: comprises gems for tin; firesiile, picturing in glowing colius the delights of the honic! circle, tin; beauty of domestic life and the s\vi:et ni inories that cluster arouml the olil homestead. TiiK CiiAKMs di Natukk contain tin; most graphic jx-'n-pictures of Naiiir.il S( ciierv, iiK hiding the Picturesque, the lieautiful and the Sublime. This is the natural field of poetry; "IliTi' v.illt-ys l)U)()iii and luountaiiis rise. And laiulscapes smil'.' Ixncatli tin: skies." The earth, the sea, and the vaulted heavens an* portrayed to the reader's wonder- ing eye. TiiK Poetkv of ihk Yeak forms another jiart and contains thus historic incidents are related in verse by renowned authors, such as Austin Dobson, Frederick Von Schiller, Longfellow and VVhittier, Baxen- ciale and Tennyson, Bryant, Helen Hunt Jackson and many others. The most thril'.ing events are celebrated and are given undying fame by the poetic genius of the brilliant authors who narrate th<;m. The next part includes Ballads and National Airs. These rivet the attention of the reader and in imagination he beholds the scenes they depict as living realities. Our most celebrated National Songs are found in this part, including "The Batde Hymn of the Republic," "The Star .*')pangled Banner," "?>Iy Maryland," "The German's Fatherland," etc. HoPK AND Memory, or (ilimpses of the Past ami I-'uture, embrace a delightful collection of poems which carry the reader back to the scenes of long-ago, the m(Mnories of childhood, the joys of other days, and draw aside the veil of the future, ih.rougli which are seen the blossoms of immortal hope. Next we have Patriots and Hkkoks, commemorating their noble sacrifices and valiant deeds. Great men who live in history, who rose in their might, and with undaunted heroism purchasix' the liberties which are the world's proudest po:isession, are celebrated in immortal song. There is an irresisdble fascination about these time-honored heroes, whose grantl lineaments are here photographed for universal a(!miration. Among other productions, we have that thrilling lyric, entitled "The Cuban Crisis." " Red is the setting sun, Retltlf r the Cuban sod ; Maceo's valiant figiit is done For freedom and for God. The long-leaved pine and the st.itely palm Bend lowly in grief to-night And through the hush of the tropic calm There rolls from the sea a mournful psalm, A retjuiem over tiu; right." The Sword and the Plow is another part of this superb volume, which describes the victories of war and of peace. The most renowned writers have celebrated the sentiment which is taking deeper root every day, that "Peace hath her victories no less renowned than war," a sa)ing of Milton, the truth of which no one will deny. The war-cloud lifts from the torn batde-field ; the thunder of guns is hushed; armies are disbanded, and where the sod was red with blood, peaceful harvests wave in their golden glory. I i PREFACE. iU of Adventure :ago, in 1812." wned authors, hittier, Haxen- ■s. The most aetic genius of Ballads and magination he rated National epublic," "The id," etc. ,ce a deHghtful f long-ago, the il of the future, loble sacrihces leir might, and >rld's proudest ble fascination : photographed : thriUing lyric, Rural Scenks portray the lights and shadows of country life. Here the pages ar(; fragrant with the lloral breatli of summer fields and woods. "ThL' whistling plow-boy drives his t(.'am afield," and the scythes of the mowers glint in th(! sun- shine. The olil farmhouse stands embo;- .mcd in ,^()ol shadows. "Tiu: i)usy housewife pli(;s her evening care," and, in the winter, sleigh-b(!lls jingle, skaters skim the mirrored lake, and the glow of lieali'a beams in the faces of happy country boys and girls. Nothing could be more inviting tiian these Rural SccMies. Tlien comes a wide-awake collection of poems, entitled Vwv. World's Work- ers, in which the nobility of labor is eulogized. Here we learn " How C\rus laid th'j Cable,' how "you have but to take one step and then anothcT, and the longest walk is entled;" how to win in the battle of lile, and with what happy e.\])ressions the poet Whitlier wrote of the ship-builders, the siioe-makers and the lumbermen. Here, too, are the songs of huskers, th(,' plf)wmen ;! ;ire ihe 'Vlps, Tli;' pi.laces of nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled u' clouds tlicir snowy scalps, And tlironed ett-rnity in icy li;ills Of cold suDliinity, where forms and falls Tile avalanclK — ilie tliur.derbolt of snow! All that exoands l!)e spirit, yot appalls, Gathers around the sununits, as to show How earth may soar to heaven, yet leave vain man l)elow. — /.oni liyion. I volume, which d writers have .t cloud lifts from disbanded, and yolden glory. 4 Let it not be supposed that the little people are forgotten. Tlie part on Childhood and Youth contains ca[)tivating selections for the young. All the innocence of childhood, the sports of the litde folks as well as tin; pathos of tlu-ir merry laughter hushed in death, are tiepictetl with a mast<--r hand. Our literature is rich in tales and lessons fi become historic, while tlu; p;irt (Militled Thought and Skntimkn i" cimbraces the choicest [iroductions from master minds on a c;reat variety of topics. A vast collection of the finest poems ever written. iv PRIUACR. Tkagkdv and S<)RRO\v jomprises pathetic selections from the most distinguished authors. This part has a peculiar chann ami beauty of its own. Tin-: Gates of I'KAKi appeal to the religious sentiment anil giv(! full expression to the soul's iDliic-.t aspirations. Here ant glowing tributes to faith and hope; pithy descrip- tions of the practical virtues; tender words of comfort for the bereavcttl and grand descriptions of the hea\'enly world. W'l 1' AM) WisiK iM, comprising sparkling gems from the world's hunioristsi contains tin; brightctst and most fascinating collection of witty pieces. There is wholesome mirth on every l>age. This part is fnHowed by a largi; Cvci.orKoiA oK PiiKTK Ai, Oi orATioNs, ' 'u; subjects being arranged alphabeticall)'. TluM't! is neetl of \'(i( ai. and i\siRUMi;\ i al Misic in every famil)-, and often litth; opportunity W ol)iain it. This volunn; contains a choice colktction of music from composers of world-wide fame. Thus it is a complete and charming house- hold book. It contains somdhing of special interest to all classes of intelligent persons. The relming ami ekA'ating inlkuMici; of one such book in the home is beyond the powtjr of any one to estimate. The work also contains liiocKAi-iiiKs oi" Cij.ki'.katki) .VuriioRs, whose produc- tions ai)pear in this volume. Here are given the main facts in the lives of those gifted men and women who have charmed all readers with their delightful effu- sions. The publisliers are firmly convinced that nothing; has been omitted to render this work complete. It has been made from the very best materials and is golden throughout. I HOME, SWEET HOME. I Alll- The Lit^ht of Home . . . Sarah /. Hale 17 My Cliild J. R. Lozvi// A Motlier's Love liniily Taylor By tliL- Fire The Little Arm-Chair An Old Sweetheart of Mine . ./. \V. Riliv Alone in the House . . Marv T. Willard The Old Friends .... a W. Holmes Charity IVishop Ken That Circle of Gold . . W. D. Ellwangc, Old Christinas Two Pictures Dearest Love ! Believe Me . Thox. rriiixlc Twilijjht Corriiic J/. RockivcH A Wife's Appeal to Her Husband . . . Grandmother's Work . Mrs. C. f.. I Icivitt An Idyl of the Kitchen . /. A. h'rascr, Jr. The Open Window . //. W. Liiiicfclloi.K.< Where there's One to Love, Chas. S7i17 One of the Sleepy Kind .Ml, No ! I cannot say " Farewell " Alexander Rodger Bertha in the Lane, Elizabeth />. Bro-,.>ning .Vbscnce Fanny K. Ihitler The I lappy Lot .... lihenezer Elliott The Paljy C. G. Roger .Scenes of ni)' Youtli . . Robert Uillhonse The Three Dearest Words Mary J. Miickle The Mother Charles .S-w lin The Old Farmhouse . //. IV. L'ingfellozu The Crickei: on the Hearth, IV. ('. funnett Mv Own Fireside //../. Watts The Window D. I-. McCarthy The Lost Little One Gatherin[^ A|)ples Home — a Duet .... Barry Corn-wall If Thou hast Lost a I*"riend, Charles .Sii'ain I Think on Thee 7' K. Uervey Unconscious Influence Domestic Love George Croly E'Al-.E 35 3r> ;;6 ;]6 ;57 .",7 ;m ;'„s ;}9 40 40 41 42 42 43 43 43 44 44 44 4o The Two Gates 2!t Not Lost, but Gone Before, G/rw//;/!- A'crA'^/ The Empty IL)use 2!( I .Vunt Jemima's Quilt -15 2',r The Old Oaken Bucket, .S;?w/. //'<'<',/.-. w//^ 47 The Joys of Home She Grew in Sun and .Shower Jo/in lunvring Bereft J. W. Rih ev 47 William Word.srcorth 30 I I Come to Tliee, M\- Wife Wni. Bninton 4.S True Contentment . //. .S". A nt 30 Our l^'irst-born Gerald Massev 31 The appy H u'^ha nd .S-. 'T Colerid' 45) Jus, Wliat I Wanted -^9 on the F irm 32 1 ( Tile MoittraLiro Love in a Cottage .V. /'. Willis 33 Grantlfather's House. . . Mary MeCnirc 33 H.anpy Love . . . . Charles Mackay 34 The Old Barn . . . . T. Buchanan Read 34 Good-night Song 35 ome arewel lomt Felicia D. He mans . . . Lord Hytoii ear Thee Cluvles Su 'am 50 Her I'"! eble .Ste|)s Failed Every Inch a M, in . /. A'. Eastwood 51 ." 52 52 CONTE.VrS. THE CHARMS OF NATURE. After Sunset /:. Mathcson A Moonlight Night . . . Jane Scdgxvkk The Rose Sir Walter Scott Spring Alfred 'J\n>iyson Tlic Use of Flowers .... Mary Ifmvitt Song of the .Summer Winds, Gee. Darley Only Promises Robert Herrick The Rocky Mountains . . . Allieit Pd-e The Falls of .Niagara The Vale of Cashmere . . Thomas Moore The Nightingale .... Matthew Arnold To the Daisy . . . William Wonlszvorth The Brook If. W. Lonifelltnu 1 lark ! Hark ! the Lark, Wm. Shakespeare Winter Song C. T. Ihooks Cape-Cottage at Sunset . .1/'. />. (r lazier The Holjolink Thomas I fill Perseverance R. S. S. Aiidros The Stormy Petrel . . . Barry Cornwall The Pelican .... lames j\lontj;onierv Cascol^ay " . . J. G. Whitti'er Lilacs Henry Davenport P'lowers H. IV. I.ongfelUr-w A .Scene on the Hudson . W. C. Ihyant Pack Clouds Away .... 7". Ilevwood Our Great Plains. . . . Joaquin Miller A Dream of .Suumier . . ../. G. Whitfier A Song to Ma\- Lord Thurhno The Wood Madison Cawem Osme's Song Geors^e Darlev The Rivulet W. \\ Bryant The Nightingale John Brwring The .Swallow Charlotte Smith The Early Primrose . . . . //. A'. White The Father of Waters . . Sarah /. Hale Butterfly Heau 7". //. Fayly The Old Man of the Mountain /. T. Trowbridge After Siniinier P. B. Marston The Dainty Rose .... Thomas Hood Snowdrops Roden Xoel The Moss Rose. . . F. W. Krinnme.eher T'olding the Flocks, Beaumont e'r I'letcher I'AIJK .•).•? 53 o3 o4 54 5(J 5(5 56 57 57 58 58 60 60 61 (il 62 62 63 63 64 64 66 6V 6V 67 68 69 70 71 72 72 72 73 73 73 74 74 76 77 77 Pacb Butterfly Life T.H.Bayly 77 Tile Songsters fames Thomson 78 The Sparrow /. Von Linden 79 Indian .Summer 79 To a Mouse Robert Bvrns 80 Summer Woods /ohn Clare 80 The West Wind VV.C. Bryant 81 The Foolish llareheW, George Maedonald 8l To the Daisy . . . William Wordsxvorth 81 To the Skylark . . William Words-worth 82 The Pine Forest by the Sea. P. B. Shelley 83 One Swallow M P. Blaine 83 The Flower Alfred Tennyson 85 New ICngland in Winter . /. G. Whittier 85 To the Fringed Gentian . W. C Bn'ant 85 The Thrush '. . 86 .Spring Horace Smith 87 The Comet B. P. laylor 87 Lake Mahopac . . . Caroline M. Sa'wyer 88 Tiie Bugle Alfred Tennyson 88 Roses Red and White. . William Coxvan 89 The Nightingale S". T Coleridge 89 The North Star W. C. Bryant 89 Harvest Ellen M. Hutchinson 90 Song of the Brook , . . Alfred Tennyson 90 Midsummer /. 7. 'Trowbridge 91 Trailing Arbutus . . . Rose 'Terry Cooke 92 Little Streams Marv Ho-witt 92 The Ikiried Flower .... W. E. Aytoun 93 The .Sand-piper Celia 'Ptiaxtir 94 P^hg\- — Written in Spring, Michael Bruce 94 American Skies W. C. Bryant 95 Hampton Beach J.G. Whittier !)6 The Changed Song .' . . R. W. Emerson 96 The Garilen Andrexv Marvell 97 To the River Arve . . . . W. C. Bryant 97 \'iew Across the Roman Campagna Elizabeth B. Bro-wnimi' 98 The Birch-tree J. R. LcrweU 98 The Glory of Motion . R. S. /. 'Tvrwhitt 99 The Windy Night T B. Read 100 The Owl 100 POETRY OF The Year's Twelve Children 101 Joy of Spring /,(/>// ////;// 101 March— Chaffinch 102 .Sprinj.,^ Felicia D. l/einiins 102 Marcii William Wordsworth 102 April— Lark 104 THE YEAR. Day; .\ Pastoral . . .John Cunningham 104 The Grasshopi)er . . . Abraham Cowley i04 .^pril William Shakespeare 105 A Walk by the Water . Charlotte Smith 105 Bud and Bloom .... Alfred Tennyson 105 The Open Day Henry Alford 105 CONTENTS. vii PA(iK May — Nifjhtingale I0(i The IViiuiosc John Clare lOU A Tribute to May . . . Wii/uun Rcsccc lOG llie Wootiland in Spring Williani CiKi'pcr 107 Breathing-^ of Spring . hcluui D. Ucmans 107 Corinna\ (iuiu; A-Maying, Robert Her rick 108 On May Morning /oliit Mi/ton \W Summer Kvc //.A'. White 109 Cliiklrcn in Spring /o/tn Clare 110 The Rose luimnml Waller 110 Mornin;^^ in Summer . . fames 'riioinson 112 A June' Day 'William llozvitt U2 June — Dove 112 July — Cuckoo 113 Repose in Summer. . . Alfred Tennyson II-'? Sonnet (111 Country Life . . .Joint Keats 11.'} Tlic Hl.ickhird . . . . Alfred Tennyson 113 August— Wren 114 Summer Reverie John Keats 114 S!ie|)heril and Flock , . fames Thomson 114 A Winter Sketch . . , ". . Ralph Hoyt W) To Meadows fiobert IJerriek Ho A Song for the Seasons . tiarry Cormvall IIG Summer's Haunts . . Felicia I), llemans IH! The Last Rose of Summer, Thomas Moore 1 1 r u;k Fair Summer Wdlis G. Clark 116 A Day in Autumn . . . Robert Southey 116 September — Curlew 117 A Song for September . . T. W. l\xrsons 117 Serenity of Autumn . .James Thomson 117 Autumn Thomas flood 118 Autumn Flowers . . Caroline li. .Southey 118 October — Swallow 110 Octol)er II!) Beauties of Autumn . . . Carlos IVileox \2<) November — Sea-gull 121 A Still Day in Autumn, .Snnih II. Whitman 121 Verses in Praise of Angling Sir llenrv Wotton 121 December— Robin 123 Autumn— A Dirge . . . . P. Ik Shelley \2^ The First Snowfall . . . . f. R. Lo-u-ell \2\ Old-time Winter 124 Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind William .Shakespeare 125 Dirge for the Year . . . . P. />'. .Shelley 12."> January — Owl 1 25 The Last Snow of Winter, .Sarah Dondney 1 2(5 Skating William Words'.cor'th 126 February — Sparrow 126 Withered Flowers - . . . John Bethune 128 DESCRIPTIONS AND TALES OF THE SEA. The Life Brigade Minnie Mackay The Landsman's Song Harry Cormvall My Brigantine . . . /. Fenimore Cooper Is my Lovr on the Sei, Barry Cormvall The Lighthoi'sc . . . Jl. W. Loni^ello7i> The Minute Gun .... A'. S.'.Sharpe I Loved the Ocean l:/i::a Cook The White Scpiall jr. J I Thackeray The Boatmen's Song. . Henry f)avcnport Tacking Shi|) off Shore . Walter Mitchell The Solitude of the Sea . . Lord Byron The Ocean . ... James Montgoinery The (ira\- .Swan Alice Cary Sailor's Song Charles Dibdin Tile .Sea in Calm .... Barry Cormvall The Lost Atlantic . . .John Talman, Jr. Twilight H. W. LongfelLnv Mary's Dream John Lowe 12!) 130 130 132 133 131 131 135 135 136 136 138 138 139 13!) 140 141 141 Drifting T. B. Read The Launching of the Ship, //. W. Lonfellmv Mariner's I lymn . . Caroline B. Southey The Return of tlie Admi ral , Barry C 'ormvall Life's Troubled Sea The Sailor's Journal . . Charles Dibdin A Song of the Sea . . Catherine Warfeld The .Sound of the Sea, I'elicia D. Llemans The Mermaid Itfred Tennyson The Shipwreck Lord Byron The Secret of the Sea . //. W. l.ongfelloiv Drifting out to Sea The Voyage Alfred Tennyson By the .Sea The Sea-Fairies .... Alfred Tennyson An Old-fashioned Sea-fight, Walt Whitman The Sailor-Boy .... Alfred Tennyson The Gallant Sail-boat . Henry Davenport 142 143 144 145 145 140 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 1 53 154 1 55 155 156 ALBUM OF LOVE. A Culian Love Song . . . Daisy Deane 157 I Won't Be Your Dearie Any More Rose Reilly 157 My Ideal S.MPeck 158 The First Kiss .... Thomas Campbell 15!) Quakerdom C. G. Halpine 1 59 Marion Moore J. G. Cla-k 159 Speak it Once More, Elicabeth B. Ihunvnini^ 1 OO Her Bright Eyes Told Me Yes T. L. Sappington 1 GO VIII CONTENTS. riioiiias Moon . 'I lioiJiiis J/oorr \\'a/ti r A. ( (issi/s 'Ihc Chess Hoard . . . K. B-'/tiur Lytton Woo tljc I''air One . . . . W. C. Ihyaiit Weddin^f Hells l.tiza Look Mizpali line Love lidiiiiic Wee Thing .... Robert Bitnis Her Christmas Letter . Aiij^ustii Prcscott Oh, I)uiil>t Me Not . RLiiictnhcred .... To M)' I )ream Love Kiss Me and He Still .... .S'. M. IWk The Arctic Lover . . . . W. C. Ihyant Tin- Welcome Thomas Davis Cn \'ou l""orgct Me . I.ctitia li. Lainioii The Stars are with the Voyager Thomas Hood Klhel's .Song of Love . Hciny Davenport For Love's Sweet Sake . Barry Conneal/ The .Sleeping Heauty . . Alfred Teiuiysou The Krx'ival of the Sleeping Jk'anty Aljred Tennyson The ".Slee])ing Heauty" Departs with licr Lover Alfred Tennvson The llelle of the Hall . . .' //'. J/. Praed My True Love Hath My i'eart Sir Philip Sidney A Reverie The Hachelor's .Soliloquy Constancy Lle/e Ance Go, Happy Rose .... Robert Herriek Liglit P. W. />o//rdilli>n Love and l\hi)- .... PJinora L. Hen'ey l.itranged J- (^- Sa.re Love ii)e Little, Love nie Long .... The IVLlkmaiu's -Song . . Sydney Dohell The I'iaything When Should Lovers Hreathe their Vows Lctitia E. I.andon Moll M.Carty .... A Heine Love Song . A Gleani of .Sunshine . Up, Quit Thy H(nver . Following Suit I Saw Two Clouds at Morning /. G. C. Prainard Green Grow the Rashes, O! Robert Piirus A Madrigal Gathering l'op])ies S. J. Reilly Love's h^ower Jamie'- on the Sea .Song Caroline OH pliant When Your Heauty Appears, Thomas Parnell C. N. \Vallins;ton Eus^ene Pield If. U: Lonifellou- . . Joanna Paillie 1»>(» KJli ig;} Hit 1(J4 KM 104 1 (j;> 1(J.-) Uifi \m 1(J7 lOS Ids I 1()S ' i(;9 170 170 170 171 171 17-2 172 172 172 172 174 174 17.") 17.") 17") 17(i 17(1 170 178 17.S 178 179 17!) 17!t ISO ISO ISO 181 181 Sweet, He Not Proud . . Robert Herriek All Old Love Letter . . Mrs. J. C. Neal Don't Many a Man "To Save lliin." . . The iMueraid Ring . . Letitia J:. Landon "O, Nancy, Wilt Thou Go with Me?" 'Tliomas Percy Love Dissembled . William Shakespeare A Woman's Ouestion, Adelaide A. Proetor The Knight's Toast Love is a .Sickness . . . Samuel Daniel Gray and Silver . . . . C. E. D. Phelps Let Not Woman E'er Complain Robert Pnrns My Own Dora A'. I'reaney Kissing Her Hair . . . A. C. Swinburne When Thou Art Near Me, Lady Jane Scott Reuben and Rose .... Thomas Moore Love's Forgotten I'romise Her Sliadow Aubrey De I'ere Found at Last .... Samuel J/. Peek Waiting Near .... W. M. 'Thackeray The Miller's Daughter . Alfred Pennyson My Choice William Jiro'wne The Age of Wisdom . //'. J/. Thackeray Ah! What is Love? . . . Robert Greene Tell Me, My Heart, If this be Love George Lord Lyttelton Why I le that Lovesa Rosy Cheek, Tlios. Careii.' The Shepherd's Resolution, George Wither My Sweethearts Love not Me for Comely Grace .... To Helen in a Huff. . . . .V. P. Willis Jealousy /;'. Buhcer I^ytton For Love's Sake . EJizabeth Jl. Browning Jenny's Kiss Leigh Hunt Satisfactory Chaperonage. . E. P. Butler Gilbert and Amethysta . Charles Jfaekay Love Thou the Hest Love and Jealousy . . . Mary /. Jfat/is To the Knd '..... Legend of a Coquette Under the Mistletoe Afarthii /;. flallahan The Change . . . Letitia E. I.andon The II untt.'r's Serenade . . W. C. /hyant The Loveliness of Love My Dear and Only Love, James Graham Wooing John P>. L. Soule Love is luiough . . Ella Wheeler Wilcox To an Absent Wife . . . (7. D. Prentice Paui 181 181 181 182 182 isa 183 184 184 184 186 186 186 187 188 189 189 189 189 iiiO li'O 1!»1 ]!»l litl 192 VXi. ii»;i r.';i iit.i 1 i);i 194 liif) 195 195 195 196 196 196 197 198 1<)8 198 1!)9 199 1!I9 200 200 CONTENTS. IX TALES OF ADVENTURE AND ROMANCE. r.vi.K Massacre at Fort Dearborn, Chicago, LSI 2 /;./•■. Tnylor l2Ul I^w Incident of the Fire at llainbur^li y. A". A-'Tiv// 2(11 The Dying Warrior . . . Thomas Moore 'J()2 Tlie Indian lioat .... TItoiiias Moore 202 The(irccn iMi)untain Justice, /Av/rryv'rr'ii- 2(1."} Willy-Milly E. /•'. lin-otiiall 204 My Lantllady Austin Dobson 20") Knij;ht Tog^fenburg, . . /'". Von Si/iilhr 2()(> IMiillips of Pelliamville . A/ix. AnUrrsi'n 207 The Famine //. /r. /,,';/ .;/",/A>.-.' 207 Conductor Bradley . . . . /. (7. H'liitticr 20S A Girl Heroine " 2U1» The Faithful Lovers 20!> The Morte Chapel . . Walter B 220 220 221 221 222 BALLADS, LEGENDS AND NATIONAL AIRS. The Damsel of Peru . . . W. C Bryant 22;J The African Chief .... \V. C. Trvaut 22 I The Private of the Buffs, .SV;- /''. If. Doyle 221 A Maid of Normandy . Geori^e Weatherlv 22-'» Border Balhul Sir^ Walter Seott 22r> Sir Humi)hrey Gilbert, //. W. Lo- ^i^felhw 22(5 The Pilgrim Fathers . . . John ^'terpont ''I'll The Crazed Maiden . . . Geori:;e Crabbe 227 The Murdered Traveller . W. C. JUyant "28 Leonidas Georq-e Croly 2211 The Way of Wooing ....'...'. 22!) An Indian Story JV. C. /hyant 22U Monterey C. /■'. Hoffman 2;iO Caspar Becerra. . . . 1 1. W. Lone^felUno 2.'} I Boadicea William Omper 2.']2 Pericles and Aspasia . . . Geori^c Croly 2.'52 Yarn of the " Nancy Bell." W. S. Gilbert 21V2 The Indian Girl's Lament . W. C. Bryant 2.3 1 Battle-Hymn of the Repuijlic fu^iii Ward IfiKve The White-Footed Deer . W. C. Bryant O Mother of a Mighty Race, W. C.Bryant "Once on a Time" .... l.illian Grey The Phantom City . . . /'/anees /'.Maee Her Last IMoment . . .Uari^aret Cnwen luhvard Gra)' Alfred 'Te-:nyson My Marvland .... fames R. R.vidall The I'lace Where Man Shou'd D,j Miehul /. Pxirr:' The Death of Aliatar . . Jl'. C Byant The Lake of the Dismal Swamj) Thomas .Ifoore The Star-Spangled Banner, /vv?//(7j.S'.AVj' Hymn for Fngland's Jubilee The Happiest Land . . If. W. Lonj^elloztf The Fair Helen 2;54 2:'..") 2 () 2 ..; 2 .7 2:57 2;![» 2:;9 21) 2i;> 212 21.} 24:5 24:5 244 HOPE AND MEMORY. A Retrospect Geory^e Crabbc The Long-Ago Lord Houi:[hton. Memories of Childhood. . . /. G. Walts Departed Joys If.C. f\eudall The Pleasures of Memorj', Samuel I\oi^ers W.itch and W;iit 1/ (". Gilliny;tou The Pleasures oi \\o]ic, Thomas Campbell The Pilgrim My Trundle Bed Remembrance lime ffunter "Ember Picture" 21.> 21.") 21.-) 24(j 24(5 246 248 24!) 24 i» 2.")0 250 .V Little Song of Hope . . A'. F. Gnene 2r)0 Memories /. G. Winttier 251 The Ur.happy Past . . Oliver Goldsmith 252 Heavenward f.ady Xoirne 252 Never Despair I/. /•. Dipper 252 In Memoriain T. Wtiytehead 252 Sun of the .Soul ..,../. l.aiigfiorne 252 Eden Flowers If. M. Ov.nham 25.'1 The \'isionar\- W. fi. S^eneer 25.'^ .Sad Recollections .... Emily fh-oute 254 Light in Dirkness . . Oliver Goldsmith 254 Hope and Wisdom . . . . W. S. Landor 254 COXTENTS. PATRIOTS AND HEROES. I'Ai.K Tlic Little Fireman. . . .j.h'. Xic/iol/s 2')5 Andre's Request to Washington A'. P. Willis 2-u Uyin[j for Liberty .... Thomas Moore 'Ihl The Lone Grave on the Mountain C.G.Bcede 2-j7 I'm With Vou Once Again, Gio. 1\ Morris U"i8 It is (ircat for Our Country to Die I amis G. rerci'iUil 258 The Cuban Crisis ..../,. ^'. Amonson 2r)9 The Little Drummer 2'")i) Tlie I'oor Voter on Klection Day y. a. VVhitticr 259 A Hravc Man Ahxamltr Pope 2GU Patriotism and Freedom . /oanna Baillie 2GU Romero ' W. C. Bryatn 200 March of tlio Men of Harlech 261 The Incorruptible Patriot . . /:. C.Jones 263 Redmond, in Rokeby Hall,.S7r Walter Scott^mW (.'oiiraije Ensures Success . John Ihydcn 263 Do or' Die '. I.onl Pvron 2.CA Pace Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethle- hem H.W. Longfellmu 264 Return of the Hillside Legion, Ethel Lynn 264 Heroes of the Mines . . . . J. E. Jones 2Qb The Drunmier lioy of Shiloh 267 The Man with the Musket . H.S. Taylor 267 Hattle of Bear an' Duine, .S'/> Walter Scott 268 Forget Not the Field . . Thomas Moore 269 Paul Rcvere's Ride . . //. W. Longfellmv 270 A .Song of the North . . Elizabeth Dottn 271 The Ship of State . . . . O. W. Holmes 278 The Immortals 273 The liallot Box John IHerpont 273 The Pride of Battery B . /: //. Gassaxvay 274 1 larmodiusand Aristogiton,/,t>;v/Z><«w/a« 274 Andreas 1 lofer . . . . H. T. Tuckerman 275 Lexington 0. W. Holmes 276 The Sword of Bunker Hill 276 The Wounded Soldier . . / W. Watson 111 The Old Grenadier's Story (7. W. Thornbury 278 THE SWORD A Deserter Mary A. Barr Song of the Greek Amazon, W. C. Brvant Tin; Soldier's Widow V. P. Willis 1 lomc from the War . . . Thomas Moore TIk- Golden Age Pei'.cc and the Sword . . R. H. r,iekersteth The Sword Stephen H. Thayer Love and l\-acc J. G. Whi'ttier Tile Turkish Cam}) .... Lord Byron The Battle-field W. C. Bryant The Regiment's Return . . E.J. Cutler The Battle-.Song of Gustavus Adolphus Michael Altenburg Old Iron-Sides 0. W. Holmes Festive Peace . . . William Shakespeare The Soldier's Return . Robert BloomJield Soldier, Rest ! Thv Warfare Oer Sir Walter Seott Ode to Peace .... William Tenneiit Wiien l^anncrs are Waving AND THE PLOW. 271) Before the Battle .... Thomas Moore 288 2S0 The Broadswords of Scotland, 2,S() /. G. Lockhart 288 280 Let the Sword Rust . H. W. LongfelUw 288 I'SO The Angels of Buena Vista. /. G. Whittier 289 281 A Picture of Peace . . H. W. Loin^fellor.c 290 •282 The Tyrant's Scourge . . . /'. B. Shelley 290 282 Death of the Warrior King, Charles Sivain 291 28.'} The Flight of Xerxes . .]raria /. /e'wsbury 291 284 After the Tempest . . . . W. C Bryant 292 284 Left on the Battle-field . Sarah T Bolton 292 Horrors of War. . . . /:". //. Bickersteth 292 285 The Indian Brave /•: .S". Smith 293 285 After the Battle Thomas Moore 293 285 Coming Peace . . Elizabeth B. Bro-.vning 293 286 The Legend of Sir Joseph Wagstafif /. M. Wat^staff 294 286 The Time of War . . . '. J.G. Whittier 296 287 Civil War 296 287 Fair Peace James Thomson 296 RURAL r\irmer John J. T. Trtn^'bridge 2i»7 Tile Village Boy .... / G. Clarke 21)7 Homesick for the Country' 21)8 Summer Woods . . . . W. H. Burleii^h 21»8 The Calf Phabe Gary 291) Sleigh Song G. W. Pettee 21)1) Nightfall: A Picture . . . . A. B. Street 30(1 SCENES. The House on the Hill Agriculture , . . E.J.Hall 301 James Thomson 302 The Harvest Sheaf 303 Dan's Wife Kate T. Woods 304 The Robin Harrison Wiir 305 A Lay of Old Time . . . J. G. Whittier 305 A Little Song 306 CONTENTS. XI 294 296 296 296 Pagk Our Skater Belle ;$()(> Till.' Homestead Phabc Oiry .'J()7 A Life in the Country . . C. S. Ca/vciLy ;{(),S A Rural I'icture loiviiut Ihiilli,' .•}()'.» A Harvest Hymn . . . \V. J). G,illairlu-r 'MU My IJttle Kroolc . . . Mary I). Ihanch ;U() ■Coiirail in tlic City . . Hcniv DiUunf^ort \\\ 1 The Reapers '. T. H. Rcul WW The Drutlye 0. \V. Holmes 312 The Haymaker's Roundelay .'U2 True Riches /. .V. Ihukcr .312 The Country Maid .... \V. ('. Ihvuiit ;U2 Selling the Farm lUtli Day WW Town and Country . . ]\ iHuiin Caivpir W\^\ A Harvest Thought .'U(J Paok The Pumpkin J.C.Whilticr W\^ Ulossom-limc Mary li. Dodi:;e WM Countrv Life '.,..". W\l The Old Mill A'. //. StoiUard 3 IS Hack to the Farm \V. T. I laic ;J1S Two Pictures Marion Doiii^liiiS .'US The Haymakers (iiory^c l.uiit .'119 The Song of the Mowers W. If. Ihiyla^h .'U9 Country Life R . U . Stoddard W'lK) The I'iou^'h W. C. Ih-yaitt .'120 The Sacred Woods . . . A'. \V. liiiinson .'520 The Mowers .... Williain Alliiii!;hain .'521 The Cornfield /aiiiis Tluntison .'521 My Heaven ", . X. J\ Willis .'J21 THE WORLD'S WORKERS. The Dre.mier ."! Press On Park Boijaiiiin W Do Somethinj^ 3 How C>rus Laid the Cable 3 Little by Little 3 The Way to Win 3 The I'hurcii .Spider 3 Giles and Mary . . . Robert Bloom field .'> Tlie Ship-builders . . . . J. G. Wluttier W Tile Shoemakers . . . . /. G. Whitti.r W Moral Cosmetics .... Horace Smith .'V Advice 3 A Work Song . . . . G, F. Armstrong W The Happy Heart r. Decker W Labor On -'5 !3 24 >4 24 24 2f> 2(j 27 27 28 29 50 50 Pluck and Prayer Vou and I Charles Mackay Don't Stand in the Way '. i'iie Husbandman . . . Jchit Sterling Tl e Poor ^Lm's LaUor . /. /'. Curran Workingand Dreaming, J/ ■. . \.L. l.a:i'ric To the I larvest Moon . . //. A'. White The Unfinished .Stocking, .S'(:n//! A'. ln>!ton The Good Old Plough The Fishermen /. G. Wli'.ttier Tile Corn Song /. G. Whittier The Huskers J. G. Whittier The Luml)ermen , . . . /. G. Whittier The .Song of the .Shirt . . Thomas Hood Advice 530 531 531 5:52 533 533 J34 \W-) J3.5 336 536 ?.'57 \.\\) 340 BEAUTY AND GRANDEUR OF THE ALPS. Lake Leman (Geneva) in a Cal'U jA>rd Byron 341 Lake Leman (Geneva) in a Storm Lord Byron 34 1 The Rattle of Morgarten Felicia D. Hemans 84.'5 The Boy of the Alps . . Thomas J foore WAX .Sunrise in the Vale of Chamouny S. T. Coleridge The Avalanche Lord Byron luigland and Switzerl.ind Wil iam I Vordsworth Arnold Winkelried .James Mo)itgomery The Ivigle's Shadow . Anna L. Barbaiild CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. The Doll's Wedding 303 A Fisiiin' J, W. Riley \^^^.\ Mattie's Wants and Wishes, C^vrrf Gcnuion W'^W A Fellow's Mother . . . M. R. Sangster W'h) The Little White Hearse WTyb Two Little Maidens Igncs Carr 35o A Life Lesson 3")0 Grandma's Angel 3")") The Little Poy's Lament 3.")() Forgiveness 350 ' Nutting Lucy M. Blinn Naming the liaby Nan Cora S. Wheeler : The Chicken's Mistake . . . Pluvbc Cary I The Merman's .Song . . Mattheiv Arnold Dreams I Be True The Nrw Year ; Little Jack Fugene J. Hall I What Bessie Saw .... C. W. Bjonsou 346 .347 347 .348 3.J0 3.07 357 .357 358 3(50 3(J0 3(iO 301 3ni .362 zn coxTruvm. Taci. Liule Red Riding I lood, Lrtitid li. Landon \M\'l Tlic i lij^liwayiiian . . . AlliU (j. Bi^flmv 304 Tlic Stiuiirc'l's Lesson .'l<)4 lioys U'antcd ."> A Soii^' of Golden Curls . /'. A. Stanton ."Kl") The Pied I'iperof I lnuivWn.A'i'/'/.Bnncninjf 'MUi The Clucking Hen MH One Tiling at a Time .'KiH Hahyl.md Grr/^i^n' Cooper .">(!S The" Little Cup-bearer . ....... ;'><)'.» Do Rii,'ht nOi) Tile liny with the Little Tin I lorn F. I.. Stanton .'560 The Way to Succeed ;iG9 A ("icntlcnian . . . Mari'^arit }•'.. Sangstcr .'570 Down in the Strawberry ]5ed .'570 One Little Act 370 Si.\ Years Old .'570 Hands ami Lips .571 Jewels of Winter .'>71 The Hluebi.d .'571 The Man in the Moon .'571 A Rogue .'57 1 (/r;'.ii(li)apa's Spectacles 371 The I5al.\'s Prayer . . Elizabeth S. Plu- 1 ps 373 A Child's Wish Clio Stanley .'574 The Children Charles Dickens 374 The Kinj; and the Child . . . E.J. Hall 37,'i A IJoy's .Song J. //",i,';i,'- .''>7(j The LitMe Darling i'he Hoy's Complaint Lost loniniy Julia M. Dana Tlie Littli' 15oy who Ran Away Mrs. S. T. Perry The V\a\ on the Schooi-hoiise /•■. A. Tapper A Gir' John J.riatt Cuddle Do(jn . . Alexander Anderson The Dead Doll . . Margaret I'andergri/l A Little Hoy's Troul)le . Carlotta l\rry From " H.ibe Christaliel," Cerald Massey What She .Said . . . .V. D. W. (iannvill Unsatisfied .,/. (,. Waters A Ple.isaiit Punishment Tabby (ir.i)' 15il)ies and Kittens. . , . /,. J/, lladley A .Story of an Ap;ile . . . Sydney Day re The Unfinished Prayer Which Loved I5est J-oy Allison The Discontented Buttercup Sarah O. Jetvett Off for Sluniberland Su;)i)ose lliai'C Cary The Dead Kitten .... Sydney Dayre Ji'hnn)''s Opinion of Grandmothers /;. /,. y;.w.v Only a Boy '1 he Ill-natured 15rier . . . Anna Inielie '1 he Hoy and the I'Vog pAiiK 87G 377 377 THE CROWN OF GENIUS. Georg'' Washington .... hli::a Cook .'5!)1 i Cleoi)atra William .'.huktspeart Napoleon and the .Sailor, Thomas Campbell 31» 1 The portrait of Shakespeare, Pen Johnson 3!)li M iry .Morison Robert Piiins '>Vyl V'anderbiltis Dead, Sherman J). 7\iehirilson SUli George Wliitefield . . . William Cowper 3i»3 The ()ld Admiral .... /;. C Stedman .'59;5 Robert Southey Lord Byron 394 To Memory of Hen Johnson, /<'/'// Clevela)id 39 ") Henry Kirke White .... Lord Pyron 3!).") Italy's King . . . Elizabeth />'. lh-07cnini^ .'595 To the Memory of Hood \ 39.5 Gener.il Grant Walt Whitman 397 To J. (jAVhittier on His Seventieth 15irth- dav Payard Taylor 397 On the Death of President Taylor To Cole, the Painter . . /I. f . Pryant The lieininole's Defiance . C. //'. Patton I'ate of Charles the Twelftli, Saml. /ohnson Wendell Piiillips Xo'ra Perry Robert Hums /•". C. Halleek The I'rincess Charlotte . . . Lord Byron Henrj- Wadsworth Longfellow /'. /'". Pnnone Randolph of Roanoke . .J. C. U'hittier Napoleon Lord Byron .Abraham Lincoln J- P- Toivell Loixl Hyron Robert Pollok Campbell W. M. Praed The Duke of Wellington,. i///-iii/ Cotton Roving Nod S". J). Rukardson \'ict()iia's Tears . litirsaluth />'. Jhownini^ Uiist from tlic Ro.id of Life, Mrs. /.oiiis Inifford Tlie Crown of Life /. /'. Ihiihy The Cliapcron Hirds of Passage . . . Jl.W. I.oni^fdhnv Dimes am! Dollars .... Ifritrv .]n//s The Town I'liii') .... (i. /r. /iii/ii^dv Vastness of the hta. . . /uirn' Contzva/l Tiie Chimes of Amsterdam, Miniiit' E. Kcintey Only Friends The Helping Hand Life's Winter faiiiis Thoiiison The Old Reaper ....'. Time's Flight ]V. J/. Pniat To a Friend J. G. IVIiitthr Ten Years Ago ". ./. A. H'tit/s riie .Angel of Patience . . /. (7. IV/iittirr Two (iraves . . ' The Builders . ... 11. W. LoiiiifdliKi' A Good New Year . . . WiHiain I.vlc Paoe 418 418 418 418 420 420 420 422 t2;5 42;{ 421 421 42.-. 42.-. 42(; 4215 42. 427 428 428 42S 42!t 42!» 4;!0 4.-.1 i;'.l 4:51 We'll go to Sea no More, Adilaide Corhctt A Hand Pressure Curtis May Rock Mc to Sleep . . Elizahith . I. . UUn .Snowdroi)s Christmas I wo IV. /•'. Dunham i'orgive Me Now In the Cage Sir /('. Davenant Elegy Written in a Country Churchy.ird Thomas Cray The Foolish Violet Now ICvor^' Morning . . Susan Coi>/id^i' The Men of Old A". .1/. .MiluiS .Suggestions iit.'ta (.'. Staihuik Song of the Mystic .... A.J. Ryan The .Singers //. IV, Loui^fi'lUno .Sour Grapes A Useful Hint , A. Hill Contentment The New Morning . . Anna I.. Harbauld ( )lil Letters /:/i-arc Taok 4:{2 4;};{ i.i.i 4;54 4;m l.'j-i ■VMi 436 487 4.'{7 4.18 •1.'18 4:58 4;}9 4.",!) 4;{9 489 440 4 to no 4n TRAGEDY AND SORROW. The Driver of the M..;, F. I-. ]l\a!!inly 4 I:'. Rover's Petition J. T. Tiilds AV.\ Adieu to His Native Land . Lord Hyron 44 1 Tile Three Little Ciiairs 444 Ivtrly D.ith . . .//,//•//■;• C<'.V;7<.^v 411 Kindness David Bates 411 Think of Me . . . l.ctitia /;'. Lutdoii 41.") It Cannot !>.■ Cv Warinan 445 .\ Widow Bn.l /'.' A". Slulley 4 10 Tile .\u tioneer's Gift V \V. Doss 44(i The Lost Leader . . Robert Ih-cuoiiii'^ 447 rile Three W^eepeis Iforatius /hmar 447 Where Shall we Make Her Grave? J'rlicia D. lit mans 4 17 Under the Snow 1 18 I'or All Who Die 4 10 One Voice is Silent I l!» Wocpiiig T. L. Bi'ddoes Dirge in C\-mI)eline . . . W. S. Collins The Dead Bird Amy S. ll'olj/' A Trifle 'ihy Long Day's Work . Alfred Tcn)iysou The Dirge of Imogen, William Shakespeare Oh, Snatched Away in Beauty's Bloom Lord /[vron Lost and P'ound .... Hamilton Hide Over the Rnige J.H.Mlls Solitude //. A'. White The Voiceless 0. W. H'lmes A Lament /'. /-'. Shelley Soni' of the Silent Land, H. W. l.oiii;flloxv The Mother's Dream . . William Ha'-ncs Dreaml.uul .... Christina (i. Rosef'i Hope Oliver Goldsmith 441 441 4 12 442 412 442 451 451 4.''>2 4.-)3 4.-i3 4.")4 454 |.>5 4.">G 45(5 4.")6 456 456 157 458 THE GATES OF PEARL. Forgiveness . 4.VJ Bethlehem Town F.tiij^ene Field 450 The Lost Choril . . Adelaide A. Froctor 450 " Please to Say Amen." 460 rue Old Man in the New Church /. //. Yates 4 no Sometinic, Somewhere . Robert Brmoniui^ 462 Heavenward Sir Edwin Arnold <^Q2 liv CONTENTS. A Little Dream tfi'i A Chiistiii.is Carol . Christina (i. Kosttti -ItJ.'J Tiiitli Uiii' Clin' Idl III Answer Kosi' If, Tliorf^i' lOl Somctinif 4i!l Tlic Sister's Iwenintj Hymn Sarah Doudiiiy M\h Tlic Well of Locii Maree, / 6". Whilticr 4«.') The Christian's Warfare 'Sharlottc li, foniia Kid Tlic Mat,M's Gifts S". C. Kirk -lOG An^^c'l (iuardians . . . lieatricc Clayton -Ki*} Wh.it was His CrectI ? 107 Gcttin' Reli^jion Jila (i. Morris 4(J7 Heaven Overarches . Christina (i. Ro.utti 1(17 Mercy William Shalfs/^tarc AM Beyond 4(i.S llic Quaker of ti>e Olden Time / G. Whittirr ICS . IV. C. lirvant U'.O. 'st,uUar,f Mary Magdalen . . , Ihe Fold The (iulden Street , . Kmpt)' I'r.iyers Oh, for the Urid.i'i VcAsX,l'haritii' I.. Smith i'rayer and l': 47& 475 47ft 47« 47ft WIT AND WISDOM. Hill's in Trouble 4 77 J.nk. Who Sews His Buttons On Arthur C^"i/>i in 477 Woo on a Tandem . . . Earl I i. Eaton 47.S The Parrot and the Cat . Henry S, Liigh 47.S The .Scientific Sluggard 478 Reuben and Matilda 480 The Old-Fashionctl Laundress .... 480 Spelling Reformer 4S0 The Wedding Fee 480 Cal)in Philosophy 481 Adam Never was a Boy. T. C '. Ilarbaugh 482 A School-day . . . . W. E. McSparran 483 Three Stages 48,'} The Baby in the Cars 48(5 Hygiene 480 Saint Anthony's Sermon to the F'ishes A. A. Sancta Clara 487 A Child's Reasoning 487 The Reason Why 487 The Indian Chieftain 487 Jane Jones Inn Kins;' 4S.S Why Don't You Laugh? . /. C. Chal/iss 488 The Mai(l De Ole Plantation Mule 495. The Railroad Crossing . Ilizckiah Strong 49(> The Punkin Frost .... />'. /•". lohnson 49ft Pat's Reply " . . . 497 Deborah Lee . . 498 What Mr. Robinson Thinks,/ A'. Lini'dl 49» W.iil of the Uiiai)preciatcd tOOO Ask and Have Samuel Lover 500 The Beauty and the V>cc, Charles Maekay 500 Why Biddy and Pat Married A'. //. Stoddard 500' My Parociuet . . . . Emnta If. Webb 501 A Man by the Name of Bolus, /. W. Kiler 503 Salad Sydney Smith 503 'Tis not I'ine FY-athers that Make I'ine Birds .504 Total Annihilation . . . Jfiry D. Baine 504 Cyclopedia of Poetical Quotations with Subjects Arranged Alpha- betically 5U5 CONTEXTS. ■r [96 1(7 it a !l» '■-OO r)0(> r)()(> r)04 505 CONTENTS I'AilK A Siiusliiii)' Husband 'l" Home IS VVlKtc tlic I Icart is, C'/[1 Scenery of L;ike Superior, //. A' Schoolcriift 1>") Mountains /:..!/. M>nc !»!» Cor.d Treasures of tlu; Sea l.'Jl Wreck ot t!i.; Huron. T.DWitt Talmagi- i;?2 Rock and .S.iiid Horers I.'i7 Siii)liinity of the Ocean ll-i Gone Like a Dream . . A'. /.. S'r.'ciiio.i 1 !'.> Hj.iuty ofS-a-Waves IT)!] The Crowninif Gnice . //. 7". 'fukiiinni! i^il Th • Power of Love . . . R. W. limcrson 107 The Love of a Mother, H'usliin^toii In'iiit;;' 182 Brokfii He.irts . . . lVasliiiii:^tiiii In^i'i'^ \{)'l Andre and i [ale C. M. A A .v iioO Ueauty of I leroic Deeds, R. IV. Enursoii 'J(!J The Fathers of the Reuuhlic . /;'. E^nrc.'t 2(12 P.itrick Henry 2 J") Th • Little M.iyflowtr . lilward Everett 207 Tlu "Constitution" and "(luorriere" . . 272 Patriotism T. l'\ M.aglier 27."$ Wirren and Hunker Hi!I 275 TIk- Homes of I'reedom . Orvil'e De:cie\> 278 Tlu Ravages of War . . C/uty/es Suiitner 282 War's Destruction Robert Hall 28.) A Hri-jhter Day 285 Djath in tlie Country . . /. A'. P(Vt/dh_ir 208 A Charniin;^ Prospect . . A>sep/i Ai/ilison 2!lf» Peaceful Kiijovment . . ." . L>rd leffrev 'M\^ Children and Flowers . //. \V. Loiiyello':.' :V1\ Macjnificent Poverty .... I'ictor Ifiii^o .'5."]f> I'^irnin^ Ca;)ital /triihs Wilson .'i.'52 The Sacredness of Work, Thoiiuxs Carlylc .■]•") \ The No!)ilit\' of Labor . . Or:. Cluever '? 12 One of the G-ins of Switzerland . , . . .'542 TheGlacierofthe Rhone, H.W. Lo„,:;fello-o \\\ \ \ I*"amous Summit Lord Bvron ?A\ Mt. I'ilatus '. . ;M.") Mt. Hlanc Beiijaiuin Silltiitan 34."i OF PROSE. I'Ai.l .\valanches of the Junjjfr.iu IJ47 riie Fall of the .Staubbach ;UH l..iike Lucerne and William Tell's Ch.ipcl XA Sunrise ,\mon^j the Alp.s . Wiish. Allston ."l.VJ Mcinjj a Hoy C. JK Warner .'l.'iS What H.iby S.iid «0» I'll.- Little Matcii-Girl Ntins CliristiiiH Andersen Wt'l Pickinjj Quarrels John Neal Wlb As Quick as tlie Teleplione .'Wi .Adams and Jefferson . . Edward Ei'erett .'li>2 William Cullcn Hryant . l\of'essor Wilson WXi Thomas C.impbell . . . . W. . Miuie^ham \\\)Ti Thomas Hoot! W. M Rossetfi IMUi The L.ist Hours of Socrates .'M)6 William Penn (,\-ori,'-e lianeroft .'598 Prescott's Method of Living, C. If. Tieknot ;i!t9 M.irtin Luther lithvard E.verett K)l Copernicus Hdivard E.'oerett 402 Charles Lamb William Ilazlttt 402 Henry Cl.iy's Popularity. .James Parton 4().'J Jolin Howard .... Henry Davenport 40,3 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow .... 406 The Great Senators . . . Iloraee (Greeley 40(5 Nathaniel Hawthorne . . G. P. I.athrop 408 Alfred Tennyson A'. //. Hnlton 40!» Tw3 Celebrated Astronomers 411 Priscilla 412 Lady Henry Somerset, ^enry Davenport \V\ Glory I'Vaneis Wayland 417 Sympathy 422 True Nobility 424 I'aults Henry Ward Beeeher 426 Luck and L;ibor .... Oi^den Hoffman l.'^.'l National Hatred Rufus Choat: 4.!5 He in Lamest .... 1'.. Ihilicer I.ytton AWS) The Old Man with Iron Shoes A'. /.. Stevenson 440 The Perfect Woman . . . Ci.til Hamilton 4 12 I''af,Mn's Liist Night Alive, Charles Diekens 4.")0 Death of the First Horn. . /. G. Holland 457 The Willow's Lighthouse, Herman I looker 4i liguies of older time Passed with the steadied step of their prime; The daisies and snowdrops bloomed and died, Red roses and lilies stood side by sitle. While richer, and f Her, and deeper grew The lines of the pictures August drew ; .\ik1 ever and aye the faliing rain Streamed thick a d f ;^t on the window-pane. 'I'he dr ."tuooil jk homl ulcukatiuN. 20 HOME, SWEET HOME. 21 AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE. Where i he vine, were ever Iruitiui, and tnc wcatlKr sive cl.or.l u, il.L- lK-,,r;, of all vvl.„ a|,|Mvc,aic tlic domestic And the l.irds wire ever sinking lor that old sweet- •lleclions. It i-. one uf Mr. Kik-y's lia|i|)it'sl clforts. I lieart ot mine. AS one who cdiis at eve- niiij,' o'er the allmin all alune Anil imiseson the facisof the friends tiuit lie has known, So 1 turn the Kaves of lancy till in shadow)' desi^'n I find the sinilinif features of an old s.veitiieart of ndiie. 'Tis a fra,i,'rant retro-pec tion — for the iDvin.Lj hearts that start Into h.iiiL! are like j er nines from tile blossoms o; the heart; And to dream the old dreams over is .1 luxury divine, When m\- truant fancy wanders \\ ith that old sweetheart of mine. Thou,:,di 1 hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of winus. The vcjices of m . children and the motlu r as she sinus I feel no twinge of ton-cicnce to denv me any theme AVhen c.ire has cast her anchor in the haibor (if a dieam. In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it acids a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm — For I find an extra na\or in memory's mellow vine That makes medriuk the deejier to that old sweetheart of mine. I can see the ]iink sun-bonnet and tlie little check ered dress She wore when first I kis-.ed her and siie answeret the caress j With the written declaration that " as surelv as the vine Grew 'round the stump, she loved me" — that old sweetheart of mine. And again I '"etl the jiressure of her slender little When I should be her lover forever and a liand 1 day. As we used to talk together of the future we had And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair l)lanned - was gra\'; When I should be a poet, and with nothing else And we should be so happy that when cither's lip, to do were dumb But to write the tender verses that she set the \ They should i ot smile in heaven till the other's music to. \ kiss had conse. When we should live together in a cosy little cot, j l!ut. ah ! mv dream is broken by a step upon the Hid in a nest of roses, with a tiny garden spot ; \ stair. 22 J/OMJi, SWEET HOME. And the dour is softly opt-ned, and — my wite is standing there ; Vet witli taj^t-rne^s and rapture all my viMuns 1 resign To meet the living presence of that ol i sweeiiuari ot mine. I AMK Wmn uMi: kii.KV. ALONE IN THE HOLSE. 'I'lie Inllowinfj t)r;niiiliil litu-^ «.■•<• wriitn. in rcN|i(iiiM' ti> repealed rci|Uf.|-. I.ir -iiiietliing from the |.tn of Mr>. Wil- l;ir(l, molluT nf Mi^- 1 raiuM K. Willard. Tlify ^;he a pic- ture of sacriticr inadi- wnii the utmo>l ilieerftilii«--H, Mill) as is not often witne?-i(l. even in tlic hi«t<>nol' rrfornRrs, ami are typnal nf llie t Armplary cliaracler of their ;!Utliur. Is tills, where 1 think of tiie riisii Of cinldnoud's swilt .eet at the jiortal. And of ihildiiood's sweet sjiirit oi trust! All alone in llie honse ! all alone! On tills generous festival ilay ; Oil ! where have \\\\ girls gone tliis Ne»v \'ear's, Who made the house merry as May? One went at the call of death's angel, And one, duty took her away. Oh, how will it he in that luture? 1 do wonder liow it will he. When we all meet together in lieaven — Husband, son. gentle daughters and me. I #■-' AT. ONE in the house! who would dream it ! Or think that it ever could he — When my hahes thrilled the soft air with love notes Thai had meaning for no one but me. Alone in tlie house ! who would dream it ! Or think that it ever could he. When they came from their small garden castle, Down inuier their dear maple tree. Or from graves of tluir jiets and their 1 iitens. With grief it would pain you to see. Theii with brows looking weary from 1 ssons, Pored over witli earnestness rare. And then, from a taouulitful retirement, With solitude's first blanch of care. A house of stark silence and stillness Who will bring us together in glory. When the long separation is ilone ? 'Tis the Friend who will never for^ake us, And who never has left us alone ; Then fearless we'll enter to-morrow. 'Twill he one day nearer our home. Hut when shall we reach there, I wonder, Where father, brother, and sister now rest, To dwell with the Christ who redeemetl us. In the beautiful 1 ind of tlie hiest ? MaKV TlKAir-iiN WlLIARD. THE OLD FRIENDS. THI'^RK is no friend like the old friend who has shared our morning days. No greeting like his welcome, no homage like his ])raise ; Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy < rown of gold, Hut friendship is the breathing rose, with sweets in every fold. O. W. Holmes. ■•■r 1 iioMi:, sn'Eiyr home. %\ CHARITY. BI.KS'I ( harity ! tlifurace loiiu-siilTcrin^i.kiiul, Wliic!) fiivies iini, lias no silf vaiintiiigiiiiiid, Is not piilted ii|), makes no nnseenily show, Seeks not her own, to provocation Anw, No evil tlunk>. in no nnriyhteons clioiie I akes |)li'a-tne, doth in truth rejo ce, Hides all ihnij;s, still l)elieves, and hopes the best, All things endures, averse to all contest. Tongues, knowledge, prophecy, shall sink away, And a sign and a seal ot" onr revereiM e. too. Had a part in our i reed, wlun that old ring was new. When a slender, light hand was upr.u.sed to our lips, And iMir ki>ses were pressed on its slim finger iip.s. I'or that cir< le of gold seemed a h.dlowing p'eil. e Of a homage profoinuler than words dare allege. Hut the metal that's purest wears (piickest away. And that old wedding ring has grown thinner to- day ; t ;e :n in At the first glance of beatific ray; Then charity its element shall gain, And with the (lod of love eternal reign. Bishop Kk.n. THAT CIRCLE OF GOLD. WHAT a symbol of love is that circle of gold , Hy the token of which our devotion was tokl ! How our youthfiil affection shines out, as it seems, In the light of the romance around it that gleams ; Anil it knows no bc'inning or ending, or why Its continuing course should not run till w(> die. Yet the hand which it graced graces it in its turn With a magic the alchemist vainly would learn. For sweet charity's touch has so filled it with gold That that hand never lac keii to the hungry and <'old. And the summers may come, and the summers may And the winters may whiten the hair with their snow ; Still the hand which a lover delighted to kiss Wears the signet of half of a century's bliss. And no earnest of joy in the heavens above Is more sure than that ring and its cycle of love. W. D. ELLWANfiKk. I 'i 1 m .lt.il m 24 HOME, SWEET HOME, T OLD CHRISTMAS. HERK'S a l)Ox in the cellar, a bundle up- stairs And the family cherubs are whispering in [uirs. It's all about Cliristmas, I know it is Christinas, Old Christmas once more. When I venture to enter, where laughter is rife, Amid tiie city's constant din. A man who roimd tlu' world has been. Who, 'mid the tmnull and the throng, Is tliinking, thinking' all day loii^ : " Oil ! could I only tread once more The field-path to the farmhouse door, The old, green meadow could 1 .^ee. How happv, happy, happy, How happy I should be ! " DEAREST LOVE! BELIEVE ME. D k)ve ! believe me, h all el>e depart, "You cannot come in," cries the voice of my wife. 'Tis the sweet sign of Christmas, The coining of Christmas, Old Christmas once more. When I open a closet to look for my hat I find — but no matter it is not the cat. It is something for Christmas, A comfort for Christmas, Old Christmas once more. TWO PICTURES. AN old farmhouse, with meadows wide, And sweet w^ith clover on each side ; A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out The door with woodbine wreathed about, And wishes his one thought all day: " Oh ! if I could but fly kway From this dull s,.ot the world to see, How happy, happy, happy, How happy 1 should be 1" i:ari:si Thou;. .Vaiight shall e'er deceive thee In this faithl'ul heart : lieauty may be blighted, Youth nui^t pass away. But the vows we plighted Ne'er shall know decay. Teiui)ests niayas>ail us l''rom al'tliction's coast. Fortune's breeze may fail us When we need it most; Fairest hopes may jjcrish. Firmest triends luay change; But the l(j\ e we cherish Nothing shall estrange. Dreams of fame and grandeur Fiul in bitter tears ; Love grows oidy fonder With the laji-e of years : Time, and change, and trouble. Weaker ties unbind. But the bands reilonble True affection twined. TllD.MAS I'kinoi.e. TWILIGHT. I ING to me, dear, of the twilight time, Shadowy, tender and gra_\ — Rosy the West, Nature at rest ; Slow rising mist, and a far-away chime — A song for the ending of day. Sing me a song of the autumn days, Mellowed and russet and sere — Simimer heat done. Frost time begim ; Sun shining chill through the violet haze — A song tor the close of the year. Croon to me, dear, of the fireside yt ars, After the toiling and strife — Strength ebbing fast, Heart temi)ests pxst ; We two at rest, beyond doubting and fears — A song for the waning of life. COKRINI; M. ROCKW ELL. S' HOME, SWEET HOME. 95 ;e i. A WIFE'S APPEAL TO HER HUSBAND. YOU took ine, Henry, when a girl, into your I There's onl> one return 1 crave — I may not need home and heart, it long — To lioar in all your after-fate a fond and ' And it may souilie tliee when I'm where the faithml part; wrtU lied led no wrong. Anil tell me, have 1 ever tried that duty to torero, 1 ask not lor a kinder tone, lor thou wert ever Or pined there was not joy for me when yon were kind ; sunk in woe? I ask not for less ftnf,'.il Tare — in\ fare I do not No, I would rather siiare your grief than other \ people's nil e ; i I ask not for more gay attire — f such as 1 have got For though you're nothing to tlie world, you're Sulifire to make nie fair to thee, lor '.iiore I iiiurimir .ill the uorld to iiie. You make a pal.ice ol my shed, this rough-hewn lieiich a throne ; There's sunlight for me in your smile, and music in your tone. I look ujion you when you sleep — my eyes with tears grow dim ; I cry, "()! Tareiit of the poor, look down from heaven on him 1 Behold him toil, from day to day, exhausting strength and soul ; Look down in mercy on him. Lord, lor thou canst make him wiiole !" not ; Hut 1 would ask some share of lioui^ tli.it \'oii in toil bestow ; Of kiiovvleilge that you pri/.e so iiiu« li, in.iy 1 not something know? Subtract from meetings amongst men cai h c'\e an hour for me ; Make me companion for your soul, as 1 may surely be ; If you will read, I'll sit and uorL; then tliink, when you're away. Less tedious I shall fiml the tinu , (K.ir Heiir\, of )our stay. .\nd when, at hist, relieving sleep has on my eye- | .\ meet companion soon I'll be tor e'en your lids smiled, studious hours. How oft are thev forbid to close ill slumlier b\' my i .'\nd teai her of those little ones xou call \our child! ' cottagc-llowers ; I take the little murmurer that spoils my span of rest. And if we be not rich and great, we may be wi.se and kind • .\nd feel it is a i)art of thee I hold upon my And as my .leart can warm your liear;. .so ina\- my breast. mind your iiiinil. GRANDMOTHER'S WORK. Ul' in the garret the grandmother sits. Under the rafters dark aiul low. Sorting over the faded bits Ot woolen, and silk, and calico; .\nd the children wonder, as peeping in, They watcii the old lady her task begin. Why the aged hands, so wrinklet! and thin, Should tremble and be so slow. Run away, ye careless ones, to your play ! Let her muse for awhile alone ! These faded remnants once bright and gay, Have a history — Lvery one; And this is the reason the grand-dame sighs, And the blinding tears chat unbidden rise, She ])aused to wipe from those failed eyes, Whose weeping, she thought, was done. This silk, whose color she scarce can tell, Laid away with such pride and care. Was the bridal robe — she rcmembe.s well — Of her darling so pure and fair. And she hastily folds it out of sight, For she knows full well, in that land of light. Unfading and spotless, clean and white. Are the garments the ransomed wear. And these tiny shreds of old sofi lace Which the years have turned so gray. How they bring before her the bal y face, Th.it within these ruflles lay! .\nd the heart leaps over the days th.it remain. Till she clasps in her arms her baby again. While her withereil heart leils a yi.arnmg pain h'or the little one called away. And now she has found a scrap of IjIuc, .And she brushes awa\- a tear .\s she tliinks of her soldier son so true To his country — lo her so dear; A bit of the blue her brave boy wore When he said "gooddiye" at the cottage door; She listens in vain, on the oaken lloor. For the footsteps she loved to hear. And thus she l.ibors and thinks and dreams, While memories fast arise. Till the fading light of evening s^eems To come with swift surprise; .•\nd the children that night in the chimney nook. Looking up at length from their picture book. See the folded hands, and the shadowy look Of tears in her kindly eyes. Mrs. C. v.. Hewitt. Mi m m h..J M HOMi:, SWEET HOME. AN IDYL OF THI- KITCHliN. IN lirmvii hollatul i'proii slu- itood iii tlic kiu lun, llcr sleeves were tolled up, .iiul Irt clucks all aglow ; Hit liair wa.s (miid iieally ; wliin 1, iiuiistrcclly, Stood wati lung while Nam y wa» kneading the tlou((h. Now, who roiild 1)0 iicatrr, or lirighti-r, or sweeter, Or who hum u ^ong mj delighltiiliy low, T THli OPKN WINIK)W. ill'l old house hv the lindenit Stood silent in the shade, And UM the gravelled pathway I'hc light and shadow played. 1 saw the nursery windows Wide open to the air ; Hut the tat es ol the < hildnn, 'I'hey were no longer there. I Or who look so slcnilcr, so graceful, so tender, .As Nanev, sweet .Naney, while kneatling the dough ? How deftly she j)ressed it, ;uul squeezed it, caressed it. And twisted and turned it, now ([uic k and now slow. Ah, me, but that madness I've i>aid for in sadness ! "I'was my heart she wxs kneading as well as the dough. At last, when she turned for her jjan to the dresser, She saw me and blushed, and said shyly, " Please KO, Or mv bread I'll be sjioiling in spite of my toiling. If vou stand here and watch while I'm kneading the dough." I l)eggcd for permission to stay. She'd not listen ; The sweet little tyrant said, " No, sir ! no! no !" Yet when I had vanished on being thus banished. My heart stayed with Nam y while kneading the dough. I'm dreaming, sweet Nancy, and see yon in fancy. Your heart, love, has softened, and ]>itie(i my woe. And we, dear, are rich in a dainty wee kitchen Wliere Nancy, my Nancy, stands kneading the dough. John A. Frascr, Jr. The birds sang in the branches, Witli sweet, familiar tone; Hut the voices of the children Will be heard in dreams alone ! And the boy that walked beside me, He (xiid not understand Why cic. • -n mine, ah ! closer, I pressed his warm, soft hand I H W, Longfellow. WHERE THERE'S ONE TO LOVE. H OME'S not merely four stpiare walls. Though with ])ictures hung and gilded; Home is where affection calls, Filled with >hrines the heart hath builded ! Home! go watch the taithful dove. Sailing 'neath the heaven above us; Home is where there's one to love ! Home is where tliere's oie to love us i Home's not merely roof and room, It needs something to endear it ; Home is where the heart can bloom. Where there's some kind lip to cheer it ! What is home with none to meet. None to welcome, none to greet us? Home is sweet — and only sweet — When there's one we love to meet us! Charles Swain. IIOMF.. SWEET HOME. THJ- »'R(H)I)R5T LADY. 27 Till', niiccn in jiroiul on lur thrDiu-, \iii| |)ri)iicl .ire Iht m.mli mi line; r.iil ilic iniiiiilL^t laiiy tliiU I'ViT \N.i>. known Is a litllc lady dI mine Anil oh! she lloiit me, siie flouts nie, Anil •'iiiirns, ami scorns, ami scouts luc, 'I'liomli I ilri)|i oi my kncr ami sue lor >;raci', Aiiil Iicl;, and liosccch witii the saddi-'st lace Still ever the 8;inic slie doubts me. She is seven Iiy tlic calendar — A lily's almost as tall, U'liat |ietulani jwrt grimai es ! Whv. tiie very pony pram i.-. and wink.s, And tns^fs hi-> lieaii, and jilainly tliiukH lie may a|)e ivr airs ami ^rai is. But at times, like a pleasant tune, A sweeter mond o'eriakes lier ; Oh ! then siie'-, simnv a> skies oi June, And all her pride forsakes her. Oh ! she dance-, round me so fairly I Oh ! her laiiL;h ring's out so rarely I Oh! she coaxes and nestles, ami pmr^ and liries if yr'^--^-^i Hut oil ! this little lady's hy far The proudest Lady of all. It's her sjjort and jileasure to flout me, To si)iirn, and scorn, and scont me ; But ah ! I've a notion it's nougiit but play. And that, say what she will and leign what may. She can't well do without me ! When she rides on her nag away, Hy park, and road, and river. In a little hat so jaunty and gay, Oh : then she's jirouder than ever ! And oh ! what faces, what faces ! siie In my jiuzzled face with lur two great eses, And says, " I love you dearly I" Oil ! tlie (pieeu is proud on iier throne, And prouti arc her maids so fine; Hut tlie proudest lady that e\er w.:s i.nown Is this little lidy of mine. fiood lack ! she flouts me, she flouts me, .And spurns, and scorns, ami scouts me; Hut ah ! I've a notion its nonglu but play. And that, say what she will and feign what she may, Slie can't well do without me 1 Thomas Weshvood. THE HOME-COMING. T' 'III^^' gain by tuilight's hour their lonely isle, T(j them the very rocks ajjpear to smile ; The haven hums with many a cheering sound, T'le beacons bla/e their wonted stations round. The lioats are darting o'er the curly bav. And sportive dolphins bend them through the spray. Even tlie hoarse sea-bird's shrill, discordant shriek, Orcets like tlie welcome of his tuneless beak I Heneath each laini) that through its lattice gleams. Their fancy jiaints tiie friends that trim the beams. Oh ! what can san( tifv the joys of home. Like hojie's gay glanc from ocean's troubled foam. Lord Byuon. 28 HOME, SWEET HOME. T THE FIRST SMILE. EARS from the birth ul doom iniisi be Of tlie sin-borii — but wait awhile, Voting mother, and thine eye siiail see The dawning of the first soft smile. HOMEWARD BOUND. It conies in slumber, gently steals O'er the fair check, as light on clew ; Some inward joy that smile reveals ; Sit by, and mnse ; sucli dreams are true. Closed eyelids, iir.ibs supine, and breath So still, 'ou scarre can calm the doubt If life can be so like to death — 'Tis life, but all of earth shut out. 'Tis perfect peace; yet all the while O'er marble brow, and dimjileil ( hin Mantles and glows that radiant smile, Noting the spirit stirred within. Oh dim to this the flash mg ray, 'riioiigh dear as life to moth- er's heart, From uaking smiles, that later play ; In these earth claims the larger i)art. 'Tis childish s[)ort, or frolic mirth. Or the fond mother's blame- less guile. Or glittering toy— some gaud of earth. That stirs him to that merry smile. ( )r if in pensive wise it creep. With gradual li,^ht and soberer grace. Yet shades of earthl\- sorrow sleep, Still sleep upon his beau- teous lace. But did the smile disclose a dream Of bliss that had been his be I ore? Was it from heaven's deep sea a gleam Not faded quite on earth's dim shore? Or told some angel from above, Of glories to be his at last, The siuiset, crowning hours of love — His labors done — his perils past? Blest smile ! — so let me live my day, That when m\- latest sun shall set. That smile, reviving once, may play, And gild my dying features yet : That smile to cheer the moi:rners round With hope of human sins forgiven ; Token of earthly ties unbound, Of heart intent on opening heaven. Fair distant land : could mortal eyes But half its joys explore, H^w would our spirits long to lise, And dwell on earth no more! I % '€ 1 U ' * 4f-r- 1 ^ 1' i..,^ •'^ i ■i ^ L HOME, SWEET HOME. 29 THE TWO GATES. IT is many ;i vear ago, clear — Ah, ine ! how tlic time has fled — Since we met on a morn in summer, And never a word was said. It is true th it our eyes encowntered, Ordained by a iS\V(1KTII. A SUNSHINY HUSBAND. A SUNSHINY iiusband makes a merry, beau- tiful home, worth having, worth working for. If a man is breezN, dieeiy, consiilir- ate, and syinpathetic, his wife sings iri her heart over her puddings and her mending basket, counts the hours untd he returns at night, and renews her youth in the sicurity she leels of h.s approbation andaibniratioii. \o\\ may think it \\eak or cliihli>h if » ou pi as,-, but it is the admired w i fe who luavs w. rils of I i.iise and rii I i\es j-miles of recoiiuueiidations, who is (ajKdile, dis- creet, ai d e\(.('utive. I have s en a timid, modest, self-distrust- ing little body fairly bloom into strong, self-reliant wonan- hood, under the tcnic of the cordial of com- panionship w i t h a Inisband wiio really uent out of the way to find occasion for showing her how fully he trusted her judg- ment, and how ten- derly he deferred to her opinion and taste. In home life there should be no jar, no striving for place, no insisting on prerogatives, no division of interest. The husband and the wife are each the comi)lement of the other. It is just as much his dutv to be cheerful, as it is hers to be p?tient; his right to bring jov into the door, as it is hers to keep in order and beautify the pleasant intirior. A family where the daily walk of the father makes glad the hearts of those around him, is constantly blesseil with a hea\enly benediction. TRUE CONTENTAIENT. One hone-^t John Fletcher, a hedger and ditcher, Although he was ])nor didn't want to be richer; Ail pettv vexation in him was prevented Bv the t'ortunate habit of being contented. Henry S. Kent. Lou Witl Sh .\> As f The Ti It-, And HOME, SWEET HOME. 31 OUAI'FY liiishaiiil ! hai)i)y wile ! 1 lie rarest liiesing Heaven iliop^ duwu, I'lie sweetest blossom in spring; s crown, Starts in the lurro.vs uf \our life! ("lod ! wiiat a tovvering lieigiit ye win. Who (TV, " I.o, niv 1)1 Idvcd child ! " And, lite on life sublimely i)iled, Ye touch the heavens and peep witiiin ! OUR FIRST-EiORN. Tile nuiiier moves with (]iieenlier tread : Frond swell the globes ;it ripe delight Abu\e her heart, so warm and white, A pillow tor the baby-head ! 'I'he-r natures deepen, well-like, clear, 'i ill (iod's eternal stars are seen, Forever shining and serene. By eyes ancjinled btauty's seer. I : II Look how a star of glors swin.s Down achiig silence of space. l'"lushing th darkness till its fac- Willi beating heart of light o'erbrims ! So brightening c ame Babe Christabel, To toi'ch the earth with fresh romance, And light a moiher's countenance With looking on her miracle. With hands so flowcr-llke. s,if% and fair, .She caught at life, with words as sweet k% first spring violets, and feet As fairy-light as feet of air. The father, down in toil's murk mine, Tiirns to his wealthy world above, Its radiance, and its home of love; And li'hts his life like sun-struck wine. .A sense of glory all things took, — The red rose-heart of dawn would blow^ And sundown's sumptuous pictures show llabe-chtrubs wearing their babe's hok ! And round their ]ieerless one they clung, Like bees about a flower's wine-cup; New thoughts and feelings blossomed up. And hearts for very Inllness sung. Of what their budding babe shall grow, When the maid crimsons into wife, And crowns the summit of some life. Like Phosphor, with m ni oi its brow! And thev sliould bless her for a bride, Who, like a splendid saint alit In some heart's seventh hea\'en, should sit, As now in theirs, all glorifietl ! SSPH! 32 HOME, SWEET HOME. iJut () ! 'twas all too white a brow To fliisli with j)assion that doth fire Witli Hymen's toicii its own deatli-pyre — So pure her li'-art was beating now ! And thus they built their castles brave In fairy lands of gorgeous cloud ; They never saw a little wiiite shroud, Nor guessed how flowers may mask the grave. Gekald NL>ssey. THE MORTQAQE ON THE FARM. V I ""IS gone at last, and I am glad; it stayed a I fearlul wiiilc, ■*• And « lien the world was light and gay, I could not even sniih; ; It stood before me like a giant, outstretched its iron arm ; No matter where I looked, I saw the mortgage on tiie !arm. I'll tell you how it happened, for 1 want the world to know I bought a fine i)ia'iner and it sliortened still the pile, But, then, it pleased the children, and they banged it all the while ; No matter what they played for me, tlieir music had no charm. For every tune said i)lainly : " There's a mortgage on the farm ! " I worked from morn till eve, and toiled as often toils the slave How glad I am this winter day whilst earth is To meet that grisly interest ; I tried hard to be while with snow ; I'm just as ha]ipy as a lark. N'o cause for rude alarm Confronts us now, for lilted is tlie mortgage on the farm. The cliildren they were growing up, and they were sniari and trim. To some big college in the East we'd sent our youngest, Jim ; And every time he wrote us, at the bottom of his screed, He tacked some Latin folcle-rol which none of us could read. The girls they ran to music, and to painting, and to rhymes, They said the house was out of style and far be- hind the times; They suddenly diskivered that it didn't keep 'em warm — Another step of course towards a mortgage on the farm. We took a cranky notion, Hannah Jane and me one day, While we were coming home from town, a-talking all the way. The old house wasn't big enough for us, although for years ISeneath its humble roof we'd shared each other's joys and tears. brave, Ard oft when I came home at night with tired brain and arm. The chickens hung their heads, they felt the mort- gage on tiie farm. But we saved a penny now and then, we laid them in a row ; The girls they played the same old tunes, anu let the new ones go ; And when from college came our Jim with laurels on his brow, I led him to the stumpy field and put him to the plow. He something said in Latin which I didn't under- stand, But it did me good to see his plow turn up the dewy land ; And when the year had ended and em])ty were the cribs, We found we'd hit the mortgage, sir, a blow be- tween the ribs. To-day I harnessed up the team and thundered off to town. And in the law) er's sight I jjlanked the last bright dollar down ; And when I trotted up the lane, a-fee'ing good and warm. The old red rooster crowed his best: "No mort- gage on the farm." We built -• o"e." and when 'twas done, I wish you I'll sleep almighty good to-night, the best for could have seer it, many a day, It was a n.cst tr^'mendous thing — I really didn't ' The skeleton that haunted us has passed fore'er mean it : away. Why, it was big enough to hold the peojjle of the ' The girls can play the brand new times with no town, ^ fears to alarm. And not one-half as cosy as the old one we pulled j And Jim can go to Congress, with no mortgage on de purple blossoms, I Their gr.ieelu' jilmnes ju>t nodding c/t-r I 'I'lie reachmg, ( hddi^li hands brlow them — j riuir dew\ fragranc e I'll know no more. I Grandfather's barn with its whistling < rannies, its fVowning beams .ind ralteis gray, I Its clover smell, the twitter of swailow.s, I And great, high, billowy mows of iuiy — I have found no joy that could be measured With (Irandfalher's barn on a nuny dav. (iraniifather's woods were — ■•miles" it may be. They reached much firther than one could see 'I'hey were deep an^l dark and full of sh.idow, — Often explored, and as often we found new treasures; the leaves in autumn \\'ere rustled bv small feet noisib . ^ our love in a cot lage IS hungry. \'our \ine is a ne-t tor tli(s "S iiur milk m aid shocks the ( I races. \nd simplicit}' talks of pies ! ^ ou lie down to your shady slumber And w ike with a bug in your ear. And your damsel thai walks in the morning Is shod like a moun- taineer. True love is at home on a carpet, \nd mightily likes his ease — \nd true love has an eye fo' a dinner, And starves beneath shady trees. His wing is the fan of a lady. His foot's an invisible thing. And his arrow is tipped with a jewel. And shot from a silver string. N. 1'. WiiLis. GRANDFATHERS HCISE. GRANDFATHKR'S house w.s a gray old building liver and ever so long ago ; j The fields around it were deej) with clover. The birds sang over it soft and low. Round (irandfather's house the turf — green vel- vet — Was sprinkled with daises white as miow. | -\ clump of lilacs bloomed in May time 0>''r the path by Grandfather's door — ■ 3 (Irandfather's room : when the day was over We rested full in its soothing calm, And heard from the Book with the leather cover, The ever-new — old-tashioned jjsalm. We knew not why, we asked not wherefore; Hut peace settled over o't hearts like balm. Oh I for a glimpse of the dear old homestead, The meadow green where the s.veet flag grew. For one long breath from the fragrant orchard, .V touch of the cool leaves bright with dew — For even a sight of the " Rocky pasture," Or the swam]) where at nightfall the cows camt through. The days were long and the sunshine golden At Grandfather's house in the long ago ; The moon was larger, the stars were brighter And fiMi was plentv \\\ rain or snow ; Now life .tt tlic best is dull and prosy — .Strange that the world should alter so ! Marv McGuire. ) li f w^ \ i \ I !■- t\ 'm I( — 34 HOME, SWEET HOME. S HAPPY LOVE. INCH the sweet knowUdj^e I possess That she I love is mine. All nature throlis wiili happiness, And wears a face divine. :reerier than th(.v were. brighter blue The \\oud> seem The skies are The stars shine clearer, and the air Lets fintr sunlight through. Until I loved. I was a child, .\nd sported on the sands; But now the ocean opens o t, With all its happy lands. The circles of my sympathy Extend from earth to heaven, 1 strove to pierce a myster\ , And lo ' the clue is given. The woods, with all their houghs and leaves. Are preachers of delight, And wandering clouds in summer eves .\re Edens to my sight. My confidants and comforters .Are river, hiil and grove, ,'\nd sun, and stars, and heaven's blue deep, \w(\ all that live and move. friendly hills ! O garrulous woods ! sympathizing air ! ( ) inaiiy-voi( ed solitudes ! 1 know my love is fair. 1 know that slie is fair and true, And that from her you've caught Tlie changeful glories ever new, Tliat robe you in in\ thought, drief. from the armor ot my heart. Rolls off like rustling rain: "lis life to love; but double life To be beloved again. CHAKI F.S Ma< KAY. THE OLD BARN. Bl.r\Vi;KN broad fields of wheat and corn Is the lowly home where \ was born ; The |)ea( li-tree leans against the wall. .And the woodbine waiulerso\er all There is the barn — and as of yore, I lan smell the liay from the open duor. And see tlie busy swallows throng,. And hear the jieewee's mournful song. < >h. \c wlio (lail\ cross the sill, Ste]i ligluly. for I love it still; And when you crowd the old barn eaves, Then think what countless harvest sheaves Have jiassed within that scented door To gladden eyes that are no more. T. P!l CHANAN ReAI). HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. II" ever iiousehold affections and love are graceful things, they are graceful in the poor. The ties that bind the wealthy and the jjroud at home may be forged on earth, but those which link the poor man to his humble hearth are oi the true metal and bear the stamp of heaven. The man of high descent may love the halls and lands of his inheritance as a part of himself, as tro] hies of his birth and power; the poor man's attach- ment to the tenement he holds, which strangers have held before, and may to-morrow occupy again, has a worthier root, struck deep into a purer soil. Charles Dickens. What.' Thai If pros U This 1), In And te But HOMi:. SWEET HOME. 35 OOOD-NIGHT SONQ. TllL buds fly hotiK' from east and wtst, 'I'litr sleepy winds are blowing;, All tired wee things have gone to rest, And liahy must be goin/L;. I )it>s liiin in wliile, Ami (old him tight. And whisper on( e, and twi< e, " Good night I'hcn set afloat 'l"i)e ( r.i(ile jjoat, 'I'he sliimber-sliip is just in sight ! Now ro( k and row. Swing to and fro, The winds are soft, the waves are low. The dream-world sliores lie dim and blue. '{"hi- skv IS f.iir, the sliip is true. Oh baby ! to be left behind Would bring us care and sorrow ; "lis in dreamworld you must find i'he laughter for to-morrow. There kl^se■^ grow. And dimi)k's blow. And thinking streams of nnisic flow, So sweet and clear — ( )h, baby dear. The time is up to rock and row. We reac li the ship ; .\o— ba( k we slip — .Agam the oars we ]joise and dip, We ilip and poise — Oh ! shiji so wh't'-. .Now take him in! sweetheart, good night. ONE OF THE 5LEEPY KIND. F.AU. II.ON'K ti) wake at early dawn. When sparrows "(lieep,'' And then turn over wit?, a yawn, \n love 1 j^o to tncil, l.o\(' I tlico witli lovf fonipk'tf. 4 Loan til)- uu (• down I drop it in 'I'lifse two hands, that I may hold ' Twixt tlnir palms thy ( htek and \ no tduth Which thy shyness leel> a> such. — I)o^t thou miiiil me, dear, so much? Have I not been ni^h a nu)ther To thy sweetness, — tell me, dear? Have we iu)t loved one another Tenderly, from year to year? ■Since our dying mother mild Said, with accents mulefiled, " Child, be mother tn this child ! " Hojje that blesseil me, bliss that crowned, Lo\e that left me with a wound, Life itself, th;.t turned around ! I'.LIZABETH R. 1'.R()WN1N< ABSENCE. WHAT shall 1 do w ith all the days and hours That must be counted ere I see thy face ? How shall I charm the interval that low'rs Between this time and that sweet time of grace ? Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense. Weary with longing? — shall 1 flee away I Into past da\s, and with some fond pretense, Cheat myself to forget the present day? | Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin Of casting from me God's great gift of »ime? Shall I these mists of memory locked within, Leave, and forget, life's purposes sublime? | ( )h I how, or by what means, may I contrive ■J"o bring the hour that brings thee back more , near ? i How may i teach ni) drooping hoi)e to live I'ntil that blessed time, and thou art here ? I'll tell thee: for thy sake, I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told. While thou, beioved one I art far from me. For tliee, I will arouse my thoughts to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Thro' these long hours, norcall their minutes ])ai ns. 1 will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task time, and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than 1 have won, since yet I live. Fanny K. Bi'ti.f.r. n ;tra\ns ; s pains. livf. ll.F.R. -- -hi A FAIR KIXUNNKR O w a O I— c c Pi K C o o ilu- 'I'licirs 1 1 oil till I lilt rose; IiIdom And li„| lo risr "'■ <.li;is tln'ir 'I'lifir n.i little Hkst |,(- I'lessed And heirs nity. w r, ^" <;o(i, t( I IIOMI-, Sir/:/ J //('.I// THE HAPPY LOT. HI BI.KST IS ihc lii'.irili wliiTf il.iii;^ liters j^ird ihr fnr. And SDiis tli.it sli.ill l)f lia|i|iHT ili.m ilicir sire, Who M'l's tlicin ( lowd aroiinil Ids evening i hair, U'hiU' l(»vo and li()|n- in>-|iirc his wnrldli'ss |)ia\ti » Iroin their hume |ia;;<), With little to unlearn, tliniigli iiiiu li to know ! I liein. may no poisoned tongue, no ex il e\e, ( ur.-.e lor ilie virtues th.it rcliiM- to die ; The {generous heart, the inde- jiendenl mind, i'iil tiiilh. like lalsehomi. Iravcs ,1 stills; hcliind ; May tenijiennKe ( lown tiieir fea^l, and lriendshi|i share I May |iity come, love's sister sjiirit, there ! M.iy tiic\ shun baseness as t;ie\ shun the f,'rave ! .M.iy ihey he friig.d, jiioii-. hiiiii I lie, hrave ! Sweet peace he tlu Irs — tin iiiooiilinht of the hreasl-— And o( cnpation. ;ind ahein.iie resi ; .And dear to care ami iIioiiliIii die usual walk ; 'i'heirs lie no llower that withers on the stalk, Milt roses eropjied, ilt.it -h.dl not hlooiii in vain ; And hope's hiesi sun. tiial sei> to rise again, lie chaste their nuptial bed, their home he sweel. Tlieir floor resound tlie tr>ad <<\ little le-'t ; Hle^t beyond fear and fatt . i' blessed by thee, And heirs, O bve! of thine etcr llity. F'JIF.MVKK j';i.l lOTT. THE BABY. WHEN morning broke and babv ranu- Tile house did scarcely seem the same .\s just before The very air tirew flagrant with the essence rare < H a celestial garden, where ['he angels, breathless. learned to hear ' '«-' vouthfiil moth l»id ii-.ten, ,is her lips did frame I lir helpless little -.iianucr's name— When b.ibv ( ame ! When d.irkness tame and liabv die . 'I'he inisly griefth.it fell beli-'d The transient joy that filled |lie r ■mui To ( er's fervid prayer •0(1, to guard her first-born care, ■'^iid with what diligen L'ach ear Hut just iifioic : uheie brooding gloom Now dumbly .-.poke the b.di\'> doom. We iiid away the little things Wo\en by nature's mate liless loom — .\ woman's hands! The amber bloom Waxed dimmer on the linch's wings ; I he (lowers, too, in sorrow vied, .\s il kind nature drooped and cried — . When baliy dieil : CHAKLIS ( 1. RdOK.Ks II- Ifl^ 38 HOME, SWEET HOME. SCENES OF MY YOUTH. SCENES of my birtli, and cureless childhood hours ! \'e smiling KiUs and spacious fertile vales! Where oft I wandered pluckinj^ vernal flowers, And revelled in the odor-breathing gales ; THE THREE DEAREST WORDS. THICRJ-; lire three w(jrds that sweetly blend, That on the heart are graven ; A precious, soothing balm they lend — They're mother, home and heaven I I'illillW ^^'i Should fickle fate, with talisninnic wand, Hear me afar where either India glows. Or fix my dwelling on the polar land, Where nature wears her ever-diiring snows; jjStill sliall your channs my fondest themes adorn, VVlien placid evening paints the western sky. And when Hyperion wakes the blushing morn. To rear his gorgeous sapphire throne on high. For to the guiltless lieart, where'er we roaiu. No scenes delight us like our much-loved iiume. Robert Hillhouse. They twine a wreath of beauteous flowers, Wliicn, placed on memory's urn, Will e'en the longest, gloomiest hours To golden sunlight turn ! They form a chain whose jjrecious links Are free from base allov ; A stream where whosoever drinks Will find refreshing joy ! They build an altar where each day T.ove's offering is renewed ; And neace illumes with genial ray Life's darkened solitude! If from our side the first has fled, And home be but a name. Let's strive the narrow path to tread. That we the last may gain ! Mary J. Mucki.e. -I HOME, SWEET HOME. 39 THE MOTHER. A SOFTENLNCl thought ot other years, lA a feeliiijj; linked to hours -^- *■ When life was all too bright for tears, — And hope sang, wreathed with flowers ! A memory of affections tied — Of voices — heard no more! — Stirred in my spirit when 1 reail That name of fondness o'er! Oh, mother! — in that early word What loves and jo\s < om- hine ; "VVliat lu)])es — tooott, alls' — (ieferred ; What vigils — grids — are thine ! — \'ct iK'ver till the hour wc roam, By worldly thralls op- prest, Learn we to |)rizc that truest home — A watchful mother's hrea.st ! But with a sad remembrance Iraiight Wakes angmsh in tiie soul ! In every land — in every clime — True to her sacred cause, Filled 1)\' that effluence sublime From which her strength she draw.' Still is the mother's heart the same — IR. The thousand pravers at mid- night poured, Beside our couch of woes ; The wasting weariness en- dured To soften our re|iose ! — "V'.'hdst nevermurmur marked th)' tongue — Nor toils r e 1 a X e d thy care : — How, mother, is thy heart so strong To pity aiul forl>ear ? What lilial fondness e'er re- paid, Or could rejjay, the past? — Alas ! for gratitude de< ayed' ! Regrets — that rarely last !— 'Tis only when the dust is thrown Thy lifeless bosom o'er, 'We muse n[)on thy kindness siiown And wish we'd loved thee more ! 'Tis only when thy li|)s are cold, We mourn with late regret, 'Mid myriad memories of old, The da\s forever set ! -And not an act — nor look — nor thoughi — Against thy meek control, The mother's lot as tried : — Then, oh ! may nations guard that name With filial power and pride ! CiiAKiKs Swain. THE SUNNY SIDE. Mirth is heaven's medicine. Fvery one ought to bathe in it. (Irim care, moroseness, anxiety, all this rust of life ought to be scoured olf by the oil of mirth. It is better than emery. Kvery man ought to rub himself with it. n i^ : f li'f , f iiHi 40 HOME, SWRET J/OAf/i. THE OLD FARMHOUSE. w I] sat within tiu' fannliouse old, Wiiose windows, looicing o'er tiic l)ay. ( iave to tiie sea-ljreezc, damp and cold, An easy entrance, night and day. Not far away we saw the port — Tile strange, old-foshioned, silent town — The lighthoiisf — the disniantloil fort — The wooden houses, (piaint and brown. A\'e sat and talked until the night, 1 )esc:ending, filled the little room ; Uur faces faded from the sight, Onr voices oiilv broke the "loom. rile very tones in which we spake Had something strange 1 < ould but mark j- I'lie leaves of memory seemed to make A mournful rustling in the dark. Oft died the words ujiou our lips, .•\s suddenly, from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded shi])s. The flames would leap and then expire. And, as their .si)lendor flashed and failed, We thought of wrecks upon the main — Of ships dismasted, that were hailed And sent no answer back again. >,V^/3 We ispake of many a vanished scene, Of what we once had thougJU and said, Of what had been, and might have l)ecn, And wh(j was (hanged, and who was dead And all that fills the hearts of friends, Wlien first they feel, with secret pain. Their lives thenceforth have se])arate ends, And never can be one again ; The first slight swerving of the heart, Th It words are powerless to ex])ress, And eave it still unsaid in ])art. Or say it in too great excess. The windows, rattling in their frames — The ocean, roaring up the beach — The gusty blast — tlie bickering flames — .Ml mingled vaguely in our speech; Until they made tlieinselves a ])art Of fancies floating through the brain — Tlie long-lost ventures of the heart, That send no answers back again. O flimes that glowed ! O hearts that \ earned ! They were indeed too much akin, 'i'he driftwood fire without that burned, The thoughts that burned and glowed within. H. W. LONCI KI.LOW. THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH. VOICE of summer, keen and shrill. Chirping round my winter fire. Of thy song \ never tire. Weary others as they will ; For thy song with summer s filled — Filled with sunshine, filled with June ; Firelight echo of that ncxiii Heard in fields when all is stilled. In the golden light of May, Hringing scents of new-mown hay. Bees, and birds, and flowers away ; Prithee, haunt my firesitle still. Voice of summer, keen and shrill 1 Neither night nor dawn of day Puts a ])eriod to thy play. .Sing, then, and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent. Lives not, aged though he be, Half a span, compared with thee. William C. Bknnf.tt. (1! un. ir. NOA//i, SlVEhT HOME. MY OWN FIRESIDE. LET others seek for empty joys, At ball, or concert, rout or \\.xs ; Whilst far Irom fa.sliion's idle noise, Her gilded domes and trappings gay, I while the wintry eve away, "I'wixt book and lute tlie liours divitle : And marvel how I e'er could slniv From thee — my own fireside ! My own fireside ! Those simjjle words Can bid the sweetest dreams arise ; To liiougiiis ot ijuiet !)liss give birtli ; Then let the churlisli tempest ciiide, It ( unnot check the blameless mirth That ijlads my own fireside ! My refuge ever t'roni tlic storm Of this world's passion, strife, and care ; Though thunder-clouds the skies deform, Their fury cannot reach me there ; There all is cheerful, calm, and fair ; Wrath, eii y, malice, strife, or pride. Awaken feeling's tenderest chords, And fill with tears of jo\' mine eyes. AVhat is there my wild iieart can i)rize, That doth not in thy sphere abide ; Haunt of my home-bred sym])athies, My own — my own firi'side 1 A gentle form is near nie now ; A small, white hand is clasped in mine ; I gaze upon her placid l)row. And ask, what joys can equal thine? A babe, whose beauty's half divine. In sleep his mother's eyes doth hide; Where may love seek a fitter shrine Than thou — my own fireside ! What care I for the sullen roar Of winds without, that ravage earth ; It doth but bid me prize the more The shelter of thy hallowed hearth : — 41 Hath never made its hated lair By thee — \\\s own fireside I Thy preciiK ts are a charmed ring, Where no harsh feeling dares intrude ; WHiere life's vexations lose their sting ; Where even grief is half subdued ; And peace, the halcyon, loves to brood. Then let the world's proud fool deride ; I'll pay my debt of gratitude To thee — my own fireside ! Shrine of my household deities ; Bright scene of home's unsullied jo)> ; To thee my burdened spirit flies, When fortune frowns, or care annoys ! Thine is the bliss that never cloys ; The smile whose truth hath oft been tried What, then, are this world's tinsel toys. To thee — my own fireside I ' l.\ ' ' ' m' u : i 42 HOME, SWEET HOME. (Jh, may the yearnings, fond and sweet, That bid my thoughts be all of thee, Thus ever guide my wandering feet To thy heart-soothing sanctuary ' Whate'er my future years may be, Let joy or grief my fate betide ; Be still an Kden bright to me. My own — my own fireside ! Ai.AKic A. Watts. THE WINDOW. r my window, late and early, In the sunshine and the rain. When the jocund beams of morning Come to wake me from my ■ napping, With tiieir golden fingers tapping At my window pane: From my troubled slumbers .lilting — From my dreamings fond and vain, From the fever intermitting, Up I start and take my sitting At my window-pane. 'i trough the morning, through the noontide, Fettered by a diamond chain, Through the early hours of evening, Wlien the stars begin to tremble. As their shining ranks assemble O'er tlie azure plain : When the thousand lamps are blazing, Through the street and lane — Mimic stars of man's upraising — Still I linger, fondly gazing From my window-pane ! For, amid the crowds slow passing, Surging like the main. Like a sunbeam among shadows, Tiirough the storm-swept cloudy masses. Sometimes one bright being passes 'Neatii my window-pane; Thus a moment's joy I borrow From a day of pain. See, she comes ! but bitter sorrow ! Not until the slow to-morrow Will slie come again. I). 1''. M'Cartiiy. THE LOST LITTLE ONE. WI'! miss her footfall on the floor, .•\midst tile nursery din, Her tip-tap at our bedroom door, Her bright face peeping in. And when to Heaven's high court above .'\scends our social jjraver. Though tiiere are voices tliat we love, One sweet voice is not tliere. And dreary seem the hours, and lone, 'I'hal drag themselves along, Now from our board her smile is gone. And from our hearth her song. We miss that farewell laugh of hers, With its light joyous sound, And the kiss between the balusters. When good-night time comes round. And empty is her little bed. And on her pillow there Must never rest that cherub head With its soft silken hair. But often as we wake and weep, Our midnight thoughts will roam. To visit her-cold, dreamless sleep. In her last narrow home. Then, then it is faith's tear-dimmed eyes See through ethereal space, Amidst the angel-crowded skie;;. That dear, that well-known face. With beckoning hand she seems to say, " Though, all her sufferings o'er, Your little one is borne away To this celestial shore. Doubt not she longs to welcome you I'o her glad, bright abode, There happy endless ages through To live with her and Ood." A V H Sh Hi Sh Hi. Shi He Shi HOME, SWEET HOME. 4'J QATHERINQ APPLES. SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness ! Close honom friend of the maturing sun ; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fru.t the vines that round the thatch eves run ; Tobendwithapplesthemossed tottage trees, And fill all fruit with ripe- ness to the cure : To swell the gourd and plump the ha/.ei shells With a sweet kernel ; ti) set budding more, And still more, later (lowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease For sinnmer has o'erbriiamed their clamiiu- cells. HOME— A DUET. Hk. 1 )(ist thou love wandering? whither wouldst thou go ? Drtxmest thou, sweet d.iughter, of ii land more fair? Dost thou not lose thc>e aye-blue streams that flow? These spicv forests? and this golden air? She. Oh, yes! I love the woods and stream^ so gay, And more than all, (J t.therl I lo\ e th,-^ ; A'et would I fain be wandering far away, Where such things never were, nor e'er shall be. He. Speak, mine own daughter, with the sun- bright locks. To what pale banished nation wonldst thou roam ? She. O father, let tis find our frozen rocks ! Let's seek that country of all countries — home ! Hk. See'st thou these orange flowers ! thi-. palm that rears Its head up tow'rds heaven's blue and cloudles-, dome? She. I dream, I dream, mine eyes are hid in tears. My heart is wandering round our ancient home. He. Why, then, we'll go. Farewell, ye tender skies. Who sheltered us when we were forced to roam. She. On, on ! Let's pass the swallow as he flies! Farewell, kind land ! Now, father, nmv for home. Barry Cornwall. IF THOU HAST LOST A FRIEND. I F thou hast lost a friend. By hard or hasty word, Go — call him to thy heart again ; Let pride no more be heard. I. ■C^: Remind him of those happy days. Too beautiful to last ; Ask, if a 7ects (if the I'^ast, That have their beauty in their wings, .Vnd shroiul it when at rest ; Sw.MN. That fokl tlu-ir < olors of the sky. When earthward thc\' aliuht, I Anil Hash their sjilendor on the eye, Only to take thrir (light. I never knew how dear thnii wert, Till thoti wert borne away ! I have it yet about my heart, Thy beauty of that tlay ! .\s if the robe thou wert to wear beyond the sta's weie given, That I might learn to know it there, j And ^eek tlii'e out in liea\en. I T. K. IlKlsM.V. UNCONSCIOUS INFLUENCE. TlIliRL'S luvrr a rose in all the world lint makes some green spr.iy sweeter; I here's ne\(T a wind in all the sky l!:it makes some bird wing llceter : Thiie's never a star but brings to heaven I .Some silver radianct! tender; I .\nd never a rosy chjiid but helps i T(j crown the sunset splendor ; ; .\o robin but iiia\' thrill some heart. II is dawnliglu gladness \dicing. I (rod gi\es IIS all some small, sweet wa_\' To M't the world reioicing. I DOMESTIC LOVE. D< iML.sriC Love ! not in proud palace li.ilis Is often seen thy beauty to abide ; I Thy dwelling is in lowly cottage walls, I That in the thic;kets of the woodbine hide ; With hum of bees around, and from the side Of woody hills soine little bubbling spring. Shinip.g along through banks with harebelN dyed ; -■Vnd many ;i bird to warble on the wing. When morn lu-r saffron rol)e o'er heaven and earth doth lling. O ! lo\ e of loves I — to tin wliite hand is given Of earthly hai)piness the golden key ! Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even. When the babes cling around their father's knee ; And thine the voice, that on the midnight se:i Melts the rude mariner w ith thoughts of home, Peoplinu; the gloom with all he longs to see. Spirit ! — I've built a shrine ; and thoii h;ist come, And on its altar closed — for ever closed thy [)luine ! Gedkck CKl>l.^. THOMAS MOORK. 11^ ! ^c '" \ f"> .1 ' i I liiiyjl r JAMES WHITCOMB RII.FA'. * |i no Ml:, SWlU.i 1 10 Ml:. ID H NOT LOST. BUT GONE BEFORE." OVV iiKniriiliil -rcin^, in broken driMins, 'I'lu' iiic'iiiDi V of the (lay, Wlifii i(\ (Icalli hath sciilcd ihr lin-ath Ol SDiiif dear luriii ol thi\ ! 'I'lii.s work of art my aunt i-.ttcmnl No [loi't's eyes have ever lieaincd Mon- proiidh o't- his pago. Wlieii pale, iininovi'd. ihe fact' \vr lovcc 'I'lu' fare wo tlioiij^hl so lair, And llif hand lies cold, whose I'ervcnt liohl ( )n(e (harmed away despair. ( )h, wlial ( Oilld hi'.d ihe ^;riel ue lee l''or liopes tli.it come no more. Had we ne'ir lieard the S( ripliii( won •• Not l()--t, but feline lieloie!" ( )li sadly yet witii \aiii regret The widowed heart nuist \earn ; \nd mothers wee)) their halies asiee) III the sunliuht's vain retnin. Ihe lir()ther'> heart shall nie to part l''r()ni the o;ie throiii'li child- hood known ; And tliC orphan's t■a'^ lament for )ears A Inend and father u,one \\)K death and liie, with ceaseless strile. Heat wild on this world's ^hore. And all om (aim is in that halm. " Not lost, hnl gone before." ( )h I world wherein nof d ath, nor sin. Nor weary warfare dwells ; I'heir blessed home we parted from \Vitli sobs and sad farewells. Where eyes awake, for whose dear sake ( )iir own with tears grow dim. And faint accords of dying words .\re changed for heaven's sweet liy «Jii : there at last, life's trials past, We'll meet our loved once more, W'liose feet have trod the jiath to (lod — •' Not lost, bnt gone before." C.-\K()i,iNi', Norton. AUNT JEMIMA'S QUILT. A MIRACLE of gleaming dyes, Bine, scarlet, bnff and green ; Oh, ne'er before by mortal eyes Such gorgeous hues were seen ! So grandly was its plan designed. So cunningly 'twas built, 'I'he whole proclaimed a master mind — My A.unt Jemima's cpiilt. Were other ([uilts to thi.-, ( ..mpared Her nose would upward tilt ; Such impudence was seldom dared O'er .\iint Jemima's ipiilt. Ker dear old hands have gone to dust, That once were lithe and light, ller needles keen are thick with rust That flashed so nimbly b.ight ; .\nd here it lies l)y her behest. Stained witli the tears we spilt. Safe folded in this cedar chest— My Aunt Jemima's (piilt. n :M lliil I if i GATHERING 1 LOWERS. I (•( 46 HOME, SWhhT IKKME. 47 THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. This (U'li^;litliil poriii was wrillrti when Itir authut, a pool |ifiiilpi, rciiileil III Uuunt Street, New V';,.i, And every loved spot which my infancy knew — Tlie wide-spreading pond, and the mill whit h stood i)V i!. Tlie |iri(l:;e. and the rock where the ( ataract tell ; The cot of my lather, the dairy-house nigh il, And e'en the rude liiK ket which hinig in the well ; The old oaki.n bucket, the iron-honnd Imcket, The moss-co\ered bucket whit ''ung in the well. 'I'hat moss-covered l)iR:ket I hail as a treasure ; l*or often, at noon, when returned from the field, I foiHid it the source of an ex(|uisite pleasure. The purest and sweetest that nature can yiekl. How ardent 1 seized il. with hands that were glow- ing ! .And (juii k to the white-jiebbled bottom it lell ! Then soon, with the iinblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well; The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to re- ceive it. As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips ; Not a fiill blushiug goblet could tempt me to leave it, 'I'hough filled with the nectar tliat ' piter sijjs. And now, tar removed from the loved situation, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy rcveris to rny father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket winch hangs in the well ; 'I'iie oKl oaken biuket, the ironbound bucket. The iiKJss-ioveied bucket wlm h hangs in the will. Samih, U'ooliwtikTH. aye BEREFT. LI'iT me come in where you sit \v'eeping ; Let me who have not any child to die Weep witli you for tlie little one whose love 1 have known iioihing of. The little arms that slowly, slowly loosed Their pressure round your nee k: the hands you used To kiss; such arms, such hands, I never knew; Ma\- I not weep with \ ou ? Fain would I be of sersiie, say something Between the tears that would be comforting I!ut, ah ! so sadder than yoursehes am I Who have no child to die ! James Whucomi; Rii.f.v. 1 «l n^ • s\ ■ f is. ^^ IKWII . \\\ l:l:l HOME. I COMB TO TMRE. MY WrPR. I COM I. to llii'i'. my witf. Ill every time of lued. To slrcn;;lliL'n inc in stritV, For miiiii- «()ik ami doed ; I coiDc ill hours ol calin, lli'( ansf tin lo\p i- rcsi. '' I: A hLssing and a I mini : With tiief I'm fver blest : I come to thee soiil-sad, I come to thee for cheer, ■|"hy sun of love makes j,dad. And drives a\va\ the drear. I come with darksome thcjught, To thoe so lull of light, A magic change is wrought, And day rei)laces night. O come to thee, my wife, M.v liearf i;; lone and low ; 1 t ome to tlue its lifr That joy may ovtrllow ; 1 I ome and I'lnd niv lood, riu" food the .mgi'ls cat. And stay in raptured mood, All Messed .It th\ feet ! I I ome with em|>ty mind. .Vs wintercomes to spring, I come to thee, so kind. And thou dost fullness bring; I brea the thv li;.;lit and air, I live beneath thy smile. And all my mind is fair. And buddingall the while ! I )ear wile, I come to thee, lieca use thou art so true, llecaiise ihy lo\e is (rre And there I lose renew . 1 come and siiare thv heart. And mingle with thy life. No more, no more to part, M> own beloved wife I The bird thus seeks its nest, The river thus the sea. And man hi^ evening rest. .So do I come to thee. The flowers thus do grow, I'he stars thus sweetly shine, And all my heart is so Because that it is thine 1 The Arab loves the fount That slakes his desert thirst. The Swiss the towering mount Where freedom came at firsi I love the love of thee. My darling and my own. Thy love a mighty sea, 'Thy faith, my heart's great throne ! 1 come to thee, my wife. In every time I know; I come to thee, my wife, rill loves together flow. 1 10 Ml-, SWI'IT inWII:. \\\ Thus let them wander on, I hroiiKl> tiiuf, and dcatli and hiiss, I'or wf, my lnve .irt' uni'. In vdndcr world and tln> ' Will JAM llkl N ION. THE HAPPY HUSBAND. -- i'l iho Ilk (ill Mitthiiik> with line I Iuc.iiIk.', ;is Irnin thr liiMft. thy di'.ii And didi< .iti'd ikiiik', I luMr A pnimisi' and a in\stfr\, A jik'd^;i' (ii more tli.in | a>^ \\\\!. lilt . \'<;i, in th:it mtv naiiu' ol «i(V! |)u1m' of liivc, ill, It iic'ci call sleep ! \ feelinji that upbraids llu' luart With happiiRss iicNond dr -fit. That ^iladiH'ss lialfri'iiui'sts to \(ir lilt>s I hilt tin; ket'iier sense .And iinalarmiii;; tiirinik-nce < >t iraiisieiU joys, that ask no sting liom jealous floats, or ( oy (knyiii),': Hut horn lifiuatli lovt'\ lirooding wing', .And into tondriiu^s soon djing, Wiieil out their niddy niomeiit, tin n Risiyn the soul to love again. A more precipitated vein ( »t notes, that eddy in the flow ( )l smoothest song, tlie\- (onie. they go, And lease tluif sweeter nnder-strain lis own -.weei srif — a love of thee That seems, yet ( annot greater be 1 S. T. COI.KKIDCE, JUST WHAT I WANTED. GkANDTAPA U)oked at his fine new ehair, On the twenty-si\ih day of Decemlier, Saying: "Santa Clans is so good to me ! He never fails to remember; iJiit my old ariiKhair is the one for me" (And he settled himself in it nicely); " I hope he wont miiul if I cling to it, I'nr it fits my ba( k jirecisely." I'ap'Xaine home that verv nif ht. He had plowed his wav through the snow, .\iid the Christmas tuinkk had lett his eye, And his stej) was tired and slow. Warming for him his slijipers lav, 'I'he lovely embroidered-in-gold ones. That hati hung on the Christmas tree last night ; Hut he slipped his feet in the old ones. Ami when dear little M.irjory's ludtinu- i,ime, On the pailnr rug they loiind hei , The long, dark lashes a droop on hti i heeks .\ii(l her ( lirisim.is lo\-. ariiind her. N'l'giet tfd .AiigelKjiie's 'v.i.xen nosi I'he tire had melted (om| k tcly , Hut her precious rag doll. M.ini ah J.ine, ( Ml her breast was nsiing sw(etl). ONE OF THE DEAR- EST \N()kD5. 1 1 1 Kl. is soineiliiiig in ihc wfird home, that wakes the kiiidlusi leelings of the heart. It is not merely frieiuls and kindled who rtn- i!( r tha'. pl.u c mi dear ; iiiit the very hilK and MK'ks and r i \ 11 1 e t s ihr((\v a ( harm around the place ol one's iia- ii\ it\ . It is III) won- der thai the loiiiest harps have been tuned to sing of " home, sweet home " The ro^e that bloomed in tlic ;;.ir(len wlure one lias wandered in earl, \iars a thonglitliss I hild, (ankss in innocence, i-. lovely in its bloom, and loviliir in its ck .... No songs are sweet like those we he.ird among the boughs that shade a parent's dwelling, when the morning or the evening hour found iis gay .is the birds that warbled over ns. No waters are blight like the ( lear silvir streanis that wind among the (lower-decked knolls, where, in child- hood, we havi- often strayed to jiIik k the violet or the lily, or to twine a garland for some loved schoolmate. We may wander awa\ and mingle in the '•world's fierif strife." and lorm new associa- tions and friendshijis, and fancy we have almost forgotten the land of our birth ; but at some even- ing hour, as we listen ] er( liaiu e to the autumn winds, the renu inbraiH e of other davs comes over the soul, and lancy bears us back to chiklood's scenes. We roam again the old familiar haunts, and press the hands of eonipanioiis long since (okl in the grave, and listen to the voices we shall hear on earth no more. It is then a feeling of melan- eholv' steals over ns, whi( h, like Ossian's music, is jile.isant, though moiirnfiil to the soul. The Afrii an, torn from his willow-braided hut, and borne away to the land of strangers and of toil, weeps as he thinks of home. an(l sighs and pines for the (ocoahmd beyond the waters of the ' tj 'iir# Ml 1 50 HOMH, SWEET HOME. sea. N'ears ina\- have passed over him ; strifes and toil may have crushed iiis spirits ; all his kindred may iiave Ibuiid j^raves upon th«' corals of tiie ocean ; \ct, were ho frei-, how soon would he seek the shores and skies of his boyhood dreams I I'he N'ew I'^nylaiul manner, amiti the iceberg.- Of the Northern seas, or breathing the spicy gales of ih.' evergreen i.-,les, or co„stin;; along tiie shores of the i'acitic, though the hand of time may have blani lied iiis raven loclsS. and care have plowed deep f irrows on his brow, and his heart have been chilled l)y the storms of thw ocean, till the foun- tains of his love have aimo--l ceased to gush witli the heaveidy current ; yet, upon some summer s evening, as he looks out U|ion the sini sinking l)e- hind the western wa\e, he will think oi home; his heart will vearn for the loved of oiher day-, and his tears flow like the summer ram. How. alter long years of absence, does the heart of the wa.ulerer beat, and hiis eyes fill, as he catches a glimpse ot the hill> of his nativity; and when he has pressed the lip of a brother or sister, how soon does he hasten to see if the g.irden, and the orchard, and the stream look as in days gone by ! We may f:nd climes as beautiml, a d skies as bright, and friends as devoted; bi.' that will not usuii) the pk.ce of honii'. COME HOME. Tlie>e lines of Mr-. lUmaiis, ail(lreh>c(l to Ikt liiotlicr wliii vvns ligluin',; iii .^)iain iiinlcir .'^ii joliii Mimre, display llie reiiiarkiihlf teiuk'riK-.s, bcaiity and sweetness of lur far faiurd I'roducliiins. In llic (|iialitit'S that Ijelonp In the piictry of fcfliiig and sentiment, slie may he ■-aid lo liave frw riv;,!,, and no -uperior among literary celebrities. r~'>' )\\\'. home. i Would I could send my spirit oVt the ^-^ deep. W(jiiid I could wing it like a bird to thee, To crjinniune with thy thoughts, to fill tiiy sleej) With these unwearying words td' melody, Hrother, ( ome home. Come home. Come to the hearts that love thee, to the e/es That beam in brightness but to gladden thine; Come where fond thoughts like holiest incense Where ( herished meinorv re;irs her altar's shrine. Hrother, c(jme home. Come home. Come to the hearthstone of thy earlier days. Come to ihe ark, like the o'erwearied dove. Come with the sunlight of thy heart's warm rays. Come to the fireside circle of thy love. Brother, come home. Come home. It is not iuiine without thee ; the lone seat Is still unclaimed where thou wert wont to be ; In every echo of returning feet In vain wc list for what should herald thee^ Hrother, come home. Come home. We've nursed for thee the sunny buds of spring. Watched every germ a full-blown tlow'ret rear. Saw o'er their bloom the chilly winter bring Its icy garlands, and thou art not here, Hrother, come home. Come home. Would I ( ould send my spirit o'er the deep. Would 1 could wing it like a bird to thee To commune with thy thoughts, to fdl th\ sleqj With these unwearying words of melody, Brotlier, (ome home. I'ki.icia D. Hkmans- FAREWELL. F.ARIIWELI. ! if ever fondest prayer lor other's weal availed on high, .Mine uill not all be lost in air. Hut w.itt thy name lie\ond the sky ' Twere vain to sjieak — -to weep — to sigh- Oh I more than tears of blood can tell. When wrung from guilt's expiring eye, .Are in that word, I'^iirewell I Farewell! Thtse lijjs are unite, these eyes are dry. Hut in my brea>t and in my bra'n, .■\wake the pangs that pass not by. The thought mat ne'er shall sleep again ;. Mv soul nor deigns nor dares comi)Iain ; Though grief and i>assion fhere rebel, 1 oidv know we loved in vain. I (Uily feel Farewel' ! Farewell ! Fori- Bvroi*. NEAR THEE. IWCJIFP be with thee— near thee — ever near tiiee — W;iti hing thee ever, as the angels are — Still ■eeking uilh mv spirit-power to cheer thee, .\ii-(iilurfere(l. wiiati ver people ha\'e said. Better are rags and a conscien< e i lear than a palace and flush of shame. One thing 1 shall leave to m\ \ I knew the heart it came from Would be like a comtbrting staff In the time and the hour of trouble, Ho|ieful and brave and strong ; < Ml ■ of the hearts to lean on. When we think all things go wrong. I turned at the click of the gate latch, And met Ins maidy look ; A fare like his gives me pleasure, Liki- the ])ageof a pleasant brok. It tokl of a steadfast purpose. Of a brave antl daring will : A face with a jjromise in it Thai, (jod grant, the years lulfill. He went up the jjathway singing, I saw the woman's eyes (Irow bright with a wordless welcome, .\s sunshine warms the skies. " Hack again, sweetheart mother." He cried, and bent to kiss The loving face that was uplifted I'or w hat some mothers miss. Thai bo\- will do to depeml on ; I hold that this is true — From lads in love with their mothers Our bravest heroes grew, I'^arth's grandest hearts have been loving hearts Since time and eartli began ; .\nd the boy who kisses his mother Is every inch a man ! « I I 1 lenrts I I j^H GOLDSi^lTH '^z' ;-[;^M cOVVPER ^ WILLI Af^S H At<.£SFEARC-^-" Jl ' »[i i1^ !1 -\M i ! ■'i THE CHARMS OF NATURE: CoNlAh^.INC GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF NATURAL SCENER\, I NCI, 1 1)1. NO THH PlCTURbSQUK, THE BEALITIFUI., AND THH SUBLIMH. AFTER SUNSET. NK tremulous star al)ove tlie deepening \^•c^^t : 'I'liu splash of waves upon a (piiet lie;.cli ; A sleepy twitter from some hidden nest Amidst the clustered iv\-, out of reach. The sheep-bell's tinkle from the daisied leas; The rl-.\thniic fall of homeward-wentling fee ; A wind that croons amongst the leafy trees, .\ii(l dies away in whispers faint and swee^. A pale young moon, whose slender silver \o : ('ree]js slowly uj) beyond ihe pur[)le hill; And seems to absorb the golden afterglow Within the far horizon lingering >till. A.i ojien lattice and the scent of uuisk : Then, through the slumbrous hush of earih and sky, A tender mother-voice that in the clusk Sings to a Ijabe some < )ld World lullaby. K. MArHKSON. T A MOONLIGHT NIGHT. I IK stars that stand abcjut the moon, Their shining faces veil as soon As at her full, in splendor bright. She flootls the earth with siher light. And through green boughs of ajjple trees ("ool comes the rustling of the breeze. While from the (piivering leaves down flows A stream of sleep and soft repose, Jane Sed(.\vrk. THE ROSE. rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, d hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; Ihe rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. t-> wilding rose, whom fancv thus endears, UT^HE r 1 "\ 1 bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!'' Thus si)oke young Norman, heir of .\rmandave. What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broail wave. Sir Wai.ier Scon-. 53 I i .: !i 54 THE CHARMS OF NATURE. I ■ SPRING. DIP down ujion th-i northern sliore, () sweet new-year, delaying' lont' : 'I'hoii doest expectant nature wrong Delaying; long, delay no more Wh 't stays thee from the clouded noons, Thy s" eetuess from its proper place? Can trouMe live with April days. Or sadness in the summer moon; ? liring orchis, liring the foxglove sjjire. The little speedwell's darling blue, The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood, that live their lives From land to land ; and in my breast Si)ring wakens too ; and my regret Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest. AmKEI) TKNNYSO>f. THE USE OF FLOWERS. / — > ( )I) miglit liave made the eartli bring forth, I y Enough for great and small, ^-^ The oak-tree and the cedar tree, Deep tulips dashed with fiery dew, I^aburnums, drop[)ing-we!is of fire. O thou, new-year, delaying long, Delayest the sorrow in my blood. That longs to burst a fro/en t)ud, And flood a fresher throat with song. Now fades the last long streak of snow ; Now bourgeons every maze of (pii< k About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. Now rings tlie woodland loud and long, The distance taker, a lovelier hue, And drowned in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down tlie vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea ; Where now the seamew pi[)es, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly Without a flower at all. We miglit have had enough, enough For every want of ours. For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers. Tiien wherefore, wlierefore wore tiiey made, ."Ml dyed with rainbow-light, All fashioned with sui)remest grace Upspringing day and night: — Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness Where no man passes by ? Our outward life requires them not,-- Then wherefore had they birtli ? — To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth ; 'i'o comfort man. — to whisper hope, Whene'er his faith is dim. For who so careth for the flowers Will care much more for him ! M.\RV HowiTT. % t| w- «, ■JS' ;f t ii THE I'IKST VI.OWKRS Ol' THE SEASON. /ITT. r>i\ Tim CHARMS 01' XATURIi. SONG OF THE SUMMER WINDS. u i' tlic tlalc and d(j\sii tlic bourne, (J'er tlic meadows swilt we fly ; \»iw we siuL', and now we mourn, N ow we w histl c. now wc siuli. riiruuj;li the Moonun^ groves we rustle Kissing every hud we pass, — As we did it in the hurtle. Scarcely knowing how it was. Down the glen, across the mountain. O'er th le yellow lieatli we roam, By the grassy-lringed river. Through the murmuring reeds wc sweep ; Mid ihe lily-leaves we quiver. To their very iiearts we cree]). Now the maiden rose is blushing At tiie frolic things we sa\-, W'h'le aside her check we're rushing. Like some truant bees at play. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end. though ne'er so brave; And after they have shown their ivride Like you awhile, they glide Into liie grave. R()i;Kki Hkkuk.k. THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. ( )]) I he ea-,teni border of ilie Colorado plateau ili.' >.ummil> altaiii llieir (jreatest elevation, and here are iiior.- iliaii Ivvo lumdred peaks that rise to an altitude of lliirleen or fourteen thousand feel above the level of the sea, THKSK mountains, piercing the blue skv With their eternal cones of ice — I'he torrents dashing frotn on high, O'er rock and crag and i)recipice — (-hange not, but still remain as ever, L'nwasting, deathless, and sublime, .\nd will remain while lightnings (piiver. Or stars the hoarv sumtiiits climb. Or rolls the thunder-chariot of eternal time. .\l.UKUT I'IKK. TIN: CHARMS OF NATURIi. fu I .ill- FALLS OP NIACiARA. I 111- lillloWIIIH M'Icillnll vivlcllv ili-|ii.l-. llic (>v^rwl^l■llllill^; iiii) u ■^- MonsorMililiiiiily mid iiiliiiilc |iiiwi'i, wliicli till- lir-.t view ol Uil- humI 1 alarnil i>. so well ciilcuhited to|irn. lime ii|Miii ilir beholder. S'r( )( )l ) w itiiiii a N'isioii'-; s|.fll ; I s;n\ , I luMid. riu' li<|iiiil lluuuler UVm |i(i 11 r i n l; t ;i it s (o.miiiii^ hell. And it K'll Iait, v\( r It'll Into tlu- invi^iiilc aln^^ opciit'il iiiuici. I sloixi upon a --prik of i^roimi! : llcfore iiK' lei! .i -.lonnv ocean, I was like a i ipiivo hoiind ; And around A nni\iTSL' o'' sound I roiililed till' Irmvciis with i'vi'r-(|iiivci iiig motion. l>own.do\Mi forcMT — down. s-S-^'^f*/ ^i^4^ down loiovcr, .''^'ij""■'' Soiiu'thint; falliiiL;. lailin-, railing;, I |), iij) forever — up, up for- c-ver, (■Icstinj; iiuver. Boiling lip forever, Sieani-( ioiids .shot up u itii lliiinder-linrsts appall inir. A tone tiiat since tlic l.,rth of ii'an Was never lor a nioment i)rok(.n, A word that .since the uorM lieqan. And waters ran, I lath spoken still to man, — Of God and of Kternity hath >[ oken. THE VALE OF CASHMERE. no has not heard of the Vale of Cash- mere, With its roses the I)rijihtest that ( arth ever gave. Its temples, and grottoes, and foimtain.s as c:Kar As the love-lighted eyes that hang over their wave ? '». to .see it at sunset— when warm o'er the lake Its splendor at parting a summer eve throws, w I. ike a bride, full of blushes, w hen lingering to ;,ike .\ last look of her mirror at night ere she goes I — When the .shrines through the foliage are gleaming half shown, And each hallows the hour by .some rites of its on n. Here the music of jirayer from a minaret swells. Mere the Magian his urn lull of perfume is, swinging, i xC^t m rill'. CHARMS or NATCKli i /\iui Ikto, at tlu- altar, a zone of swct-t bells Hills, <:ii|i()l.is. loiintaiiis, (ailed lortli every one Round the vvais* of some fair Indian dai\i:er is Out ol darkness, as they were just horn of the ringing. sun Or to see it by moonlight - when niollowl) When the spirit of fragrance is u|i with' the sliines day, The light o'er its palai es, gardens, .md siirines ; I''rom his harem of night-flowers stealing away; ■When the waterfalls gleam like a (juick fall of And the wind, full of wantonness, woos like a stars, lover And the nightingale's hymn from the Isle of The young aspen-trees till they tremble all over. I (Jhcnars When the cast is as warm as the light of first I:i broken by laughs and light e( hoes of feet hopes, I'rom the cool shining walks wiiere '.he yijimg And the day, with its bannerof radiance unfurled, people meet. Shines in through t]\e mountainous portal that i op^'^ Or at morn, wlicn the magii oi da\li-lit awakes ' Sublime, trom that valley ot l)liss to tiie world! A new unnder eacli minute as slowU il lueaks, ' '1'hi:)MAS Moorfv, THE NIOHTINQALE. y y) ARK ' all, the nightingale ! ' I The tawny throated ! I lark .' I'rom that moonlit < edar what a burst I What triumph ! hark -wliat ]iain ! (> w.mdrrer iVnm a (irerian sliore. Still — after many years, in dis- tant lands — i^-'j^A Still udurisliing in tiiy be- '\ wildered brain That wild, uni|ueiu:hetl, deep- sunken. Old World ])ain — Say. will it never heal? And c.in this fragrant lawn. With it^cool trees, and ni';hl, And the sut i, tran(|uil Tli.imes. And moonshine, aiul the •k\v. To thy racked lie.irt and bn.in Afford no balm ? Dost thou to-night behold. Here, through the moonlight on this Knglish grass. The unlriendly julac.' in the Thrac ian wild.^ Dost thou again peruse. With hot cheeks and seared eyes, The too ( lear web. and thy tlumb sister's .shame? Dost thon once more essay Tiiy llight ; and feel come over thee, I'oor fugitive ! the feathery change; OiK e more ; and once more make resound, ''With love and hate, triumph and agon\'. Lone Daulis. and the high Cephisian vale? L,isten, ICugenia — How thick the bursts (ome crowding through the leaves ! Again — thou hcarest I I'.ternal passion I Eternal pain ! MAriiiF.sv Arnold. TO THE DAISY. IN youth from rock to roi k I went, I'rvim hill to hill, in discontent, ( )f i)leasure high and turbulent, Most jileased when most uneasy; Hut now my own tlelights 1 make, — My thirst at every rill can slake, .\n(l gladly nature'.s love jiartake ( )f tiiee, sweet d.usy 1 Wlien soothed a while by milder airs, Thee winter in the garl.md wears That thinly siiades his few grey hairs; Si>ring cannot shun thee ; Whole summer fields are thine by right: .\nd aiilumn. melaiicholv wight ! Doth in thv crimson head delight When rains are on thee. In slioals and bands, a ilaneing train. Thou greet'st the traveler in the lane; If welcomed once thou coiintest it gain ; Thou art not daunted. Nor carest if thou be set at naught : And oft alone in nooks remote We meet thee, like a pleasant tiiought, When such are wanted. Be violets in tiieir secret news The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose; Proud be the rose, with rains and dews Her head impearling ; Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim. Yet hast not gone without thy fame ; Thou art indeed, by many a claim, The poet's darling ! William Word.sworth. I' I I I M HARK I THE NIGHTINGALE. 59 ii-rlli CO ////. l7/.lA'A/\ (>/■ \.\l( A'/:. • I i IKuM ilIK M'AM-II. LAlidlldCtiu-inoimtaiii ! Ivri(ill)iril ami tnt- ! ' How wiilujiit yiiilc iliy hu.oiii. all traiispurfiit l'<>m|) ol the iiuMd.w ' mirror !>! il\o morn I An tlu- [iiirc t r>»lal, lets llu' « iirious cm- TliC soni of A|iril, iiiilo wliom art- Imrii Thy sc-iri-ts scan, tliy sniootli roiiiul liclililfHcouiit I 'I'lic roho and jessamine, leaps «il. The lap of earth with j^old and silver teems. To me thy clear i)ro( eedin^ brighter seems 'i'liatj golden sands that channearli shepherd's ;ra/e. ' » sueet simijliciiy vi da\sgone by! Ihoii slmn'st the ha'.ints ot' man, to dwell in lim- I'id tomit ! H. W. LoNci KiJ.ow. H HARK, HARK! THE LARK. ARK, liark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, To oi)e tiieir golden eyes; And I'hcebns 'gins arise, i With cverjtliing that pretty bin, His steeds to water at those sjirings I My lady sweet, arise; On chaliced flowers that lies ; ' Arise, arise ! And winking Mary-bvids Win \ Wii i.iam Shakespeark. lit ! nt! iitn- «lf ill ^ ' ^ ij ( , L'U' [-1 !,«: •^^A4i*^' "////■ (7/AA'.US ()/■■ V.r/f'A'/i. 61 I f ill ■' [ s WINTER 50NQ. I KOM I IIK (GERMAN. li'MMMR jtiys are o'er; I'lov/crcts bloom no more, Wintry winds are sweejiing ; I'hrough the snow-drifts peeijing, Clieerfiil evergreen Rarely now is seen. Now M(j plumed throng Charms the wood with, song; lee-bound trees are glittering; Merry snow-l)!rds, twittering, l'"ondly strive to cheer Scenes so cold and drear. Winter, still 1 see Many < harms in thee, — Love thy (hilly greeting, Snovv-storuis llercely beating, And the dear delights Of the long, long nights. ClI.XRI.KS T. r>R()()KS. CAPE-COTTAaU AT SUNSET. K stood U|ion the ragged rock>. When the long day was nearly done; The waves had ceased their sullen shocks, .\iul lapjjcd our feri with murmuring tone, And o'er the bay in .streaming hjcks HIew th.e red tresses of the sun. .\long the west the golden bars Still to a deeper glory grew ; AI)ove our heads the faint, few stars Looked out from the unfathomed blue; .\nd the fair city's clamorous jars Seem melted in that evening hue. () sunset sky ! O purple tide ! ( ) friends to friends that closer jjfessed I Those glories have in d:lrknes^ died, .'\nd \e have left my k)nging breast. I could not keep you by my side, Nor fix that raiiiauce in the west. W. B. C.l.A/IKR. ( ! i I a n :D' 62 THE CHARMS OF NA TURE. B THE BOBOLINK. (JBOl.INK ! tliat in the meadow, Or !)eiie;itli the orchard's shadow, Keepest up a constant rattle Joyous as my cliildren's ))rattle, Welcome to the north again ! Welcome to mine ear thy snain, Welcome to mine eye the sigiit Oftiiy Imff, thy black and white. Brighter |ihinies nia\- greet the sun. I5y the banks of .Amazon : Sweeter tones may weave the s]k11 Of enchanting l^hilomel ; But the tropic bird would tail, A And the English nightingale, If we should compare their worth With thine endless, gushing mirth. When the ides of Mav are past, lune and summer neanng fast, Wliile from tiepths (jf blue above C\'nies the mightv breath of love. Calling out each luid and flower With resistless, secret power — AV'aking hope and loiui desire, Kindling the erotic lire - I'iliiiig youths' and maidens' dreams \\'ith mysterious, pleasing themes; Then, amid the sunlight clear floating in the fragrant air, 'I'luju dost 111! each lieart with ]-leasure by thy glad ecstatic measure. A single note, so sweet and low, Like .1 full heart's overflow. I'ornis tiie ])telu(le ; but the strain (lives no such tone again. For the wild and saucy song Leaps anil skips the notes among, Witli such (juick and sportive p!:'y. Ne'er was mailder, merrier lay. Oayest songster tif the sjirlng I Thy melodies before me bring Visions of some dream-built land, Where, by constant zephyrs fanned, I might walk tlie livelong day, Lnibosomed in jjerpetual May. Nor care nor ("ear thy bosom knows; I'or thee a tempest never blows ; l!ut when our northern summer's o'er. l)v Delaware's or Schuylkill's shore The wild rice lifts its airy head, And royal feasts for thee are spread. .\nd when the winter threaten, there. Thy tireless wings yet own no fear, but bear thee to more soutliern coasts, bar bex'ond tl)e reach of frosts. bolujlink ! st'M nia\' thv gladness Take from me all taints of sadness; fill m\- sold with trust unshaken In that Being who has taken Care for every living thinr In summer, winter, fai •■ . spring. I'HOM \- Hll.I . PERSEVERANCE. SWALLOW in the spring ( '.inie \o our granary, and 'neath the eaves Lssa\ed tn make a nest, and '' .re -.:^?:?^^§Jfe?=B^^- ^ TOW II1;RI',, fairer, swtaUr, Kirer, Dot's tlie goldeii-locked fidit-bcarer, I'hroiijih Ills iminted <• ma Hands stray, 'I'liaii wliero liill-sule oak. and l)eecties Overlook the loii,u Mnc iraches, ^Mlvt■r coves and i)cl)l)led heaclies And green isles of C"asco Hay; Nowhere day, for delay. Willi a tenderiT look l)fsee(hes, " Let nu' wilh niv charnied earth stay." On the urajnlands of the niainhuuU Stands the serried corn like train-bands, I'lnnie and pennon rnstiing gay ; (Jul at sea, the isl.iiul^ \vof)ded, "Silver liirch<,'s, golden hooded. Set with maples, ( rinison-lilooded. White sea-foam and sanil hills grny, Stretch away, fir aw i\ , Dim and dreary, over-brnoiled ]\\ the ha/,\' autumn day. Oayly chattering to the clattering Of the brown nuts downward pattering, Leap the sijuirrels reii and grav. ( )r, the grass-land, on the fallow, Drop tiic apples, red and ; flloiv. Drop the nisset pilars and mellow . Drop the red kave>' >'' 'ht di>\- -— And aua\ , swift awa Sun and cloud, (j'er hill and hoUow C^hning, weave their web of pla\'. InllN ( i. \V:'1TTIER. f-v^j^J^.- LILACS. F Voiii iP. f ,:i'p; hildren of the sun, H yoi r I), soms one by on ;i;e If ok . of lov j into your eyes, ■,f.iii\c oKMthe, your be.'ut\ urize, Hold vour sweet clusters to my view, Cool my warm blushes with your dew, .•\nd evening, morning, and at noon. Mourn that vour tints are gone so soon. Henry Davenport. ^■i//M I Plf ^ i '"' , i 1 ii: #iii?i'«Mitii i '! iim iHiit BLOSSOMS AND PERFUMi Gf) ! lilt'l . f:nir . ti Ca THE CHARMS OF NATURE. FLOWERS PAKi; full well, ill language quaint and olden, Not alone in sprnig's armorial bearing, s ()\\K- wilt) dwcUeth liy the castled Riiine, Wlu-n he called the flowers, so blue and golden, St;''-'^ that in earth's firmament do shine. And in summer's green-emblazoned field, But in arms of bra\e old autumn's wearing, In the centre of his brazen shield; in all I I'lOrt Teaclii How c O Clii Uni I'ro Am The All, Cirt All, Sus| Seen Tim And I ga; P Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As asirok)gcrs and seers of eld ; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, l.ike the burning stars, which they beheld. \Vondr()us truths, and mniifold as wondrous, (Jod hath written in those stars above; Hut not less in the bright flowerets under us Stands the revelation of his love. i;\ery\\here about us they arc glowing, Some like ^tar^^. to tell us spring is born; Others, tlieir blue eyes with tears o'erflowing. Stand like Ruth :imid the golden corn; Not alone in meadows and green alleys. On the mountain-top, and by the brink Of sequestered pools in woodlantl valleys, Where the slaves of nnture stoop to drink ; Not alone in her vast di>me of .^lory, Not on graves of bird and laast alone, But in old cathedrals high and hoary, On the tombs of heroes, carved in stone; In the cottage of the rudest peasant, In ancestral homes, whose crumblinu towers, Spoking' of the past unto the present, Tell us of the ancient games of flowers. vet \ Swt Tc Win^ Nc Bird, To To No THESE praii whit fear! "al'hful, wa ai llie approa K. ruin ! R, free \n(i to grn ^\'iththes|, To the win ( I**! THE CHARMS OJ' XATIKE. S7 111 all i)laces, then, and in all season-^. Flowers expand their light and suuilike wings, Teaching us, by most persuasive reasons, IIdw akin thev are to human thinus. And wirh < hildlike, credulous affection We liehokl their tender buds expantl ; Isinhlenis of our own great resurrection, i'.mhleins ot the liri^ht and hotter land. II \V. LoNcii IXLOW. C A 5CENE ON THE HUDSON. (^Ol, shades and deus are round ni\- wa\, I And silence of the early ila\ ; Mid the tlark rocks that watch his bed, (Hitters the mighty Hudson spread, Unrippled, save by drops that fall from shrubs that fringe his mountain wall; And o'er the clear, still waters swells 'I'he music of the Sabbath bells. All, save this little nook of land Circled widi trees, on which I stand; All, save that line of hills which lie Suspended in the mimic sky — Seems a blue void, above, l)eli)w. Through which the white clouds come anil g( And from the green workl's farthest steep I gaze into lite airy deep. Loveliest of lovi'K- thinus are they, ( )n earth, that snonest |iass away, 'i'he rose that lives its little hour Is pri/etl beyoiul the sculptiu-ed flower. IC\en lo\e, long tried and cherished long, becomes more tender ami more strong, .At thought of that insatiate grave from which its yearnings canniJt save. River! in this still hmir thou hasl Too much of heaven on earth to last; Nor long ni:;y thy s;ill waters lie, An image of the glorious sky. Thy fate and mine are not repose, And ere another evening close, Thou to thy tides shalt turn again, •And I to seek the crowd of men. W. V. Bkvant. PACK CLOUDS AWAY. P At'K ( lotids away, and welcome day, With night we baiddi sorrow ; Sweet air, blow soft ; motml, 1. irk, aloft, To give my love good morrow. Wings from the wind to |)le ise her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow: Bird, prune ihy wing; idghtingale, sing, 'I'o give my Ime good morrow. To give my love good mormw. Notes from them all I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast. Sing, birds, in ever\' I'urrow ; .■\nd irom each hill let nnisic shrill ("live my fair love good morrow. Bl ickbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, ard cock-sjmrrow, A'ou ])retty elves, amongst \onrselves, Sing my fair love gnod morrow. To give mv love good morrow. Sing birds in every furrow. T. Hevwood. OUR QRb.\T PLAINS. THESE plains an' mide up, ti> a grcit extent, of rolling; I>rairies, .st'eniiiij^lv a^ liiiiiiulless as th • sea, over wliicii millidiis (if Imllalo once roamed wild and fearlr-., but wliiili are fast dwiiidliiig to timid, «:itilifiil, waiy lierds, ever scenting danger, ami taking flight at the approach of man. '-■ om ! Rootn to turti round in. to breathe and be free, And to grow to be giant, to sail as at sea \^ ith thespeeil of the w ind on a^tced with his mane '"o the wind, without pathwa. or route or a rein Koom ! Room to 1 le free where the white-bordered sea Blows a ki.ss to a brother as boundless as he; And to east and to west, to the ntjrth and the sun, Blue skies and brown grasses are wekied as one, \nd the bulTalo come Ike a cloud on the jilain, Touring on like the tiile of a storni-driven main, And the lodge of the hunter, to friend or to foe < )flers rest ; and unquestioned you come or yoti go. V.ist i)lains of America! Seas of wild lands! I turn to you, lean tu you, lift up mv hands. JoAt.uiN Miller. I ' t K i m xd* A^A'i-' €8 THE CHARMS OF NAli'RE. B A DREAM OF SUMMER. LAND ;is tlie inorniiig bieatli of J'.inc 'I'he southwest lirct-zes play ; And, tliroiiu'li its liaze, tlie winter noon Seeiis warm as summer's dav. ,i; The s«ow-jiluineil angel of tin Has dropped liis ic\ spear ; Again the iMi<*>sy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear. The fox his liili-side cell forsakts. The innskrat leaves his nook. The bluebird in the meadow brakes Is singing with the 'rook. " Rear ii)), oh mother nature !" cry Hird, bree/.e, and streamlet free; "Our winter voi( es jirophesy Of summer days to thee !" So, in those winters of the soul, By bitter lilasts and lirear O'erswept from memory's frozen pole, Will sunny days appear. Reviving hope and taith, they show The soul its living powers, And how, bcneatli tlie winter's snow, Lie germs of summer flowers ! The night is nidther of the day. The winter of the spring, And e\ er upon old decay The greenest mosses cling, liehind the cloud the starlight lurks, ThrouLih showers the simbeams flili; I'or God, who loveth all his works, ] las left his hope with all ! John (1. WHiniKR. THE GREAT HORSE-SHOE CURVE. llRll',1'' sio]i is matle at Altoona Station, and then, with all steam on, the giant locomotive at the head of your train egins tlie ascent of the heaviest grade on the 'ine. The valley beside you sinks lower and lower, until it becomes a vast gorge, the bot- tom of \vhi(h is hidden liy impenetrable gloom. Far in the depths cottages appear fcjr a moment, only to tiisappear in the darkness, and then, just as night is falling, you begin the circuit of the world-lamous Lorse-shoe Curve, the most stupendous piece of engineering ever accomplished ; the wonder and admiration of travelers from the four ( oriicrs of the globe ; the one feature of American railroad coiistriKtion that you have been ti^ld required the utmost courage to attempt, and the most nuraculous skill to achieve. And now, as the enormous bend, sweei)ing first north, then curving westward, and s''ll curving away to the south again, presents it>elf to your view, you confess that you did not begin to esti- mate its grandeur. An eagle soars majestically away from some crag above your head, and floats with extended wings over the gulch that makes your brain reel as you glanct downward, so deep is it. The clouds into which you are climl)ing bend low and hide the rugged top of the mountain to wrj)ose beetlinj^ side you are clinging, forming a whitish-giay canopy that extends half-way across the dizzy chasm. It ^ all so ^-irge, so grand, so majestic, that \ou aciwiit that ^viur imagination has been unequal to the task of picturing it. ■\ ■i I hi :. iji^ (1 i 'j 1 ( :i -1^ ,1*' " 1 f t ■I: ' I !' THE CHARMS OF XA/'l'K/i, uy SONQ TO MAY. AV, i|m'ci\ of blossoms, And liill'illing flowers, With what pretty music, Shall we charm tlie hours? Wilt tliou have pipe and reed, Blown ill tiie open mead ? ( )r to the lute give liccd, In the green liowers? THE WOOD. Wl r(MMIA/.KL, dogwood, and the m.aj.le here ; . And there tiic oak and hit kory ; Linn, pophir, and the lieecii tree, lar and ne.ir As tlie eased eye (an s e. Wild gin;,'er, ualioo, \\ illi it> roan l).dK>(iiis; And brakes ot' briers T'< V !i I Here are bowers llung with llovvers, Richh curtainetl halls for you ! Meads for rovers, Siiades for lovers, Violet lieds, and pillows too : rur])le heather You may gather. Sandal-deep in seas of bloom ! Pale-faced lily, Proud Sweet-Willy, Gorgeous rose, and golden broom ! Hrightsome glxsses I'or bright faces Shine in ev'ry rill that flows; Every minute You look in it Still more bright your beauty grows ! Hither ! hither ! O come liither I Lads and lasses come and see ! Trip it neatly, Foot it featly. O'er the grassy turf to me ! George Darley. Till- CHARMS OF XAICR/i. THH RIVULET. Wars change thee not. Upon you hill Tlie tall olil maples, verdant still, \'ct till, in grandour of dc( ay, How swift the years have jiassed away, Since first, a child, and half afraid, I w.indcre 1 in the forest shade. Tiion ever joyous rivulet. Dost diui|ile, lea|), and prattle yet ; And sporting with the sands that pave The windings of thy silver wave, .\nd dam ing to thy own wild chiuie. Thou laughe^t at the lapsf ot' time. Tiie same sweet sounds are in my ear, My early chil.lhood loved to hear ; As pure thv limpid waters run. As l)right they sparkle to the sun ; As fresli and thick the hending ranks Of herbs that line thy oozy banks; Tlie violet there, in soft May dew, <"omes u[), as modest and as blue ; As green amid thv current's stress, I'loats the scarce rooted water-.i ; And though I must own, there are some that I've- known. Whose external attractions are sjileiulid ; On myself I most doat, for in my ])retty coit .Ml the tints of the garden are blended — In short, you must know, I'm the Butterfly Beau. T. Havn'f.> I'.avi.v. THE MOUNTAIN. We may not know how long ago That ancient countenance was young ; Th\' sovereign brow was seamed as now When Moses wrote and Homer sung. Fmpires and states it anted. itts. And wars, and arts, and crime, antl glory ; In that dim morn when man was born Thy heail with teuturies was hoary. Canst thou not tell what then befell? What forces moved, or last or slow ; How grew the hills; what heats, what chills; What strange, dim lite, so Ion;; ago? High-visaged peak, wilt ihoi not speak One word, for all our learned wrangle? What earth(|uakes shaped, what glaciers scraped That nose, and gave the chin its angle ? silent speech, that well can teach The little worth of words or fame ! 1 go my wav, but thou wilt stav While future millions ]):iss the same: — But what is this I seem to miss? Thc-e features fall into conftision ! A further pace— where was that face ? The veriest fugitive 'llusion ! I 5 Vt !| /"///■. (7 /.I A'. US ('/•■ X.lIlNli. () Titan. Iiow disliiunccl art tiiuii I A wiihcrcd ( lilf is all «e see ; 'I'liat ),'iant nose, ili.ii grand rr|iose, lla\L' in a nionR'nt ceased to Ij<- ; Or stdl deiiiiui on lines that blrnd, On incr^ing sliajus, and sij;lii. and distaucc, And in tiie mind alone can (iiul iniagniary liriel cxisltiu c ! John T. 'I'KdWMKIUi.K. w AFTER 5UMMER. I'.'I.l, not weep for su-nmer over. No, not we ; Sirew aliove his head the tlovcr, I/'t him he ! ( )ihcre\fsmav weep his ing With his |iecrs. Shall we in onr toinhs, 1 wonder, I'ar ai)art, Sundered widr as seas < an snnder Heart from heart. hream.il .ill of all the .sorrows Th.it were oiirs — IHtler nights, more hitter nmrrows; Poison (lowers Siinnner gatheree, and ihe M.gnifuence oi the sky, s>m. moon and stars, i nicr more extensivcl . into the enjoyment of mankind than we, perhajjs, ever think, or can possibly ;:pprehend, witlunit freiiuent and extensive invisti|4atii)n. ihis beauty and splemlor of the objects ar.iimd us, it i> ever to be remembered, are not neic ssarv to their existence, nor to what we connnonly intend by their u eiiil ness It i- therefore, to be regarded as a source 7r^ •— *r--. Ami are a token from below From our dear deail ; As in their turf ye softly shine Of inno(jlatit)n, enlivened by the murmur of no stream and cheereil by the beauty of no verdure, altliou;;h he might live in a pal ice and riot in splendor aid luxury, he would, 1 think, frid life a dull, wearisome, melancholy round of existence, and amid all his gratifications would sii,di for the hills and valleys of his na'ive land, the brooks and rivers, the livin; lustre of the spring, and the rich glories of the autumn. of jtleasure gratuitously siipeniiduced ii|ion the general nature of the objects themselves, and ii this liu'ht as a testimony of the tlivine gooilnes> peculiarly affecting. Timothy Dwuht. AN ITALIAN SUNSET. IT was one of those eveuinL;s never to bo forgot ten by a painter — l)ut one too which nni^i c(jme upon him in misery as a gorgeous mocis ery. The sun was yet up, and reNting on tiie liighest p 'ak of a ridge of mountain-shaped clouds, that seemed to make a part of the distance; sud- denly he disaMj)eared, and the landscape waso\er- spiead with a cold, lurid hue; then, as if molten in a furnace, the fictitious mountains began to glow; in a mimient more they tumbled asunder ; in another h ■ was seen a.-ain, piercing their frag- ments, and darting his shafts to the remotest east, till, reaching the horizon, h- appeared to re( all th"m. and with a jiarting llash to wrap the whole heavens in 11 ime. Washinotow .-Xl.l.SlON. VALLEY OF THE HUDSON. A.N'I) how changed is the scene from that <'n which I luds(j;i gazed 1 The earth glows with tlie colors of civilization ; the l)ank- of the streams are enamelled with richest grasses; woodlands and cultivated fields are bar moniousb blended ; the birds of spring find their delight in orchards and trim gardens, xariegattd with choice>t i)laivs t'rom every temperate zone ; while the brilliant flowers of the tropics blooui .I.STON I I ?! I f 'l ! I Ifuni ti I III ><•' the Iiflil^ ol the val tiir lliK k< ' ,. Ill llif I lllll\ lirnuil III Slllilt'-- .it tl ihv liluMll THI: T III. .11 lU'i -1 Th.it s|>iiil •l i> K To I. at lie _\ lit' lie. I Awaking I The aiiui-l riiM" : •'() iiiiiikst Still lairfst l<>n 111, MM mull, living hke .i ^;()()ll luij^hlxir mir till.' iii'lil'' III' ciiltiv.itfil, uloiiis III thf Iriiitliiliusi ol the vallc>->, .tiul I Duiio wall lu>iit'si uMiltatiiHi the lloilcs liiid herds that lirnvvsc in saiety on the liilh. The tliorn has ^wiu way to the rnsolmsh ; ihi' ' iiltiv.itcd vine < hiinlx rs over rocks wlirre llie lirociil 1)1 serpents used tn nestle; while industry ^Mii'e-- .tt the < haiiKes she Ikh wriiii^;ht, ,iiid inhales di' bland air whitli now has health on its winj;s. (iiiiKiii ISaniroki. THI- M()55 KOSI-. Till, aii^il ol' the llo\\< i-, one day, lleiieath a rose-iree slei'|iing la\ — 1 lut spirit to whose charue 'l is L;iven 'I'll hatlie \oiiii ; buds in ilews (if heaven, Aw.ikint; I'loiii his liulil re- [lose, The aiii^el whispued to I he rose : "() loudest objec t < I' niv care. Still tairi'st foiiiui. where all are lair; lor the swi et shaile th(jii jjiv'st to me Ask uliai llioii uilt, 'l is j;ranted thee '• Then," said the rose, with ('eei)ened glow, " On me anotlier j^rac e bestow." 'I"hes]iirit paused, in silent thoiii^lu — Whai f^raee was th. re that tlower had not ? "!' was but a nioiuent — o'er 'he rose A veil of moss the an^el throws, .And. robed in nature's simplest weed. Could there a (lower that rose exceed ? V. W. Ukimmaiher. FOLDINO THE FLOCKS. SUl'.l'Hl.RDS all, and maidens fair, l'"ol 1 voiir llo( ks up ; for the air 'dins to thicken, and the snn .Mieady his yieat course hath run See the de\v(lr()|)s, how they kiss ••'.very little tlower that is ; llaiiLiiuj; on their \ehet lieads. Like a string of crystal be;itls. See the heavy clouds hiw falliiii,' .^nd brif,'ht Hesjierus down < ailing The dead ni^ht from iinder^roimd ; At whos- rising, mists unsound, nanijis and vapors, tlv a|iace. And hover o'er the smiling face Of these jjastures ; wluTe they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom. Iheie.ore troni such daii^;e! loi k I, very one liis loved lli ( k , And let your dojjs lie iiu)>e without, 1 .1 St the NNoli ( oiiir a.s a si out It >m the inouiitain, and ere day, Itear a lamb or kid away ; Or the cr,dty, thiesish fox, break upon your simple llocks. To se(;ure yoiiiselt Irom these, lie not too se( lire in easi' ; So shall you good she|ilierds prove, .And deserve voiir master's love. ¥J: -^ > 7 # Now, good-night! mavsweete-t slumbers And soft silence tall in numbers On your eyelids. So farewell : Thus I end my evening kmll. riKMMnNl .nnd l'"l,F, ILIIER. w": BUTTERFLY LIFE. vtiu tell me each gay little first '. though rover Shrinks from the lireath of tlu autumn day I Surely 'tis better, when summer is over, To die when all fair things are fading away. Some in life's winter may toil to discover Means of procuring a weary delay — r be a butterfly ; living, a rover. Dying when fair things are f.uling away ! T. Havnks Havi.v. U '! ' 4 f it 7H /•///•; (If. IN MS 01- x.ircRii. THE VI-RNAI, 5I;AS<)N. THANK. I'rovidciM e lor spring! The r.irtli - and III. Ill luniM'lf, l»y >ym|ailiy wiili lii>« liirlli|il.ue— WKiiliI lif far otluT tiian we I'liid tluin, it life liiilfd wo.irilv uiiw.irl, willioul tliis pfrutdii ;d miibii)!! ol ill p'iiii.d spifit. Will iliu ti:ne !8 I l-'roiii mi< li n ^mil the woriJ iiiii>t lui|ic 111! rfliir.iiat'Hi nf lis i'\ il — im syiii|)atliy Willi tiu' lolly l.iitli a:id ^. ill. ml sln^^lis n| tliu^e wilt) contend in its heliall. Siiiiiiiu r «orks in the present, and tliink^ noi oT t!ie t'litiire : aiituniii ipriii;;. with it-, oiit^ii liiiij^ life, is the tine type ol tlic niovemeiit N',\ III win. I I \\\ llloKVK. '.m'ii'-- TMI I' :M)Niirdl-vi»ired and loud, the iiu'sseiiLiernf niorti; \et the sh.idows fl\ , lie llli'llllid s.iigs .\niiil the (la.v niiigi lunds.and from their haunts Calls up the innelul nations. \',\ ery ( ojise 1> v'p t.mgled, tree irregnl.ir, ami l>nsh lending with dtw\ moi>tiire, e'er the heads ( )f the coy ([iiiristT^ that lodge within, .\re prodigalof h imiony. The thrush And woodlark, o't r tie kind- ( ontending throng Siipeiior heard, run through the sweetest length ( )l notes ; when listeiing Phil- onielia deigns Tol-jt them joy.aiul purposes, il thougiit Klate, to make her night excel their day. The hlaCdiiid whistles from t'le thorny brake ; The mellow iiiillfmrh answers from the grove; Nor are the linnets, o'er the llowering liir/e Poured out profusely, silent ; •• joined to tluse Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade ( )f new-sprung Naves, their inodulitions mix Millilluou-. The jiy. the rook, the daw. And ea'h harsh j)ipe, discord int heard alone, Aid the full 1 oiicert ; while the stockdove breathes .V mel.uu.holy iniirniur through the whole. ' ris 1 )ve cre.ites their inelodw and all This waste of niiisie is the voi( e ot love ; That ev.n to birds and ber.sts tin tender arts ( )f pleasing teaches. J.xmks Thomson. rill: CHARMS Oh XAICKIi. 79 I IKIN I Itivc, ihc Miie lunl aiul llii- wnii, The tliin>li, ilii- kirk iiiiil many, . iiwiny iiKiro ; ^"7 Hill, nil, aliovf ilicni all, llial Iriviid ol iiieti I love, tlif sparritw pipiiiK •" my door, UliiMi .MimiiitT llct's, and wintir MmnIits torili With toariii;; lilast-. that shake the naked trees, .•^rll M»u iii.iv he.ir ahuve the le^ioned .North \ imrry nolr aliosc the < niniicfs. Hie -parrow siiU doili pipe Ins nttle lav A', sweifl' vs lie jiipcd it in the spring; No migrant hi. di.it i|iii away W htii Miiniiur winds no longer round him sin^'. A ii.irdy (■(inira i-. abl.i/e, .\iid all her paths .oe lost iii ir\st.d m.i/e ! Tread liglitl\ win re the d,iiiit< violets blew. Where :lie spring wiiuU theu solt eves open llew , Safely tlii'V slee|i the »hiiilr-li wiiitu ihiongh. Though all life's poit.ilsare iiidiced with woe, .\i.d frozen pe.iiN are all the world cm show, I'ecl ' Nature's breatli i> warm beneaih die simw. Look iipl de.ir nioiiriieis! .Still the blue expanse. Serenely Iriider, bends to c.itcli tliv glance. Within thy tears sibyllic sunbeams dance I With bloom, full s.ipped ag.iin will .smile the k'nd. The fill Is but the folding ol His hand, Anon with tiiller glories to expanil. The dumb heart liii! beneath the pulseless tree Will throb again ; and then the torpid bee U|io»- the ear wiP drone his drowsy glee. .So shdl the tru.int bliu-birds backward fly, .'\nd all loved things that v.inish or that die Keturn to u.-> in some sweet b\-aiicl-by. VENICB AT NKJHT. TIIIC moon w.ns at the height. Its rays fell in a flood on the swelling domes and massive roofs of \'eiiice, while the iii.Trgin of tlie town was brilliantly defined by the glittering bay. The natural and gorgeous sitting wjs more than worthy of that pi( tiire of human magrificeni e ; for at that moment, rii h as was the ijiii en ol tiie .\dii- atii in i.er works of art, the grandeur of her jml • lie iiioniiments, the number and sjilendor ot her palat es, and most cNe that the ingenuity and am- liition of man ( ould alteni|it, she was but sk ondary in the glories of the hour. .Above was the firmament gemmed with worlds, and sublime in immensity. ISeneath lay the broad ixjiaiisc of the Adriatic, endless to the eye, trail- • luil as the vault it reflectei!, and liiniinoiis with its borrowed light. Here and there a low island, re- I laimed from the si a by the patient toil of a thousand years, dotted the l.agiiiies, burdened by the group of some coineiitiial iKvelliiigs, or jiic- tures(pie with the moilest roofs of a hamlet of the fishermen. Neither oar, nor song, r.or laugh, nor flaji of sail, nor iest of mariner distiiibed the still- ness. .Ml in the near vii'w was < loihed in mid- night loveliness, and all in the disiance bespi'ke the soleinnitv of nature at peace The city and the I.agiines, the gulf and the dreamv .Alps, thi intermin.ible plain of l.ombanlv. and the blue void ot heaven lay alike in a eominon and gr.ind re| ose. 'mes Fem.mukk Cuupkk. I >; 1^^. THE CHARMS OF NATURE. 'i i, iO A AOUSE. ON TI'RNINi; IIKR VV IN HER NKSl WITH THK I'l.OL'CH. WI'.K, slcekit, cow'rin', tini'roiis beastie, (). wli:U a panic's in thy breastie ! Thou need iia start awa' sae liasty, \Vi' l)ickering brattle I I w.ui l)e laith to rin an' chase thee, \Vi' niiird'ring pattle ! i !| I'm truly sorry man's dominion flas broken nature's soi:ial union, Vn' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle \t me, thy ])!)or earth born com])anion, An' fellow-mortal I I tlouut 111, \vh\les. biii thou may thieve; Whit then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A I'limen iiker in a thrave 'S a sma' reiiuest ; I'll get a blessiu' \vi' the laive. And never miss 't ! Thy wee bit hoiisie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin' ! An n^ething now to big a new ane ()' foggage green 1 An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Haith snell and keen I Thou saw the fiel Is laid bare an' waste. An' weary winter comin' fast, An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Tl'.oti thought to dwell, Till, crash I the cruel coulter past Out through thy cell. That wee bit heaj) o' leaves an' stibble I las cost thee inony a weary nibble I Now thou's turned out for a' th\' trouble. But house or hakl, 'i'o thole the winter's sleety dri'>ble, .\n' cranreuch c mid ! But, Mousie, thou art no tiiy lane, In proving foresigiit may be vain : Tiie best-laid schemes o' mice an' men ' "lang aft a-^ley. An' lea'e us n lught but grief and pain. For prouiised joy. .Still thou art blest, com])ared wi' me! The present only touchetli thee ; But, och ! I backward cast my e'e On i)ros|)ects drear ; An' forward, though I canna see, i guess an' fear. RoiiKRr Burns SUMMER WOODS. LOV1-; at eventide lo walk alone, Down narrow glens, o'erhung with dewy thorn. Where, from the long grass underneath, the snail. Jet black, creeps out, and sjiro its his tiuiid horn. I love to muse o'er meadows newly mown, \\'here withering grass i>erfiimes the sultry air; Where bees search round, with sad and weary drone. In vain, for tlowers that bloomed bnt newly there; While in the juicy corn the hidden (jiiail Cries. "Wet my foot;" and. hid as thoughts un- born. The fairy-like and seldo n-seen land-rail Utters " Craik, cr.iik." like voices untlerground, Right glad to meet the evening's dewy veil. And see the light fade into gloom around, John Clare. A II ^ l: l-fi, HIE CHARMS OF .\A1URE. 81 THE WEST WIND. Bi:\KA'rH the loresl's skirts 1 rest, Whose lir.mchiiig iiiiics rise dark and high, And iiear the breezes of the West Amony the threaded loliage siL;h. Sweet Zephyr ! wliy that s.)iMui of woe? Is not thy home aniohg tlie llowers ? Ho not the 'orii^ht J iin; roses blow, I'o meet thy kiss at morning hours? And !o I thy glorious realm outsjjread — Von stretching valleys, green and gay, And yon ixit^ hdl-tops, o'er wliose head The loose white clotids are borne away. And there the full broad river runs, And nian\- a loiint »sells fresh and sweet, To cool thee when the mid-day suns Hive made th e fliint beneath their heat. Tlioii wind of joy, and youth, and love; Spirit of th ■ new-wakened year! 'i'he s ni in his blue rt aim above Smooths a bright path when thou art here. In lawns the murmuring bee is heard. The wooing ring-dove in the shade ; On thy soft breatli, the new-fledged bird Takes wing, half happy, half afraid. Ah! thou art like our waywanl race;— - When not a shade of pain or ill Dims the bright smile o! Nature's face. Thou lovest to sigh and inurnnir still. W. C. Bryant. | The cloud witlulreA, and tlie harebell cried. " 1 am faint, so faint! and no w.iter beside!" An' the cieu tame down it-, nnliioii fuiite of" cheerv song and voice, Thou brave and blithe newcomer, I cannot in thy j(i\ rejoice ; One swallow makes no summer." THIi PINE FOREST BY THE SEA. V. wandered to the ])ine forest That skirts the 0( can's toaiu ; The lightest wind was in its nest, The tempest in its home. The whisp'ring waves were half asleep, The clouds were gone to play. And on the bosom of the deep The smile of heaven l.iy ; It seemed as if the hour were one .Sent from beyond the skies, Wiii( h scattereil fron\ above the sun A light of Paradise ! How calm it was ! the silence there By such a chain was boimd, That even the busy woodpecker Made stiller by her s(jund The inviolalile (|uietnfss; The breath of peace we drew, With its soft motion made not less The calui that round uri grew. VVe i)aused beside the jkjoIs that lie Under the forest bough ; E.ich seemed as 'twere .i little sky Ciiilfed in a world below; A firuiamcnt of jiurple liulu Which in the dark earth lay. More boimdle>s than the dejjth of night, And purer than the day — In which the lovely forests grew, As in the upper air. More perfect lioth in shape and hue Than any spreading there. Were imaged by the water's love Of that fair forest green : And all was interfused beneath With an l'"J\sian glow. An atmosphere without a breath, A softer day loelow. I'krcv H. Shelley. SWALLOW. Is if Thus in my thought I fain would say: Meantime, on swilt wing speeding, Its wild and winning roimdelay The bird ;;ang on unheeding: Of odorous fields and drowsy nooks, or slow tide^ l.iiiduard creeping. Of woodlands thrdkd with jocund times, Of soft airs hushed and sleeping. He sang of waving forest heights \\ ith strong green boughs uiisjiringing ; Of laiut stars pale with drowsy lights, In dusky heavens swinging ; Of nests high hung in cottage eaves. Of yellow corn-fields growing, And through the long, slim, fluttering leaves, The sleepy winds a-blowing. \'\ f i'l' I'l iil I . H II ill ■r^ " r H - i i U issaSHB^giiggfjfg^ I ; 11' !l I 84 :'//£ (7/AKJ/S O/' XATUKH. He san>; until my soul took lieed ( )! warm, soft-tailing showers, or dells high iiilcd with tangled leaves, And gay with tangled tlowiri; or life, and love, and hope's bright crew; Tins brave and blithe new comer — And so, and so, at last 1 knew One swallow made the summer. M. ]■;. Blaine, T whi FIRST SIGHT OF THE VALLEY OF MEXICO BY THE SPANIARDS. Hi'; troojis, refreshed by a night's rest, suc- ceeded, early on the following day. in gain- ing the crest of the sierra of Aiiualco, Il stretches like a curtain between the two great ntoun- tuns o n t he n o rt h a ii d south. Their progress was now conij)ara- tivel, easy, and they marched forward with a buoyant step as they felt they weie treading the soil of Montezuma. They had not advanced far, when, turning an aii;;le of the sierra, they suddenly came on a view which m ire than ( ompensated the toils of the pre- ceding day. It was that of the \'alley of Mexico, which, with its p;ctuns(Hie assemblage of water, woodland, and cultivated plains, its shining cities and shadowy hills, was spread out like some gay and gorgeous jianorama belore the.n. Siretchinp far auay at their feet were seen noble forests oi oalv, sycamore, and cedar, and beyonil, yellow fields of maize and the towering maguey, intermingled with orchards and blooming gardens; tor flowers, in siic'.i demand for their religious testiv.ds, were even more abundant in this populous valley than in oilier ))arts of Anahuac. In the < entre of th • great basin were beheld the lak^s, occup\ing tlun a much larger portion of its surface than at present; tlieir bortlers thickly studded with towi.s and ham- lets, and, in the midst — like so;iie Indian empress wi;h her coronal of pearls — the fair city oi Me.\i( o, '.. ith her white towers ami ]iyramidal temple, re- posing, as it were, on the bosom of the waters — the far-tamed "Venice of the .X.'.tecs." I ligh over all rose the royal hill of Chapullepec, the residence of the Mexican monarchs, crowneil with the same grove of gigantic cyp- resses, which at this day fling their broad shad- ows ov, r the land. In the distanc e beyond the blue waters of the lake, and ne;;rl / screeneil by interver.ing foliage, was .seen a sirning speck, the rival capiial of Te/.( iico, and, srill further on, the dark In ll of porphyry, ginlling the valley around like a ri( h set- ting which nature had de\ised lor the fairest of her jewels. Such was the bcaiiti- :A-' fill vision which broke •' on the e;.es of the con- (pierors. .Viid even now, when so sad a change has come over the seine; when thestatelv forests have b^'cn liid low, and the soil, unsheltered from ihe fierce nidiauceof atrojiical sun. is in man\ places abandoned to sterility ; when the waters have retired, leaving a boa I and gha>tly margin white with the ir.crustatioi of silts, whiL- ihe cities and hamlets on their borders have mould- ered into ruins;— even now that desolation broods over the laniiscape, so indestructible are the lines of beauty which nature has traced on its features, that no traveler, however cold, can gaze on them OLI\'KR WKNDKLL HOLMES. 'Miif^i tiiii nf « ivrc-.KXlv FlKLl). TUE CHARMS OF XATURE. 86 with any other emotions tlian tlmse of astimisli- iiii.iit and ra|)tiirc. Wliat, tlien, must have been the emotions of the Spaniards, when, after workini,' their toilsome wa\ into the iijjper air, the ( loiuly tabernacle iMrted before tlieir eyes, and they lnhcld these f.iir scenes in all their jjristine ma^nificcnc eand beauty? It was like the sjiet tac le which greber's wood. J. (i. WhI ITIER. GENTIAN. Or columbines, in ]inr])le dressed. Nod o'er the ground bird's hidden ne^t. Thou waite-t late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening davs ])ortend The ajed year is near his end. p r 8(3 Till'. CHARMS OF N ATI' RE. I'hcn doth thy swi-et and tjiiii't eye l.ocjk through its Iriiigfs to 'h- sky, l.lue— bliu'— as if that sky lot lall ' A flower Irom its cerulean wall. I would that thus, when I siiall see liie hour ol de.itlj draw near to nie, Hope, blo-souun^i within my heart, May look to heavt u as 1 (iei):irt. \V. C. Hrsant. . — ■ >■ %^>. J, ' t>. • / #?^ /. 4 i ■ f s THH THRUSH. ( )N(;S1'1:R <_,•: the msset roat, ImiII and liquid is tliv note ; Plain thy dress, I ml great thy skill, Cajilivating at thy will. Small nuiiic iaii of the fu-ld, Near niv bower tin- tribute yield, I.ittlf servant of the ear. I'h tliv ta>k, and never tear. I will learn from thee to ])raise (lod, the author of my days ; I will learn from thee to sing, Christ, my S.i\iour and my King; I,earn to labor « ith my voice, Make the sinking heart rejoice. I THE CHARMS OF NATURE. «7 T The forest sfcnis to listen for tlic nisile of its l«.a\«8, And tlie very skies to glisten in llu hojie ul sum- mer eves. The cattle lift their voices from the valle\saritl the hills, And tiic feathered race rejoices with a j,'nsh ot tiinefid liills ; And if this clomlless ar( h fills the |K)et'ssong with glee. O thoti sunny first of Marcn ! he it dedicate to thee. iloKAi E Smiiii. 9'T^) THE COMET. WAS a beautilul night on a heautihil dciii, And the man at the helm had f.dhn asleep, And the watch on the deck, with his head on his breast, Was lieginniiig to dream that another's is pressed, When the lookout aloll cried, '• A sail ! ho, a sail ! "A sail! ho, a sail!" '• Where away?" " North- nn'th west !" "Make her out?" "No, your honor!" 'I'ht; dill drowns the rest. 'I'here indeed js the stranger, the first in these seas. Yet she drives bokily on in the teeth of the hree/.e. Now her hows to the breakers she readih turns, Mil, bud is in the bougli and the loaf is in •^''- '>""' '"-iglitly the light ofher binnacle burns ! j]^g j„n] Not a signal for Saturn this rover has given. No salute from our Venus, the flag-star ol Heaven, PRINQ. And earth's ))eginning now in her veins to feel tlie blood. Wi:ich, warmed by summer's sun in the alembic of the vine, From hor founts w ill overrun in a nuldy gush of wine. How awful is the thought ot" the wonders under- ground. Of tlie mvstic changes wrought in tlie silent, dark profound ; How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed, And the world's sujipnrt depends on tiie sliooting of a seed ! Tlie suiiimi.T's in her ark, and this sunnv-pinioned day Is commissioned to remark whether winter holds her sway ; Cio back, liiou dove of jieace. with mvrtle on thy wing, Say that floods antl tempests cease and the world is ripe for spring. Tliou hast fanned the sleeping earth till her dreams are all of flowers. Not a rag or a ribbon adorning her spars, She has saucily sailed by the red planet Mars; She has doubled triumpiiant the Cape of the Sun, And the sentinel stars without firing a gun ! Now .1 flag at the fore and niizzen unfurled. She is bearing cpiite gallantly down on the workl ! " Helm-a-i)ort !" " Show a light !" " She will run us aground !" " Fire a gun !" " 15ring her to !" "Sail ahoy!" " Whither bound?" "Avast! there, )e lubbers! Leave the rudder alone ;" 'Tis a craft in commission — the Adniiral's own ; Ami she sails with sealed orders, unopened as yet, Though her anchor she weighed before Luciler set ! Ah! she sails by a chart no draughtsman can make, Where each cloud that can trail, and each wave that can break ; And tiie waters look in mirth for their overhang- | Where each planet is cruising, each star is at ing bowers ; rest, fitel ^ i M ri 8K run CHARMS OF NATURE. I 1 i i 1 1 1 1 ! r NV all its aiuhor let k'» in tlie blue of the blest ; , FLOWHRS. Where llif siurkliiiu llolilhi. till' Ast.roiils, lit-, , w ,.• , IVhc-e ti.e (rail of re.i inorimiK is tluiiK on th,' f T"^^ theum^rr ..1 JKartol man hlessesl owerst ^jj . 11 1 licv are wnallicd rouiul tin.- tradic, the Where tl'w bre.ill. of the sparrow is stainiiiK the ^ * «n.irriaj;e ali..r and the lomk Ihe I'ei .jjj. I sum ii> ti e lar Kasi deligius in tlieir |)erluiiie, aiul (). the. hart tli.it sli<- be.irs \...i will ihid th.iii all writes 1, > l..vc in no>eKa>s ; while tho Indian . hlM jl,^.j.j. I III the la.' W •■it i:las|)-. !ii> hand-, witli i; ice as lie I^t her pass nn in pea. ,• to the port wlu'n.-j shr , K-'t'ic, the al.inidaut blossoins-the illiiniinatcd p.,„u. 1 scriptme of the prairiis. I'he Cupid of the an V.-.th'lier' tra. kiii^s of fne and h. r stre.uners of' •^''-I't Hiniloos tippe.l hi^ arrows with (lowers, and (l^rnc ' orai.Lje hiuis are tiic hridal ( ro«ii witli us, a nation liFNjA.MiN !• I'aslok. ^^ \esterday. I'lowir-, garlandrd ilic (irecian LAKE MAHOPAC. LAKIC of the soft and sunny liills, Whit loveliness is thine! Arountl thy fair, romantic shore Wiat countless beauties shine I Shriicd in tiuir deep and hollow urn, Thy silver waters lie — A mirror s-t in wavinj^ gems Of m my a reijal dye. Oh, pleas;int to the heart it is In those lair isles to stray, Or fauc\ 's idle visions weave 'rhrou_L,'h all the golden day, Wlvre dark old trees, around whose stems (.'ir'ssinL; woodbines cling. O'er mossv, flower-enamelled banks Their trembling shadows fling. Cakolink M, Sawyer. altar, and they hang in votive wreaths before the Christian shrine. All these are appropriate u.ses. I'lowers should deck the brow of the youthtul bride, for they are in themselves a lovely type of marriage. They should twine round the tomb, for their ])erpetualK- renewed beauty is a symbol of the resurrection. They should festoon the altar, for their fragrance and their beauty a.s(;end m perpetual worship be- fore the Most High. LvDiA M. Child. THE BUQLE. TWV. splendor falls oa castle walls .\nd snowy sumuiits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, .\iul the wild cataract leaps in glory. lUow. bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Ulow, bugle J answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. I! \. THli CHARMS Oh' NAIVRH. 8» O hark ! O li;ar ! how tlun and clear, And thinner, i hanr, tartluT ^oiiig | () svM'tt and lar, Irnm rlilf and biar, I lie liurns ol l.llland l.dntly l)l()^^il>J^ I iUiAv, li't u:i hi'ar the imrplf ^;lcns rc|il\ing ; I'lluw, bugle ; an^wer, echoes, d) ing. dying, dying. C) love, they die in \(>n riiii ^k\ , Tliey faint on lull ^r lirld or iiver; C)ur ei iKie-i roll Iruni ^oiil to suul, .\nd grow lorcver and I'orevtr. Itlow, Im^^le. blow, set tlie wild echoes Hying. .And answer, echoes, answer, ihing, d\ing, living. Al.l KKU Ten.wsi.n R O.^MS, roses, red and white, Thty are sweet and trcsh and bright; r>uy tlu'in for !li\' lo\e's delight 1 In a {^.irden oki they grew, ( )ld with lio.vers ever new — liuy them for t'ly loved one true, Roses, red ami white, to wear On her bosom, in her hair, Hny them for thy lady fair: Like a token trom above, Thy heirt faithful they will jirove — Buy them for thy lady love. Wii.i lAM Cowan. THE NIGHTINGALE. HARK ! t'le niuhtinf,'ale begins his song. Or slow distemper, or neglected love " Mo t mnsi( al, most melanciioly " bird ! (And so, i)oor wretch '. fillid all things witii him .\ niel iicholy bird ! ( » idle thongiit ! sell'. In nature there is nothing melancholy. \ And made all ■,'entle sounds tell back the tale but ^ome nij^ht-wanderii'.g man, wliose heart was ()f his own sorrows), he. and such as he, I'ierced First named these notes a melancholy strain. With tiu- rt.nu m! ranee of a grievous wrong, . S. T. Coi.kriui.k. THE NORTH STAR. OX thv unaltering blaze 1 he h.ill'-« recked mariner, his compass lost. Fixes his steadv gaze. And steers. imdoubtiuL;. to the friendh coast ; And they wiio -trav in perilous wastes. b\- night. Are glad when thou dost shine to guiile their Ibot- sieps rii:ht. And. therefore, bards of old. Sages, and iiernnts of the solemn wood. Dill in tiiy beams behold A beauteous t\]>e of that unchanging good. That bright eternal beacon, bv whose ra\ The \(iy,iger ol time should shape his heedful way. W. v. Hkvant. \ \: f- } Tr, i M i I W 77//: C/ 1 ARMS OF NATl'KK. lARVnST. SWI'.l, I", swfi't. swoot, Is till' wind's song, .\^llr in the riiiplfil wheat All ckiy long, U lialh tiie brook's wild gayeiy, I'he sorrowt'nl try of the sea. Oh, hush and hear! Sweet, sweet and dear, Above the locust's whirr And hunt of bee Rises tliat soft, pathetic harmony. In the nuadow-gr.iss The innocent white daisies blow, 'I'he dmdehon plinne d^th pass Vagneiv to an I IV > ~ I'he unars ; I luitiT ruiiiid my crt'ssiH ; And oii( a^ain I rtirvr and flciw I'o join thf lirimmin^ river, I'nr iiK II in.iy • omc and nu n may go, Hill 1 gu uii fitifver. Al.KKEI) '1'ENNVsON. A MIOSLIMMI-R. KOUNI) this iDVfly valley ri^c 'I'lic purple iiills ut I'aradise. (>, suitly on yon banks of haze Her rosv face the summer lass! Ht(almed alon^; the a/iire skv 'I'lie ar^;, The hwariniiif; ii.Mets drmie ,ind hum, 'Ihe pariridge heats hi-, ilirolilun;; drum, The sipiirrei lea| s amonn the hounhu And ( hatteis in his Kal> house. 'I iiL oriole Ha- lies by ; and, look ! Into tiie mirrnr ol the brook, Whose shores, wilh iii;;ny a shininj.; rift, Imi olf their pearl-white pe;iks uplitt. Tlirouf^h all the loni,' midsuinnur day The meadow sides are sweet w itli iiiv. I seek the ( oolest -lulteied se,U, Just where the field .iiid forest ir.r t — Where ^^row the pine trees tall ai d bland, The aneieni oaks austere and grand, And frin^y roots and |)elibles fret The ripples of the ri\ iilet. I watch the mowers as thev go Tlirough the t ill grass, a \vhite-slee\ed row. With even stroke their scythes tluy swIiil;, In tune their merry whetstones ring. r.eliind, tlie nimble youngsters run And to>s the thi( k swaths in the sun. The cattle graze ; while warm and still Slopes the liroad pasture, basks the hill, And bright, where summer breezes lireak, The green wheat crinkles like a lake. ^^'he^e the v.iin bluebird trims his coat. Two tiny leatlu is tall and lloat. .As sihiilb , as tenderly, Ihe down of ]iea( e descends on me. O, this is peace ! I have no need ( )f friend to talk, of book to read ; A dear <'ompani()i> here .ibidrs: Close lo i;iy thrilling hear' He hides; The holv siUncf is His voice: 1 lie anil listen. ,ind rcjuic <■. I. T. Tkiiw i;isii)(,E. SllMMF-R-TIME. Tl HA' were right — tlmse old Cierman minne- singers — to sing the jileasani sunimertuue ! What a tune it is! How June stands illum- inated in the calendar 1 The windows are all wide open ; oidy the Venetian blinds closed. Here and there a long streak of snnsliinc streams in through a crevice. We hear the low sound of the wind among the trees ; and, as it swells and freshens, the distant doors tlap to, with a sudden sound. m m i ^% Ii 92 THE CHARMS OF NATURE. \ f i^ \ The trees arc hcav y witli leaves ; and the gardens lull of blossoms, red and white. I lie whole atmos- phere is laden with iierlunie and sunshine. 'I'he birds sing. Tiie cock struts about, and crows lol't- ilv. Insects chirp in the ;^rass. Yellow butter-ciips stud the green carpet like golden buttons, and the ret! blossoms of the clover like rubies. The elm- trees reach, their long, |)endulous branches almost to the groind. White clouds sail aloft, ami va])ors fret the blue sky with silver thicuN. Tiie white village gleams afar against the dark hills. Through the meadow winds the river — careless, indolent. It seems to love the country, and is in no haste to reach the sea. The bee only is at work — the hot antl angry bee. All things else are at [ilay ! he never pla\-s, and is vexed that any one should. People drive out from town to breathe, and to be happy. Most of them have llowers in their hands ; bimches of ap|ile-blossoms, and still oftener lilacs. Ye denizens of the crowded city, how jileasant to you is the change from the s dtry streets to the open I'lelds, fragrant with cU)ver blossoms 1 how i)leasant the fresh, breezy, country air, dashed with brine from the meadows ! how pleasant, above all, the flowers, the mnr.ifold Ijeautiful flowers! M. W. LdNCU'KLLOW. TRAILING ARBUTUS. DARITNCS of the forest! Blossoming, alone. When earth's grief is sorest Fcr her jewels gone — Ere the last snow-drift melts, your tender buds have blown. Tinged with color faintly, Like the morning sky, Or, more jiale and saintly. Wrapped in leaves you lie — Even as children sleei) in faith's simplicity. There the wild-wood robin. Hymns your solitude ; And the rain comes sobbing Tlirough the budding wood. While the low south wind sighs, but dare not be more rude. Were your [lure lips fashioned Out of air and dcv. Starlight un impassioned, Dawn's most tender hue, And scented by the woods that gathered sweets for you ? Fairest and most lonely, l''rom the world ajjart ; Made for beauty only, X'eiled from nature's heart With such unconscious grace as makes the dream of Art'! Were not mortal sorrow \\\ immortal shade, Then wouUi 1 to-morrow Such a flower be made, .\nd live in the dear woods wliere my lost child- hood played. Ru-E Tekkv Cdoke. LITTLE STREAMS. LrrrLE streams are light and shatlow ; Flowing through the pasture meailow, l''lo\\ing by the green way-side. Through the forest ilim and wide, Through the hamlet still and small — By the cottage, by the hall, By the ruined a'lbey still ; Turning here and there a mill. Bearing tr'buie to the river — Little streams. 1 love you ever. Summer music is there flowing. Flowering plants in them are growing; Happy life is in them all, Oeatures innocent and small ; Little birtls come down to drink T'earless of their leafy brink; \oi>le trees beside them grow, Cilooming them with branches low; And between, the sunshine, glancing In their little wave . is dancing. Little streams have flowers a many. Beautiful and t'air as any ; Typha strong, and rreen bur-reed; Willow-herb, with cotton seed ; .\rrow-head, with eye of jet ; -Vnd the w.iter-violet. 'There the flowering-rush you meet, And the plumy meadow-sweet ; And, in places deep and stilly, Marble-like, the water-lily. Little streams, their voices cheery, Soimd forth welcomes to the weary, Flowing on from da\ to day. Without stint and without stay ; Here, upon their flowery bank. In the old ti ue pilgrims drank. Here have seen, as now, piss by, King-fisher, and liragon-fly ; Those bright things that have their dwelling. Where the little streams are welling. Down in v.dleys green and lowlv. Murnmring not and gliding slowlv ; I'p ii mountain-hollows wild. Fretting like a ]ieevish child : Through the hamlet, where all day In their waves the chil.lren jilay ; RiUining west, or running east, Dning good to man and beast — .Mways giving, weary never. Little streams, I love you eve. Mary Howitt. PSB I 'W JAMES RUSSKIJ. LOWKIJ. frrr 11 t t ! I ! ROBERT BURNS AND HIS HIGHLAND MARY. ii»^ THE CHARMS OF NATURE. 93 THE BURIED FLOWER. N the silence of my chanilier, Voices of my lost compar.ions, When the niglit is still and deep, ■ And the drowsy heave of ocean Mutters in its charmed sleep: Oft 1 hear the ani,'el voices That have thrilled me long ago — Lying deep beneath the snow. Where are now the flowers we tended ? Withered, l)n)ken, branch and stem; U'here are now the ho])es we cherished ? Scattered to the winds with them. \.r Utt, HiM , iii V^\ i 11 ill i; 1 ': II f P ■ \ ill: t^lii: jf i I I:' ! 'i 11 94 THE CHARMS OF NATURE. Yox ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones ! Nursed in \\o\k ami reared in love, Looking Ibiully ever upwartl i'o ilie clear Mue heaven al>ove: Smiling on the sun that ci\eered us, Rising liglitly from die rain, Never to ding up your fresiiness Save to give it forth again : Never shaken, save by accents From a tongue that was not free. As tlie modest blossom trend ;les At the wooing of the bee. 01 'tis sad to lie and reckon All the days of faded \oulh. All tlie vows that we belie\eil in, All the words we spoke iii truth. Severed — were it severed only Hy an idle tliought of strife, Sucli as liiue may knit to.:;ether; Not the l)roken chord of life ! O m\- lieart I liiat once so truly Kejjt arotlier's time and tune, — Heart, that kindled in the morning. Look around thee in the noon ! Wlicre a-'j they who gave tlie impulse To thy earliest thouf^hl and Ihnv? Look across liie nuned garden — All are withered, droppetl, or low ! O ! I fling my spirit backward, And I pass o'er years of i}ain ; .•\11 1 loved is rising rounil me, All tlie lost returns again. Brighter, fairer far than living. With no trace of woe or pain, P.obed in everlasting beai y. Shall 1 see thee once again. ]!y the liglit that never fa oi The bird- Hup to Soon as o Iroiii .\ii(i, chet -till hi{ sin .>^A m Xow is the Who lov( Along the 1 And folk * A HE 1 nd I on!\- lav Around n And they That ea With all t That ha We gaze i Ami read f^h, when The Ilea I luw Willi A nay fr And look Fur seats < THE CHARMS OF NATURE. 95 'I he lily of the vale, of flowers tlie queen I'lits on the robe shf neitlicr sewed nor s]iiin ; 'lilt.' liirds on ground, or on the l>r;in( he-^ green, llii|i to and fro, and glitter in the sun. Soon as o'er eastern iiills tiie morning peers, I'rom her low nest the tutted lark up^p^ings; And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers; Mill high she nioiuits, still loud and sweet si sings. SCENERY OF LAKE SUPERIOR. Now is the time for those who wisdom love, Will) love to walk in virtue's flowery road, Along the lovely paths of spring to rove, And follow nature up to nature's God. Michael I'kuce. T AMERICAN SKIES. ni'^ sunny Italy mav boast The beauteous tints that flush her skies, And lovel}', round the Grecian coast, May thy lilne ])illars rise. I only know how fair thev stand Around my own beloved land. And they are fair — a charm is theirs, 'riiat earth, the proud green earth, has not — With all the forms, and hues, and airs. That haunt her sweetest spot. \\'e gaze upon th\- calm ]nire sjijicre, .'\nd read of Heaven's eternal year. Oh, when, amid the throng of nun. The heart grows sick of hollow mirth, How willingly we turn us then Away from this cold earth, .And look into thy azure breast. For seats of innocence and rest ! W. C. Bryant. FliW portions of .America init\ . The sky is filled ;it sunset with the most gorgeous jjiles of clouds, ■['he air itself is of the i)iirest ami most inspiriting kind. To visit such a scene is to draw health from its purest fount;iin>. and to revel in intel- Je( tual delights. Henrv R. Schoolcraft HAMPTON BEACH. TlII^ sunliiiht glitters keen and bright, Wlure, miles away, Lies stretching to my c'azzled sight .\ luminous belt, a misty li',ht, JJeyond the dark pine bluff; and wastes of sandy gray. The tremulous shadow of the sea ! Against its ground Of silvery light, roi k. hill, and tree, SmU as a picture, clear aiul free. With varying outline mark the coa.st for miles around. On —on —we tread with loose-flung rein Our seaward way, Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, Wlu-re the wild brier-rose skirts the lane. And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray. Ha ! like a kind hand on my brow (."onu's this fresh bree/e, Cooling its dull and feverish glow, While through my being seems to flow The breath of a new life — the healing of the seas! Now rest we, where this grassy mound His feet hath set In the great waters, which have bound His granite ancles greenly round With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet. Good-bye to ])ain and care! I take Mine ease to-day ; Here where these sunny waters break, .\iul rijjples this keen bree/e, I shake All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away. I draw a freer breath — I seem Like all I see — Waves in the sun — tlie white-winged gleam Of sea-birds in the slanting beam — And far-off sails which flit before the south wind free. So when time's veil shall fall asunder, The soul may know- No fearful change, nor sudden wonder. Nor sink the weight of mystery under. But with the n|)ward rise, and with the vastness grow. And all we shrink from now may seem No new revealing ; Familiar as our childhood's stream. Or i)leasant memory of a dream The loved and cherished past upon the new life stealing. Serene and mild the untried light May have its dawning; And, as in summer's northern night The evening and the dawn unite, The sunset hues of time blend with the soul'i new morning. I sit alone: in foam and spray \Vave after wave Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, Shoulder the broken title away, Or muri'iurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave. What heed 1 of the dusty land And noisy town ? I see the mighty deep exi)and From its white line of glimmering sand To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down ! In listless (luietude of mind, I yielii to all The change of cloiui and wave and wind, And ])assive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. 15iit look, thou dreamer ! — wave and shore In shadow lie ; The night-wind warns me back once more To wliere my native hill-tops o'er Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky! So tlien, beacli, bluff and wave, farewell! I bear with me No token stone nor glittering shell, But long and oft shall Memor\- tell Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. L (1. Whittier. THE CHANGED SONG. ITHOUOH r the sparrows note from heaven, Singing at dawn from the alder bongii ; I brought him home, in liis nest, at even ; He sings the song. l)ut it ])leases not now. For I did not bring home the river and sky; — He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. R. W. Emerson. 1 1 s^ llli THE CHARMS OF NATURE. THE GARDEN. OVV vainly men themselves amaze, 'I'o win tile palni, tlie oak, ur i)ays; And tlieir ineessant laiiurs see Crowned from some single herb, or tree, Wliose bliort and narrow-vcrj, kl shaiie Does prudently their toils upbraid; Willie all llie llowers ami trees do close, To weave the garland of repose. No white nor red was ever seen So amorous .is tliis lovely j^reen. I'ond lovers, cruel as their flame, {'ut in these trees their mistress' name, Little, alas ! they know or heed, H(jw far tiiese licauties her exceed ! l-'air trees! where'er your barks I wound, Xo name shall bn' your own be found. When we have rim our i)assion's heal, l.ove hither makes his best retreat. Tile gods wlio mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree did end their race. Apollo iiunt.'d Daphne so, Onl)' that she mii;ht laurel j^row ; And Pan did after Syrinx siieed, Not as a nymph, but for a reed. y7 What wondrous life in this I lead ! Ril)e apples drop about my head ; '['lie luscious clusters of the vine I'lion my moutli do crush their wine; The nectarine, and < urious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach; Stumbling on melons, as 1 pass, Insnared with flowers, I fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its hajipiness. Tiie mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas ; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, ()r at some fruit tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside. My soul into the boughs does glide; Tliere, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and claps its silver wings. And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its i)lumes the various light. Such was the happy garden state. While man there walked without a mate; After a place so pure and sweet. What other lielp could yet be meet? But 'twas beyond a mortal's share To wander solitary there : 7 Two jjarailises are in one, To live in ])arailise alone. How well the skillful gardener drew Of flowers, and herbs, this dial new : Where, from above, the milder sun Does through a fragrant zodiac run ; And, as it works, th' industrious bee Comiiutes its time as well as we, How could such sweet and wholesome hour* Be reckoned, but with herbs and fltwers? Andrew Marvell. TO THE RIVER ARVE. SUPPOSED TO HE WRITTEN AT A HAMLET NEAR THE FOOT OK MONT BLANC. Tourists in Switzerland are in the habit of visiting the point where the River Arve unites with the River Rlione. The Arve flows from the glacie.s of the Alps, and has a peculiarly muddy appearance. 1 he waters of the Rhone are clear as in'stal. When the two river.' unite there is a dis- tinct line of demarkntioti between them for a considerable distance, but gradually their waters are mingled. 1 ~ \ T from the sands or cloven rocks. Thou liqjid Arve ! thy waters flow ; Nor earth, within her bosom, locks Thy dark, unfatliomed wells below. Thy sjirings are in the cloud, thy stream Begins to move and murmur first Where ice-i)eaks feel the noonday beam, Or rain-storms on the glacier burst. V.\A II ri mm\ ■! f t ,„ I' I' 1 I ! I 1 ; i :1 ' i ! 1 '! 1 ! -I ; ! i !. M 88 T/iE CffARMS OF X. Iff 'RE. IJorn wilt-re the thunder and tlu- blast, And niijt nine's earliest light are liorn, 'I'hoii riishest swol'n, and loud, and fast, l!y tiRNe low liDiiies, as il in scorn ; Yet humbler si)iuif;s yield purer waves ; And brlL^liler, glassier slreanw liian thine, Sent up lro:n earth's nf.ligliteil < aves, With heaven's own beam and linage shine. \ et >ta) ; lor here are Uuuers and trees ; Warm ra\s on eottaj^e rools are lure, And laiij;li ol skills, and liiiiii id" bees — Hire linger till thy waves .ire i lear. I'hou heedest not — thou hastest on ; I'rom steep to steep th\ torrent tails, I'dl, ininf;lin_i; with the niij;ht\ Klionc, 1 1 rests beneath Cieiuxa'^ walls. Rush on — but were there one u ith me i'hat loved me, I would li^dit my hearth i lere, where with ('i(jd's own inajestv .\re toui hed the features of the earth. I!v these old peaks, white, high, and vast, Still rising as the tein])ests beat. Hire would I (bvell, and sleep, at hb.t, AmoiiL; the blossoms at their teet. W. C:. Hkvant. VIKW ACROSS THE ROMAN CAMPAQNA. 0\'ld\, t le dumb campagna sea, O'lt in the oiling through mist and rain, .St. Peter's Church heaves silently Like a inighl\ ship in pain, l-'acing the temiiesl with struggle and strain. Mutioidess waiis of ruined towers, .^(juiidlc.ss breakers of desolate land ! The sullen surf of the mist deviiurs That inountain-r.mge upon either hand, I^attMi away from its outline grand. An 1 over the diind) cainpagna-sea Where the shi|) of tlu- Church heaves on to wreck, All me and silent as dod must be lac (Mirist walks! — .'\y, but Peter's neek Is stiff to turn on the foundering deck. P' t-T, Peter, if sui h be thy name. Now leave the .ship for another to steer. And ])roving th\- faith evermore the same ( !oine forth, tread o t through the dark and drear, Since He wlio wall.s (jii the sea is here ! Peter, i'eter ! — he does not speak. — He is not as rash as in old ( l.ililee. S.fer a shij), though it toss and leak. I han a. reeling foot on a rolling slj ! .\ud l.e's got to be round in the girth, thinks he. Peter, Peter ! -he does not stir, — His nets are heavy with silver fish : He reckons his gains, and is keen to infer " The broil on the shore, if the Lord ihonid wish, — Hut the sturgeon goes to the Csisar's dish." Peter, Peter, thou lisher of men, l'"isher of fish wouldst thou live instead, — Haggling for pence with the other Ten, Che.iting the market at so much a head, (iriping the hag of the traitor diad ! .\t the triple crow of the (lallie rock I'hon weeji'st not, tlu)u, though thine eyes he da/ed : What bird ( oines next in the tempest shock? . . N'ulturesI See — ,is when Romulus gazed, To inaugurat • Rome tor a world ama/cd I l'.i,i/\ini II 1>. UkowNiNO. THE BIRCH-TREE. RIPl'l,; .\(i through thy branches goes the sun- shine. .Among thy leaves that palpitate for ever ; Ovid in thee a pining .Nymph had |)risoned, The soul once of some tremulous inland ri\er. (Juivering to tell her woe, but, ah I dumb, dumb for ever ! While all the forest, witched with slumberous mooii- shine. Holds uj) its leaves in hapi)y, haiijiy silence. Waiting the dew, with breath and pulse suspended, — 1 hear afar thy whispering, gleaming islands, And track thee wakeful still amid the widediimg silence. Ujion the brink of some wood-nestled lakelet, Thy foliage, like the tresses, of a Dryad, Dripping about thy slim white stem, whose shallow Slopes i|uivering tiown the water's duskv (piiet, Thou shrink'st as on her bath s edge would some startletl 1 )ryad. Thou art the go-between of rustic lovers ; Thy white bark has their secrets in its keeping; Reuben writes here the happy name of Patience, Anil thy lithe boughs hang murmuring ami weeping .\bove her, as she steals die mystery from thy keeping. Thou art to me like u\y beloved maiden, So frankly coy, so lull of trembly confidences ; Thy shadow scarce seems shade; thy patterng leaflets Sprinkle their gathered sunshine o'er m\ senses, And Nature gives me all her summer confidences Whether m\- heart with hope or sorrow tremble. Thou symi)athizest still ; wild and nn(|uiet. 1 lling me ilown, th\' ripple, like a river. Flows valleyward while calmness is, and bv it My heart is floated down into the land of ipiiet. Ia.mks Russell Lo\vi;lu Tim CHARMS 01- XA'ri'K/i }t9 MOUNTAINS. MolNTAlNS! who wa-> ua\t Iniildcr? Who 1,11(1 \oiir .iwfiil I'uiiiidaliDii.s iii the (ciitr.il tires, ami jji'cd your rocks aiul snow- (I'l (.(1 Miiiiiiiiis Miiioiig tiie (louii-.? Who |ilacc(l Mill in the naitli'iis ot the world, like iiohlc ;iltar>, ,11 whii li to olTcr the sacrilicial ^ilt> ol man)- li.llOllS? W ho reared your roi ky walls in the harreii dest rt. like towennu ]i)rami(ls, like inoiiiiinental iiiotiiHl>. !ikf jiiaiil-^' j;raves, like dismantled piles ol roval luiiis. telling a nioiiriifiil lale of j^lory. om e liriulit, |i!ii now lied I'orever, ;;■- liee the dre.ms ol a mid siiiiiiiur's night? Wlm gave you a home in the i>l,i!ids ot the sea,— those uneialds that gleam .iiiiong the waves, — iliosi' siars otdceaii that moik the heauiN ol the stais ol" night? Mountains! I know who Imilt \oii. It was (idiil His name is written on your foreheads, lie 1 lid your coriierstoius on that glorious morn- iiu when the orcliestr,i ol heaven sounded the .'iiuliem of creation. He clothed your hit;h, im- luiial ibrms in ro\al robes. He gave yuii a snow\ garment, and \\o\e lor \ou ,1 ( loiidy vail of crimson and gold. He crowned you with a diadem of icy jewels ; pearls from the Antic seas; gems Irom the frost\- pole. Moun- tains! \e are glorious. W- stretch your granite anus away toward the vales ot the nndisf overed : \c li,ive a lou;;ing for immortalit\-. Hut, Mountains! ye long in vain. I called you glorious, and truly ye arc; hut \u\\x glorv is like til, It of the Starr, heavens, — it shall ])ass awa\- at the irumpet-lilast of the angel o'' the Most High. Ami yet ye are worthy of a high and elocineiit eiilogimn. Ye were the lovers of the daughters of thr L;ods ; )e are the lovers of the daughters of I ilierty and Religion now; aiul in \oiir old and feeble age the children of the skies shall honor \our bald heads. The clouds of heaven — those shadows of Olvm- piau ])ower those spectral iihantoms of dead Titans —kiss \oiir summits, as guarc'ian angels kiss the brow of infant noblem ss. ( )n your sacred rocks I see the foot| rints of the Cnator; I see the hli/.ii g fires of .'-'in.ii, and hear its awful voice; 1 SIC the tear ■. of ("ahary, a'-d listen to its mii^htv groans. M Mitains ! \c are proud and haughty things. ^. h'lil defiance at the storm, tlu' liuhtnii g. and titeuiiul; \e look down with deep disdain njion the tliuiider-cloud ; ye scorn the devastatiuL; tem- pest : \e despise the works of |iuii\- ni.in : \esl:d^e your rock-ril bed sides with giant l.uiLhter. wlieii till' i^reat eartlvinake passes by. \'e stand as giant H'litinels, at, J seem to sav to the boisterous bil- li-.vs, — "Thus far .s!^;dt thou come, and here snail tli\ proud waves be stayed !" Mountains! ve are growing old. Your iibs of gr.inite are getting weak and rotten; your miistlcs are losing their latiiess; your hoarse voi< es are he.ird (Milv at distant intervals ; your voh anic hcirt throbs leeblv ai d your l.iva blood is tlm keniiig, as till' winters of many ages -.itlier their chilling snows around your \enerable lorms. The bra/en sunlight laughs in your old and wrinkled laces; the pit\ing moonlight nestles m your hoary locks; and the >ilvery starlight tests upon you like the halo of inspiration that crowned the heads of dving p;itriarchs and piojiliets. Mountains! ye must die. Ohl Father Time, tl at sexton of e:irth, has dug \on a deep, dark tomb; and in silence ye diall sleep after sea and shore shall have been juv-sed by the feet of the a| oca- lyptic angel, throu-h the long watches of an eternal night i:. M. .M.-R.sK. THE rjL()r^\ <:r .y.otion. TllKld-; twaiiL;s of the horn, and the\'re all out of co\er ! Must brave \ou. old bull-linch. that's riulit in the wav ! .\ rush. ,uid a bouii. are gone. () P'lissaiit of hone and oi sinew availing, ()\\ thee how I've longed fur ill ■ hmoks and the showers ! O white-briasted camel, the meek and unfailing, To speed through the glare oi the long desert hours ! And, bright little barbs, ye make worihv ])retences To go with the going of Solimon's sires; But yon stride not llie stride and nou tly not the fences ! .Viid all the witle lleja/ is naiiglit to the shires. O gay gondolier ! from tli\ night-Hitting shalloj) I've heard the soft pulses of o.ir and guitar; lint sweeter the rhMhmic"' ru-h ol the gallop, The fire in the saddle, the llight of the star. Old mare, m\- beloved, no stouter or faster Hath eve; strode under a man at his need; But glad in the hand and embrace of tiiy master, And pant to the [lassioiiate music of speed. Can there e'er be a tlu)ught to an elderly jierson So keen, so inspiring, so hard to forget, So fully adapted to break into burgeon As this — that the steel isn't out of him yet ; That living speed tickles one's brain with a feather; That one's horse can restore one the years that are gone ; That, spite of gray winter and weariful weather, The blood and the pace carry on, carry on ? R. S. J. Tykwhitt. A THE WINDY NIGHT. LOW and aloof, Over the roof. How the midnight tL^mj)ests howl! With a dreary voice, like the dismal tune Of wolves that bay at the desert moon ; Or whistle and shriek Throu-h limbs that creak. " Tu-who! Tu-wliit !" They c -y, and flit, " Tu-whit ! Tu-who 1" like the solemn owl ! Alow and aloof, Over the roof, Sweep the moaning winds amain, And wddl) dash 'i'liL elm ami ash. Clattering on the window sasli With .1 I latter and p.itter lake hail .ind rain, 'i'hat well nn;h sh.alter The dusky |iane ! Alow and .doof. Ovei the loof, How the teir; -jsts swtli and roar! Though no foot is astir. I hjugh the ( ,it and the c r Lie do/mgal ng the kit(lun ilooi, There ire feet of air On ever\- stair — TliroiiL;h every hall I Through ea« h gusty door '{"here s a jostle and bustle, U ith a silken rustle. Like the meeting of guests at a lest)val ! Alow and aloot, Over the roof. How the stormy tempests swell ! .\nd make the vane (Jn the sjiire < omjjlain ; They heave at the steeple with might an.i main, .\nd burst and sweep Into the belfry, on the bell ! They smite it so hard, and the) snute it so well, That the sexton tosses his arms in sleep, And dreams he is ringing a funeral knell ! T. B. Read. W THE OWL. HILE the moon, with sudden gleam, 'Through the ( loiids that cover r.ar, Darts her light upon the stream, Ami the poplars gently stir; Pleased I hear th\ boding cry. Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky! Sure thy notes are harmony. While the maiden, pale with care, Wanders to the lonely shade, Sighs her sorrows to the air, While the flowerets round her fade.-- ■ Shrinks to hear thy boding cry; Owl, that lovst the cloudy sky, To her it is not harmony. While the wretdi with mournful dole. Wrings his hands in agony, Praying lor his brother's soul. Whom he pierced suddenly, — Shrinks to hear thy boding cry; Owl, that lov'st the cloudy sky, To him it is not harmony. I|i' m til if J9 ^ K.1I SHAKESPEARE. i It With thee conversing I fiiii;ct all time, All seasons ami their change — all please alike. ™n POETRY OF THE YEAR: < o.MI'KlSINd Poems on thh Skaso^s. Includino Flowkrs and Birds. THE- YI:ARS T\VE:1.VI- CHII.DkliN. AM A\<\ , u.iii aiul ;,i,i\ , Like ;in in the bowers, .•\nd burst the windows of the buds in tii wers ; With song the bosom;, of the biids run o'er, The I uckoo (alls, the swallow's at the door, .^nd apiile-trees at r.oon, with bees alive. Hum with the golden chorus of the hive. Now all these sweets, these soun(!s, this ver; al blaze Is but owe joy, expressed a thousand ways ; .And honey from the flowers, and song from birds, Are from the poet's pen his overflowing words. Lkigh Mi NT. 101 il IH, i«i> li i iiii- 1 rio.. !' I i t^ i -. i Mi I'ii 102 POETRV OF THE YEAR. SPRING. T COM}^. ! I come ! ye liave railed me loiiu — \ I (Oine o'er the moimtains with lii^ht and soul;! •*■ \'e may traee my ste]) o'er the wakeniiiir ear!h lly vhe winds wiiieli tell of the \ink't s Inrth, By the primrose-stars in the shadowy _L;rass, By th? green leaves opening as 1 ])ass. I havi breathed on the South, and the chestnut fiorters By '.hoiisands have hurst from the forest bowers. And the ancient graves and the fallen fines Are veiletl with wreaths on Italian plains ; — But it is not lor uie. in m\- hour of bloom, To speak of the ruin or tin' tomb I I have looked on the hills of the stornn- North, And tl-.e larch has hung all his tassels forth. I'he fisher is out on the sunny sea. .And the reindeer bounds o'er the jiastnres free, And the |)ine has a fringe of softer gre-n, And the moss looks bright where mv foot hath been. 1 have sent through the wf>od-])aths a glowing sigh, Antl called out each voice of the deep blue skv ; h'rom tlie night bird's lay through the starry time, In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime, To the swan's wild note by thi; Iceland lakes, \Vhen the dark fir-branch into verdure breaks. l'~rom thestreamsandfouutsT have loosed the chain; They ar.' sweeping on to the silvery main, 'i'hey are Hashing liown from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs. They are bursting I'resli fiom their sparry ( aves. And the e.irth resounds with the jo\' of waves ! Come forth, <) ye ( hildren of gladness 1 come ! Where the violets lie ni.iy be now vonr home. \"e of the rosed'p and dewdiright eye. .\nd the bounding footstep, to meet me (ly ! With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay, Come forth to the sunshine — 1 mav not stay. Fi'.i.ui.v 1). Hemans. MARCH. The There ir 11 are '. t:ock is ciowing, 'I'he stream is ilowing. The small birds tuitter. The lake doth glitter, le green field sk'cps in thesun; The oldest and \()unge^l ; .-^r. at work \v i t li the strc ngest ; The cattle are grazing, eads nexer raising ; tbrty Iceding like one ! Like an army defeatel. The snow hath retreated, .And now doth fare ill (-n the top of the bare hill ; The ploughbov is whooping —anon — anf»n There's joy on the mountains ; There's life in the fountains; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone ! William Wokdsworih. mmi i A MAKCH DAW 10,1 h fi I 104 POETRY OF THE YEAR. s APRIL-LARK. Rejoicing bir 1: wiiose wings have cloft the lihie And those far lieights of morning siw, Sliadows, nursed by night, retire: And liie peeping smibeam, now, I'aints witii goiil tlie villa; e spire. Philomel forsakes the thorn, i'laintive wiiere she i>rates .it night; And the lark, to meet the morn. Soars beycjnd the >iiepherd's sight. From the low-roofed cottage ridge. See the cluitt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arched bridge. Quick she di[is her dai»pled wing. Now the pine-tree's waving top Gently greets the morning gale! Kidlings, now, begin to crop Daisies, in the dewy dale. I'rom the bainn- sweets, micloyed (Restless till her task be done), Now the busy bee's emi)loyed Sipping dew before the sun. Trickling through the creviced rock, Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock When 'tis sim-drove from the hills. Sweet — O sweet, tiie warbling throng, On the v>-!-.ite cmblossomed spra\' I Xatme's imiversal song Echoes to the rising day. John CiiNNiNdH.v.M. HAPPY insect, what can be. In happiness comjjared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewv morning's gentle wine ! Nature waits upon thee still, .\nd thy verdant cup does (ill ; 'Tis fdled wherever thon dost tread, Nature self's thy (lanymede. Thou dost drink and dance and sing, Happier than the iiappiest king! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants belong to thee; All the sinnmer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plough. THE GRASSHOPPER. I Farmer he Tiiou dost and landlord thou ! innocently enjoy, Nor does thy luxury destrov. The she])hertl gladlv heareth thee. More harmonious than he. The coimtry hinds with gladness hear. Prophet of the ripened )ear! To thee, of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth. Happy insect ! hapii\- thou, Dost neither age nor winter know; Hut when thop'st drunk and danced and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among. Sated with th\' summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest. Abraham Cowley. POETRY OF THE YEAR. lO.'J. APRIL. NOW daisies i>ied, and violets l)liie. And huiy-siMorks ail silver-wiiite, And ( uclvoo-ljiids of yellow line, Do paint the meadows with delight; The cuckoo now on every tree, Sings cuckoo ! ciijkoo 1 VVlI.I.IAM SllAKESPKAKK. L A WALK BY THE WATER. E'l" us walk where reeds are growing, Hy the alder.-, in the me.ul ; Where the crystal streams are llowing, In whose waves the lisl.es leed. There the golden carp is laving. With the trout, tli<' percli, and hieaiii; Mark ! their llexile liiis are \\a\iiig. As they i^lance along the stream. Now they sink in deejjer billows, Now upon the siirlacc rise ; Or, from under mots of willows. Dart to catch the water-llies. Midst the reeds and pehlilcs hiding, See the minnow and the roac h ; Or, by waterdilies gliding. Shun with fea our near ;:])p;()ach. Do not dread us, tinuil fishes, We have neither net nor hook ; \Vaiulerers we '•.■llo^e only wi>lu^ Are to read in nature's book. CiiAKi.ori i; Sm; in. N' BLOOM. last louLfstre.k and BUD AND ()W fades llie of snow, Now l)urgeons every m of cpiick About the flowering scpiares thick ishen roots the violets bluw. Now rings the woodland lor.d and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drowned in ponder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter ilouii the \aK-, And milkier every milky sail. On wiiuiing stream cr distant sea ; Where luiw the seamew \ \\ es, or di\es In yonder greening gleam, and ll\ The hapj)y birds, that change their sk\ To build and brood, that li\e their livts From land to land ; and in mv brea t Siiring wakens too; and m\ regret Hecomes an April violet, .\x\A buds and blossoms like the rest. Ai.iKED 'I'ennvsun. THE OPEN DAY. OI'T have I listen'd to a voice that spake Of cold and dull realities of life. I )eem we not thus of life ; for we may fetch Light from a hidden glory, which shall clothe The meanest thijig that is with hues of hea\en. Our light should be the broad and open day ; And as we lose its shiinng, we shall look Still on the bright and daylight face of things. Henry Ai.kokd. '! i| II : fl !l III <('■ \ m m : \ 1 i 1 1 rr \ i ^ i ' 1 : 1 1 ) ■ f ^ ■' 1 ! I JOG POETRY OF THE YEAR. NIGHTINGALE. No new ^owji, sinys tiic Xigluingale, And no now niontli slie finds for singing: Silo sinL;s the sweet old soul; of lo\e, Wli ■:! Miv liT tnir st tlnvers is iiringing .al( THE PRuViROSE starling up cues ofa;.'i and oak, that ■nnirose WKLCOMK, . lietwei n Deid inaitei strew Tiie everv lawn, tiie wooJ, ;i(l s' ini.y tliron,uh ; 'Mid creeping moss ami ivv's darker green ; How much thy jiresence heautifies tiie gro'.jnd, How sweet thy modest, unaffected pride. (;i.)\\s on the sunny hank, and wood's warm sid. ! And wlien tiiy fair\- llowers in groups are fou;;d The sciioi'llioy roams enclian'ediy along, Phickin,' tlie fairest witii a rule delight ; While the m ek shejiherd slop^ his simple son; To ga/, ' a mouu-nt on the pleasing sight ; O'erjoyed to see the flowers that trulv bring I'he welcome news of sweet retain ng spring. John Claue tmWiKH.'^ A TRIBUTE TO f.lAY. IKi 'M 1 Ml I a UM VN Ol' CONXAI) Ol' KIIU'llllKKO M \\', sweet May, again is come — May that Irees the land from gloom ChiidrL-n, children ! up and se'^ All her siores of jollity. On the laughing hedgerow's side She hath spread lier treasures witle; She is in the groenwood sliade, \Vhcre the niuditingale hath madr Iv.-erv branch and e\-cry tree Ring with her swei t inclody : Hill and dale are May's own treasures, Youths, rejoice ! In sportive measures Sing ye ! join the chorus ga\ I Hail this merr\ , merr> May ! I'pl then, children ! we will go. Where tlu' blooming roses gro*v; In a joyful company, W'e the bursting flowers will see ; Up, \onr festal dress prti)arel Where gay hearts are meeting, there POETRY 01' THE YEAR. 107 Mav hath pleasures most inviting, Heart, and sight, and ear delighting. Listen to the binl's sweet song, Hark ! how soft it lloais along. Cotirtlv dames ! our pleasure share ; Never saw 1 May so fair : 'rheretore, dauting will we go, Youtlis, rejoice ! the tlow'rets blow ! Sing ye! join the choni> gay ! Hail this merry, merry Ma\ ! \\ 1 1, 1. 1. AM RoscoK. THE WOODLAND IN SPRING. E'MN in the s|>ring and jilaytinie ot the \ear, That calls the unwonted villager abroad Witii all her little ones, a sportive train, Jui^ather king( iijis in the yellow mead. Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor sii^iieiuls \\\> long love-ditty for my near approach. Drawn from his reliige in some lovely elm, That age or inj'iry has hollowed dee|i, Where, on his l)ed of wool and niattnl winter, ventures e. and bask in the n, llilipant, pert, ami pla_\- ; W And jirink their hair with dair.ies, or to pick A cheap liiit wholesome >-alad from the brook He sees me. and at onks his brush And perks his cars, and ^'tam] s aiul ( ries aloud, 'I'liese shades are all m\- own. The tiiiuu-ous liare, With all the prettiness ol feigned alarm. Grown so familiar with her frtcjtient guest, .And anger insigr.itlcantly fierce. Scarce shuns me ; and the stock dove, unalarnied. William Cowi'ik. BREATHINGS OF SPRING. \ A /"-^ 1 wakest thou. Spring? Sweet voii es J\/ ill tlie woods. And reeil-like echoes, that long have 1 leen mute ; Thou bringest back to fill the .solitfdes. 'i he lark's clear i>i|>e, the cuckoo's \ iewless flute. Whose tone seems breathing monrnfulness or glee, E'en as our hearts may lii. .\nd the leaves greet thee. Spring! — the joyous leaves, Whose tremblings gladden man\ a i opse and glade. Where rich \-oung spra\ a rosv (!■ sh rerei\es. When thv south wind hath ]i erced the whispery shade And hanin- niurnnirs, running tlirouuh the -ass. Tell that thv fo' tstei s i a-s T V \\ II, 108 POETRY OF THE YEAR. .And tiie bright waters — they too licar tliy ( al . Spring, tiie awakcm-r 1 thou hast Imrst tiieir slec|i I Ainid--t tiic hollows of tiie roc ks thrir fall Mai '^ melody, and in the forests dii'i), Where :, , Iden sjiarkles and Mtie gleams betray riuir winding to the day. And llower-^ — the fairy-peopled world of (lowers! 'I'lioii from the tl'ist hast set that glory free, Coloring the e.jwslip with the sunny hours, And peiK illing thj wood anemone: Silent they seem — yet each to thoughtful lye (Hows with mute poesy. lint what awakest thou in the heart, O S[)ring! The liinnan heart, with all its dreams and sighs? Thou that gi\i'St bark so many a buried thing, Restorer of forgotten h.uinonies! l''resh songs antl seen ts break forth, wh'-i e'er thou art. What wakest thou in the he.irl ? Vain longings for the dead I —why come they liack With liiy _\oung birds, and leaves and living blooms ? (^Ii ! is it not, that from thine earthly track iIo|ie to thy world may look bevond the tombs? V'es, gentle Spring ! no sorrow dims thine air, Breathed b\- our loved ones there .' 1'klicia 1). I Ikmans. CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING. GI'7r up, gi't up for shame ! the blooming morn I'pon her wings presents the (lod imshorn ! See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted < olors through the air! — (let ujj, sweet siug-a-bed ! and see 'i"he dew bespangling herb and tree. Each flower has wept and bowed towards the east Above an lionr since, \et you are not dressed ! — Nay, not so much as out of beil. When all the birds have matins said. And sung their thankful hymns : 'tis sin — Nay, profanation, to kee{) in, AVhereas a thousand virgins on this day Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May! Come, my Corinna ! come, and < oming, mark How each field turns a street— each street a ])ark, Made green, and trimmed with trees I — see how Devotion gives each house a bough (Jr branch ! — each jjorch, each door, ere this An ark, a tabernacle is, Made up of whitehorn neatly interwove. As if here "-"re those cooler shades of love. Can siu..' delights be in the street And open field:;, and we not see 't? Come, we'll abroad, and let's obey The ])roclama.ion made for May, And sin no more, as we have done by staying, But, mv Corinna ! come let's go a-Maying. Come, let us go, while we arc in our prime, And take the liarndess folly of the time; We shall grow old apace and die Before we know our lil)erty Our life is short, and our days run As fast away as does the sun : /.nd as a \apor, or a (lr<)[) oi rain, Once lost, ran ne'er be found again, So when or you or 1 are made A table, song, or Heeling shade, All love, all liking, all delight. Lies drowned w ith us in endle>s night. Then wliile time ser\es, and we are but decaying, Come, my Corinna I come, let's go a-Maying. RMiit'.Kr IIekkuk. THE EARTH'S GLADNESS. T! W. earth with Spiing's first flowers is glad, 'i'he skies, the seas are blue luU 'itill shall liner spirits turn With hearts that long, and souls that burn. And for some ghostly whiteness )earn Son;e glimpses of the true; Chasing some fair ideal sweet. Breathless with bleeding feet. High Sunnner < omes with warmth ami light, The |)0]iulous cities teem Through statue decked pers]iectives, long. Aglow witii iiainiing, lit with song. Surges the bus\-, wo: Id -worn throng. But, ah ! not these their dream, Not these, like that wiute glu st allure, August, celestial, pure. Crowning the rloud-based ramparts, shines The citv of tlieir love, Now soft with fair reflected light. And now intolerably bright. Dazzling tue feeble, struggling sight, It beckons from above. It gleams above the tm^rodden snows, Fluslied by the dawn's wcird rose. It gleams, it grows, it sinks, it fades. While up the perilous height, From the safe, cloistered walls oi home. Low cot, or aery jialace dotuc', The faithful pilgrims boldly come. Though Heaven be veiled in night. They come, they climb, the\' dare not stay Whose I'eet forerun the day. And some through midnight darkness tail Missing the illumined sky ; And some with cleansed heart and mind, And souls to lower splendors blind, The city of their longing find. Clear to the mortal eye For all yet here, or far beyond the sun, At last the height is won. Lewis R, Mokkis. k "GATHERING FLOWERS, HERSELF A FAIRER FLOWER' * i ' ifi III ! i n I i ill :i: ■.j 1 ■• >ir firM, .1 lilH' ;-6ti;;! t ;! 1 1 i ! i' t i ■ : i i '< m } liK! jli Mf I ' : 1 1 ♦ ■■ -■ T ^ i ^^ L*. ^ AN OCEAN VOYAGK IVHTRV OF THE YEAR. 109 ON MAY MORNING. N()VV the l)riglit nioining-star, day's liar- hiiiger, Comes ilaiH iii.L,' Inmi llic I'.ast, ami leads wilii iier 'I'ho ilnwery May, wli<> irom lur green laj) throws Till' \clloA (;()\\sli|panee, and svidi thee long. [oiiN Mii;foN ,',/.■* SUMMER EVE. DOWN the sultry arc of day The burning wheels have urged their way, And Mve along the western skies Spreads her intermingling dyes; Down the deep, the miry lane, Creaking comes the CMijity wain ; Ami driver on the shaft horse sits, Whistling now ami then by fits. The barn is still — the master's gone — And thresher puts his jacket on ; While Dick upon the ladder tall Nails the dead kite to the wall. Here comes Shepherd J.i k at last, He has penned the shee()(ol fast ; For 'twas but two nights before A lamb was eaten on the moor ; His empty wallet Rover ( arries — Now for Jack, when near home, tarries ; With lolling tongue he runs to try If the horse-trough be not dry. The milk is settled in the pans. And supjier messes in the cans ; In tlie hovel ca'ts arc wheeled, And both the .olts are dree afield: The horses are all bedded up, And the ewe is with the tup. The s^u^re for Mister Fo.v is set, The leaven laid, the thatcliing wet, And Hess has slinked away to talk With Roger in the holly walk. Now on the seitle all but IJoss Are set, to cat their supper mess ; And little Tom and roguish Kate Are swinging on the meadow gate. Now they chat of various things — Of taxes, ministers, and kings; Or else tell all the vill.ige news — H )W madam did the 's(]uire refuse, How ])arson on his tithes was bent, And landlord oft distrained for rent. Thus do they, till in the sky The pale-eyed moon is mountetl high. The mistress sees that lazy Kate The happing coal on kitchen grate Has laid — while master goes throughout. Sees shutter fast, the mastiff out; The candles safe, the hearths all clear, And nought from thieves or fire to fear ; Then both to bed together creep, And join the general trooj) of slee]) Henuv Kirkf White. ■? 14! \ i 11, ' I 1; ' i .1 ' 110 ro/-:/-A'\- OF Tim year. CHILDREN IN SPRING. 1 "^IIIO snow lias left the cuttageloi); 'I he tljati li moss grows in hriglucr grcfii ; And eavc:^ in iimck succession drop, Where giinninj; icicles luue been, l'it-i)atting with a |)ieasant noise In tubs set l>y tiie cottage iloor ; Wiiiie ducks and geese, witii luipi))- joys, I'iunge in liie ard-pon ' briniining o'er. The sun peeps through the window-prne, Whicii children mark with laughing eye, AikI in llie wet street steal again, To tell eai h other sprnig is nigh, 'i'hen as young hope the jiast rec.dl^, in placing groups iluy oltcii tiraw 'To biiilii beside the stiiinv walls 'I'heir spriiig-tiuie iiuts ot sticks or straw. And olt in ])leasMre's dream they hie Round homesteads i)y the village side. Scrat( hing the heilge-row mosses by, Where painted jjuoty shells abide; Mistaking oft the ivy spray For leaves that come with budding spring, And woiulering, in their scare h lor ]ilav, Why birds delay to build a ul sing. The mavis thrush, with wild delight. Upon the orchard's dripiiing tree Mutters, to see the day so bright Fragments of young hope's jioesy ; Antl dame oft stops her buzzing whei.1. To h(.ar the robin's note once mon, Who tootles while he jiecks Ids meal From sweet-brier buds beside the door loriN Clare. THE ROSE. G ( ), loseb- rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me That now she knows. When I resemble her to thes.', How sweet .md lair she seems to be. Tell her that's Aoung. And shuns to have her grai es spied, That hadsl thou s|)ruiig In deserts where no nun abide Thou must have uucommi'nded died. Small IS the worth Of bi'aut}' from the light retired ' bid lur ( ome forth — .Suffer hiT-elf to be desired, .\nd not blush so to be rdmired. Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee — Mow small a jiart of time tluy share That are so womlrous sw; et and fair. I'.UMl ND W.M.LER. it A si'ia: 111 iia POJilKV OJ- THE YEAR. I »M- J i \ MORNINO IN 51IMMI:R. AND Nooli, oliMTvaiit of iipiiniai liiiin cl;i\ , 'I'lif iiK'ck eyed morn aiipi'urs, inutln,r ul' dews, At first taint f^lfamiii); in tiio (i,i|i|>li'»l east ; 'l"ill lar (I'er ether ^pre.iiis the winding; j^iow, Anil In III be ore tiie Inslif ot' Iut la( e Willie liicak tlic eloiids away. Witli ([iiickeiKil ste]i, I'iKiwii iiijjlit retires; yomij,' day jxjiirs in apace, And opens all liie l.iwny prospect wide. 'I'lie dri])pii;,u' nu k. tlie nionnt.iin's misty top, Swell on the sif^lit, and l)rij;litcn with the dawn, r.hic, tlironi;ii tlie dii-k. the smoking currents -line ; And t'roiii llie Maded liehl the tVarhil liare l.iiiil s, awkward ; wiiile aioii,:; tlie lbre--t ^ladc A JlINn DAY. WHO lias not ilic.uiied a world ol' blins, On .1 iiri^lii. sunny noon like thi^. C"ouciied liy his native I rook's ^recn ii .i/c. Willi (oiiirade ol' lli^ boyish days? While all around them seemed to lie Just as in joyou> inlaiuy Who has not loved, at sik h an hour. Upon thai heaih. in bin hen bower, ladled in the | oet'> dnaiiiy mood, Its wild and sunny st liliide? "Ihe wild ('rer trip, and, often tnrninj;, ga/e At early jiasseni^er. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy ; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shephenl leaves His nios V ( ottage, where with jieace lie dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order, drives His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. I'lit yonder comes the powerful king of day, Rejoicing in the east ! 'Hie lessening cloud, 'ihe kindling azure, and the moiintain's brow Illumed with fluid gold, his near ai)]iroach Iktoken glad. T.o! now, a])parenl all, Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colored air, He looks in boundbss majesty abroad ; And sheds the shining dav, that burnished j)lays On rocks, and hills and towers, and wandering streams. High-gleaming from afar. James Thomson. While o'er the waste of purjile ling Vou marked a sultry glimmering ; Silence herself there seems to sleep, Wrapjied in a slumber long and deep, W'hcre slowly stray those lonely sheep Through the tall fox glo\es' crimson bloom, Ami gleaming of the scattered broom. Love you not, then, to list and hear The crackling of the gorse-flowers near, I'ouring an orange-scented tide Of fragrant e o'er the desert wide ? To hear the buzzard whimpering shrill Hovering above you high and still ? The twittering of the bird that dwells Amongst the heath's delicious bells? While round your bed, or fern and blade, Insects in green and gold arrayed. The sun's gay tribes have lightly strayed And sweeter sound their humming wings Than the proud minstrel's echoing strings. William Howitt. rOF.TKV OF THE YEAR. li.) JULY CICKOO. Hf.'> toUl Ins iiaiiif to ivory urovc — Cr. sliaiiie siidi vanity upon I \'(t now at jiartinn we jjrow sad, For wlien he Uavcs um spring' has gone. '-^, h£¥,l "^.' ^aV \^j>' W :%' H REPOSF: IN SUMMER. I'.Is. eyi'lids ilriippcd tlu'ir silken raves, 1 lircitlicil upon lu T cyis, 'I'lirouf,'!) ail tlie sinmner of my ieaves, A welcouK' mixed witii >iL;lis. Sometimes I let a smilicam slip 'I'd li.i,'ht her shaded eye ; A second fluttered romul Ivr lij), Like a ^'oldcn butlerlly. Al IKKIt TlVNYSON. SONNET ON COUNTRY LIFE. T( ) one wild has lieen loni,' in citv pent. ' Tis very sweet tn hiok into the lair And open fa<'e ot' heaven — to hreathe a jirayer lull in the smile of the blue firmament. Wiio is more hai)py, when, with heart's ( on- tent, Kati^'ued he sinks into some jileasant lair Of wavy gross, and reads a debonair \nd gentle tale of love and lanuiiishnient ? l\eturnin,L; home at evenin!,^ with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel — an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by: 1'1'en like the i)assage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. John Kk.ats, THE BLACKBIRD. IlLACKIllKI) I sing me something well. While all the neighbors shoot tiie roni d, 1 keeji smooth plats of fruitful ^roimd. Where thou nia\'st warble, eat, and dwell. o 'I'he es]),diers and the standards all Are thine ; the range of l.iwn and park ; 'I'he unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, All thine, again->t the garden wa'l. \'et, tho' 1 sjiared thee all the spring, Thy scjle delight is, sitting still. With that gold daL'ger of thy bill To fret the >umm r jenneting. .■\ golden bill ! the silver tongue, Cold I'ebruarx loved, is dr\ : I'lenty eorruins the melody That made thee famous once, when young- And in the sultry gar(len-sc]uares, Now thv flute-notes are (hanged to coarse, I hear thee not at all. or hoarse As when a hiwker hawks his wares. Take warning ! he that wib not sing While von sun prosjiers in the blue, Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, Caught in the fro/en palms of spring. Alfred Tennvson. T ' i ' 1 j f ; 1 i ■ ■ ; i. . 114 POETRY OF THE YEAR. AUGUST— WREN. " L'.t'lc wren. wliy do you warble ? J51ackbird was singing at dawn, Thrush will bo hero in the twilight, Nightingale then, sweet and lorn." " One hour ol day would be silent If I siiould pause in my song; You may not eare for my music — One answering heart listens long." '^rn/ SUMMER k'EVERIE. IS'l'OOl) tiploo I'pon a lillle hill. 'The air was cooinig, and S(j very still, 'I'hat the sweet buds wiiich with a modest jiride Pull droo|)ingl\', in slanting curve asid'.', Their scanty-leaved, and hiiely-ta])ering stems, flad not yet lost their starry diadems t'auglit from the earlv sobl'ing of the lunni. The clouds were ])ure and white as (locks new shorn, -And fresii from the ( lear limok ; sweetly they slept ' )n the blue fields of heavi n, and then there cre]>t .\ little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves ; For t'ot the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. There was wide wandi ring for the greediest eye, 'l"o ]ieer about upon variet\' ; Far round the horizon's t:rystal air to skim. And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim ; To picture oiu the ([uaint and curious bending Of a fresh wootUand alley never-ending: Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Ouess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves 1 gazed awhile, aiui felt as ligiit and free As though the fanning wings of Mercury Had pla\ed upon my heels: I was light-heartea, And many i)leasures to my vision started; So I straightway began to pluck a posv Of luxuries bright, milky, .soft, and rosy. A bush ( f Mav-llowers with the bees about them ; Ah, sure no tasteful nook could be w ithout them ! And let a lush laburnum oversweej) them. And let long gr.iss gn.w round the roots to keep tliom Moist, cool, and green ; and shade the violets, 'i hat they may bind the moss in leafy nets. JdIIN' Kkats. SHEPHERD A'.D FLOCK. AROUND the adjoining brook, that liiirL along I he vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, Now scarcely moving through a reedv pool. Now starting to a sudden stream, and now (^Jently difTused into a linijiid )ilain ; .\ various group the herds and flo( ks com])ose. Rural coniiision ' On the gra^^sy bank Some ruminating lie ; while others stand Half in the flood, and often bending sip The circling surl'ace. In the middle droojjs The strong laborious ox, of iioiust front, ^^'hich ill'. om posed he sh.ikes ; ami from his sides The troublor.s insc ts lashes with his tail, "e'urning sti.l. .Xmid his subjects safe Slumbers the monarch-swain, his careless arm Thrown round his head, on downy nu)ss sustained Here laiti his scrip, with wholesome \iands filled ; There, listening every noise, his watchful dog. James Thomson. POETRY OF THE YEAR. A WINTER SKETCH. HE lilessed morn has come again ; 'i'is winter, ye: tliere is no sound 115 TTlie early gray Taps at the shnnberer's window-pane, And seems to say, lireak. break from the enchanter's chain, Away, away ! Along the air Of winds along their l);utie-ground ; I'liit gently tliere The snow is falling — all around How fair, how fairl Kali'H Hi;yT. Y TO MEADOWS. V. lia\e been fresh and green ; \'e have been filleil with llowcrs ; And ye tiie walks have been Where maids have spent their hours. Ye iiave l)eheld where thev With wicker arks did come, To kiss and bear away The richer cowslips home ; You've heard them sv.ertl , sing, And seen them in a round ; i''.ach virgin, like the spring, Witi> honeysuckles crowned. Hut now we see none In re Who-e silvei \ feet did tread. And with dishf\elled hair Adorned this smoo'.her mead. [,ike unihrifts, having spent ^'ollr stock, and neetly grown, \'ou're left here to lament Your I oor estates alone. RoHEIM IIlKKICK. si '■' \m' ( ! 'I' 116 POETRY OF THE YEAR. 1 ' ^ i A SONO FOR THE SEASONS. w HMN the merry lark dolli gild Witli his bonji the siiininer hours, And their nests the swallows build In the ruols and tojis ot towt-rs, And tiie golden broom-flower burns All about the waste, Antl the maiden May returns \\'itli a pretty haste — Then, how merry arr the times I The summer times 1 the spring times! Now, from off the ashy stone The chilly midnight cricket crieth, And all merry birds are llown, And our dream of pleasure dieth ; Now the once blue, laughing sky Saddens into gra\'. And the fro/en rivers sigh. Pining all ,iway I Now, how solenm The winter times ! are the times ! the night times ! Yet, be men) ; all around Is through one vast change revolving ; Even night, who lately frowned, Is in paler dawn dissolving; ICarth will burst her fetters strange, And in spring grow free ; All things ill the world will change, Save — my love lor thee ! Sing then, hopeful are all times ! Winter, sumiuer. s|)ring times ! Uarkv Cornwall. SUMMER'S HAUNTS. UNTO me, glatl summer. How hast thou tlown to me? My chaiide^s footsteps nought hath kept I'Voin thy hamits of song and glee; Thou liast flown in wayward \isioiis, In memories of the dead — In shallows from a troubled heart. O'er thy sunny jiathwa)- shed. 1'"ei.hi.\ 1). Hemans. 9T^I THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER. 'IS the last rose of smnmer Left blooming alone ; All her lovely companions .Are filled and gone ; No llowcr (ji her kindred. No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back her blushes, Or give sigh fot sigh ! I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, To jjine on the stem ; Since the lovely are slee|)in '. Gc, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed \V here thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead- So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from love's shining circle The gems droj) away ! When true hearts lie withered And fond ones are flown. Oh ! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? Thomas Moore. FAIR SUMMER. THE spring's gay promise melted into thee. Fair summer 1 and thy gentle reign is liere ; Thy emerald robes are on each leaf}' tree ; In the bine sk\ thy voice is rich and clear ; And the free brooks have songs to bless thy reign— They leap in music 'midst thy bright domain. Thus gazing on thy void and sa])i)hire sky, O, sunnnerl in my inmost soid arise Uplifted thoughts, to whi( h the woods reply. And the bland air with its soft melodies — Till basking in some vision's glorious ray, I long for eagles' plumes to ilee away ! Wii.i.is G. Clark. A DAY IN AUTUMN. Tlll^RE was not, on that day, a s|)eck to stain The azure heaven ; the blessed sun, alone, In unapproachable divinity, Careered, rejoicing in his fields of light How beautiful, beneath the liright blue sky. The billows heave ! one glowing green expanse, Save where along the beiulirg line of shore Such hue is known as when the peacock's neck .\ssumes its proudest tint of amethyst, Kmbatlied in emerald glory. All the flocks Of ocean are abroad ; like floating loam. The sea-gidls rise and fall njion the waves; With long-prol nded neck tbe cormorants Wing their far flight aloft, and round and round The jilovers wheel, and give their note of joy. It was a day that sent into the heart .■\ summer feeling : even the insect swarms From their dark nooks and coverts issued forth. To s])ort through one dav of existence more ; The solitary primrose on the bank Seemed now as though it had no cause to mourn Its bleak autumnal birth ; the rocks and shores. The forest, and the everlasting hills, Smiled in that joyful sunshine — they partook The universal blessing. Robert Southev. i«!i CHARI.KS I)ICK.I«;XS. 1 M ifr 11 1 H ;! III A Ir^l H'?ii! i i ■'I I I RALPH WALDO ICMKRSOX. POETRY OF THE YEAR. 117 I ' SEPTEMBER-CURLEW. White breakers foam ujion ihe desolate sainl->, I'he gray sea-grass bends in llie fresliinlny hreeze, And, lieard witli winds .iiion. T AUTUMN. HI-", aiilunm is old ; The sere leaves are flying; He hath gathered up gold, And now he is dying : Old age, begin sighing! The vintage is r.\.c ; The harvest is heaping ; liiit some that have sowed Ha\e no riches for re.iping : Poor wrelch. fall a-weeping I 'i he year's in the w^uie : There i-> nothing ndorning ; Th'.' night has no e\ e. And the day luis no morning; Cold winter gives warning. AUTUMN FLOWERS. TH()S1'; few pale autumn flowers, H(jw beautilul thcv are ! Than all that went before. Than all the summer store, How lovelier far ! And why? — They .ire the last ! The last ! the last ! the last ! Oh! by that little word How many thoughts aie stirred Thai whispt-r of the ]:ast '. Pale llouers! pale ]ieii--hin'' tlowers! \'e're t\pes of iire( ions things ; Tvpes of those bitter moments. That flit, like life's eniovments. On r:i])i(i, rapid wings ; Last hours with parting dear ones (That time the fastest spends), POETRY OF THE YEAR. 11!» Last tears in silence shed, l.,ast words halt" uttcfd, Last looks of dying friends. Who but would fain compress A life into a day — The last day sjient with one Who c-e the morrow's sun, Must leave us, and for aye? The rabbit is cavorting Along the gloomy slojie, The shotgun of the sjiortsuian Kliininates his lope. The butterfly's dei)arted, Likewise the belted bee, The small boy in tin- orchard Is u]! the ai)i)le tree. > t OCTOBER— SWALLOW. Thk sky j^rows iliin, tlie leaves like loal hope fall. Anil Swallows, joyous conieis lonjj a^o. Rise u|i to take (le|)artiire — smimur IricMls, Who leave us lone tn luett the coiiiiiitj woe. pr'^cious, ])recioiis moments ! Pale flowers ! ye' re types of those; The saddest, sweetest, dearest, Because, like those, the nearest To an eternal close. Pale flowers! pale perishing flowers! I woo your gentle breatli — 1 leave tlie summer rose For younger, blitlier brows; Tell me of change '.nd death ! CaROI.IXK I!. SOUTHEY. T OCTOBER. MPv pun)pkin pie is yellow. The buckwheat cake is brown, The farmer's gray neck whiskers Are full of thistle down. "The leaves are crisp and russet. The sumac's blazing red, The butternut descending Is cracked upon your head. The county fair is blooming, Tlie circus is no more, And on the polished brass dogs We make the hickory roar. The trees wear lovely colors In beautiful excess ; All nature seems to rustle Just like a new silk dress. The sausage soon will ri])en. The ])opcoru soon will pop, And Christmas things enliven The window ot the shop. Sing ho ! for merry auttunn, .Sing ho ! for autumn gay. Whose pretty jiotpic squirrels Among the branches ])lay. For now no merry bluebird Upon the rose tree toots. And autumn, golden autumn, Serenely up and scoots. ' i K I ■ ! 1 1 1 i ! I. 120 POhTRY OF THE YEAR. BEAUTIES OF AUTUMN. THE inonlli is now tar spent ; and the meri- dian sun, Most swrfti\ smiling, with attempered licams, Siieds gently clown a miiil and gratctul uarmtii ; Beneath its yellow lustre, groves and woods, With its bright colors intermixed with spots Of darker green. Yes, it were sweetly sad To wander in the open fields, and hear, K'en at this hour, the noon-day hardly past, 'I'he lulling insec ts of the summer's night ; To hear, where l.itely bu/zing swan. is were heard I A lonely bee, long roving here and there ( hc(iMered by one night's frost with various hues. While yet no wind has swept a leal aw:i\. .'^hine doublv rich. It were a sad delight Down the smooth stream to glide, and see it tiiiL^ed Upon ea( h brink with all the gorgeous hues, ''he yellow, red. or jiiirjile of the trees That singly, or in tufts, or forests thick, Aflorti the shores — to see, i)erhaps, the side Of some high mount reflected lar below, To find a single flower, but all in vain ; Then rising (juick, ami with a louder hum. In widening circles round and round his heati, Straight by the listener living clear away, As if to bid the fields a la--t adieu ; To hear, within the woodland's suni'.y side. Late full of nuisi( , nothing save. i)erhaps, The sound of nul-shells, by the s(inirrel dropjied From some tall beech, fast falling through the leaves. Carlos Wilcox. POEIRV OF THE YEAR. 121 NOVEMBPR— SEA-QIILL. SriJKMs of ;ii!tiimii sweep the sea, Inland, on the blast ujtwinging, ("onio white-breasted Sea-gulls bringing Fresh breaths of the wild antl free. A STILL DAY IN AUTUMN. Ii,( )Vi'^ to wander through the woodlands hoary, In the soft ghjoni of an autumnal day, When summer gathers up her robes of glory, And, like a dream of beauty, glides away. How, through each loved, familiar ])ath she lingers, Serenely smiling through the goliien mist, Tiiitnig the wild grai)e with her tiewy fmger.s. Till the I'ool emerald turns to amethyst; Kindling the faint stars of the hazel, shining To light the gloom of autunm's mouldering halls; With hoary plumes the clematis entwining, Where, o'er tlu rock, her withered garland falls. Waiin lights are on the sleepy uplands waning beneath dark clouds along the hori;'.on rolled, lill the slant stmbeams. through their fringes rain- ing. Bathe all the hills in m"lancholy g(jld. The moist winds bralhe of crisped leaves anil flowers, In the damp hollows of the woodland sown, Mingling the fresinu'ss of antmnu.d showers With spicy airs fr.):n t:edarn alle\s Mown. reside the bujok and on the umbeied meadow, 'iMieie \eHow lern-tuf:s tieck the fadetl groiuul. With folded lids beneath their palmv shadow. The gentian nods, in ilreary slumb'^rs bound. Upon those soft, fringed lids the bee sits brooding. Like a fond lover Inith to say larewell ; Or, with shut wings, through silken folds intruding. Creeps near her heart his drows.- tale to tell. The little birds upon the liill-side lonely Flit noiselessly along fro.n spray to s])ray, Silent as a sweet, wandering thought, that only Shows its bright wings and softly glides away. The scentless flowers, in the warm sunlight tlream- ing, Forget to breathe their fulness of delight ; Ami through the tranceil woods soft airs are streaming. Still as the dew-fall of the summer night. So, in my heart, a sweet, imwonted feeling Stirs, like the wind in oc can's hollow shell, Through all its secret chambers sadly stealing, Yet finds no words its m\stic charm to tell. Sarah H. Whitman. VERSES IN PRAISE OF ANGLING. QriVI'.RINCl fears, heart-tearing cares, Anxious sighs, mitiuiel\' tears, I'lv, fly to courts. I"ly to fond worldlings' sports, Where straiii'd sardonir smiles are glosing still .\nd grief is t'orccil to laugh against her will. Where mirth's but inunnnerv. .\nd sorrows onlv real be. !i! lil i ' %m ''S it ij I I ! 1 i • H^ IJil 122 POETRY or T/fF. YHAR. Fly from our coiiiiiry |a>tiiiit'8, fly, .Sail troops ol liiiin.m misery ; Coiiif, siTciii' looks, Clear as tin- crystal brooks, Abusiil mortals! did you know Where joy, heart's ease, and < omforts grow, Vdu'd scorn iirotul towers Ami s( ek tliem in tlieve bowers, Or the jjure azured jieavcn that smiles to Where winds, sometimes, our woods perliajis uku see Tiu' ri( h attendance on our povertv l^ hakt Hut blustering i are could never tempest make eacc and a secure mini! cr come uiliu us, Which all men ,eek, we onlv f.nd. Nor muruuirs e Saving of louiitains that glide by lis. Her ■'s no liii' .1 our Nor I'nl ■1\^ li.u'ml W 1 ( li don .\n. S.iv. \l r .ire p ■lo 1 isteii 1 Vn\ The Ol -illv lisl L'.,, m the 1 Nor Tlie (;■.. let tlu I'ur uems. T III', wa he On I he earth Comi Fron In VI Foll( or ti And like di .' .. ^ ' V. ■••^> FOhTkY OF Tllh YH.IR. 123 Hir '^ IK) lantastic mask nor danrc, liut >! our kidi that Irisk and prance; Nor wars are soi'ii, Unlrss upon the j;rccn '|\v . harniles-i la;iil)s arc l)iittinj; onv tlic other, Will ii done, l)iitl\ Me.itlnj; run, imcIi to \\\s nintluT ; And wounds ,,ie never found, Savi'wlia' tin- plouj;lishare gives tlie ground. H entrapping; l)nts To li isten to too liasty late^ ; Unless it be 'I'lio fond credulity (ii ^lly fisli, vviiich, worldliuL,' like, still look I ii'in the bait, but never on the liook ; Nor envv, 'le-s anioiij,' I'lie birds, lor pri< r of tlieir sweet som^. Ci'i. let the (ii\iug neyro seek lur -ems, hid in some forlorn creek ; We all pearls scorn Save what the dewy morn Coni^^eals u|) )n each little spire of grass, Which careless sheplunN brat down as they pass ; And j^old ne'er here appiar-, Save what the yellow t,'cres iiears. l'ile,t silent groves, oh, M.a\' \(iii be, For ever, mirth's best nursery ! May pure conteiU< I'or ever jiitch their tents I'poi tlie^e downs, the^e lU' ad--, tlii'se nicks, these mountains ; And p'.Mce still slimdier b\ these purlin^,' foun- tains, Wliich ue ma\- ever\' \ear Meet. \\\n-u we (time a-iUhing hiTe. StK ill NRV WdTTON. DECEMBER-FMRTRIDGE. The partridge looks round on the wintry world. Snow-draped in ermine, with frost impeailed ; 'in warm," says he, 'and dressed lor the cold As well as the lamb that's siiul,' in the fold." AITUMN— A DIRGE. ill'", warm sun is falliii;;; the bleak wind is The chill rain is falling ; tlu' nipt worm iscrawling ; the pale I wailing; *■ The bare boughs are sighin fl iwers are d\ing ; .\nd till' year On ilicearth,hcrdeathd)ed,in shroud of leaves dead, Is lying, ("ome, months, come away, I'Voin Novend)er to ^^ay ; In your saddest array l''ollow the bic Of the dead, cold vear. Ami like dim shado\\s watch b\- her sepulchre. The rivers are swelling : the thunder is knelling l'"or the year ; The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone T\) his dwelling ; Come, mcjnths, ( ome away ; Put on white, black and gray; l.ct your light sisters play — \'c, follow the bier ( )f the dead cold year, Aiiil make her grave preen with tear on tear. Percy H. Shelle/. 1" i I m\ 1 I ! 124 /'()/: /A'V O/' nil: VI AR. H^ THE FrRST SNOWIALL. Till', snow li.ul lic>;iiii in iIk- ^lo.uiiin^. And l)ii->ily ,ill tlic ni^;lii 11.1(1 lu'cn lie.i|iin^; lidd ami lii;;li\vay Willi a hiliiitt" dctji .111(1 white. ICvery pine and fir and hemlock (Vore rriiiiiic too dear lor an carl, And llie poorest twi»( on the ehn-tiee Was ridded inch deep with pearl. I'Vom sheds ncwrooled with Carrara Came i lianticlcer'.i mnflled -pered, " The snoNN th.it Inisheth .ill, l>arling, the mer< ifiil lather .Mono c.in ni.ikc it fill !" Then, with eves th.it s.iw not, I kissed her, .\nd she, kissing hick, (inild not know Tli.it mv kiss was given to her sister, folded close under deepening snow. I\MI,> Kl'-'SEI I, i,(l\VH,L. I stood and watched hy the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden Hurries of siiow-hirds. Like hrown leaves uliiriiiiL: bw I thought of a mound in sweet A.'.'iurn Where a little headstone stood ; How the Hakes were foldinp it gently, .\s did roliins the liahes in the «oud. Up spoke onr own little Mabel SayiiiLt, " I'alher, who m.ikes it .snow?' And 1 told of the good All F.ither Who cares for us here below Again 1 looked at the snowfall, .■\nd thdiiulu of the Uaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow, When that mound was heajied so high. OLD-TIME WINTER. Wni;Rl\, oh, where, is winter. The sort we used to know ? The icy bkist, The skies o'ercast, ,\iid the drifting, siftiii:; snow? Where are the iiomls for skating. The snow-( lad ( oasting hills ; The urchin's sled. And the usual dread Of coUis and other ills? Where are the jingling sleighbells. The girl with the frosted nose, The sli])perv walks .\iiil the old-fashioned gawks. With the shoes inside their ho.se? Where are the snowball battles. Of the erstwhile festive kid ; « , [■ I'Rii-DRicii \-()x sciiili,i:k ttmww h ' 1 1 i 1 ! I I i ■^ 1 5 ii ji ^ i JOHAXX VCJN (U)I';THK. k POETRY OF THE YEAR. 12C T'le snowy sjiher'"'^, T liai skipped one » ears, The wind that chased one's lid ? Where is the old-style winter, Tiie winter of winds that blow ^ Tell us we pray, Wliere the icicles stay, Of the winters we used to know ? DIRGE FOR THE YEAR. ORPHAN hours, tlie year is dea.l. Come and sigh, come and weep! Merry iiour^, smile ii-stead, For tile year is hut asleep: See, it smiles as it is sieepinL;, Mocking \-our untimely weeping. BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND. B LOW, blow, thou winter wind — Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, ]5ecause thou art not seen. Although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho! sing heigli ho! unto tlie green holly Most friendship is t'eigniug, most lo\ ing mere foUy ; Then, heigh ho ! the holl_\ ! This li!"e is most joll\' ! Freeze. frvC/.c. thou litter sky — Thou dost not bite so ni^h As benelits forgot; Tliouuh thou the waters warp, Tliy sting is not so sharj) As friend remembered not. j Heigh ho ! sing heigh ho ! unto the green holly; Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly ; Then, heigh ho ! the holly I j This life is most jolly ! WiLLI.A.M ShAKESPKARE. As an i'arth(inake rocks a cors;' In its coftin in the clay. So white winter, that rough nurse, Rocks the dead-cold year to-day , Solenm hour^ ! wail aloud For your mother in her shroud. As the wild air stirs and swavs The tree-swung cradle of a cliild. So the br -a'h of these rude da\s Rocks the year. 15e calm aiui mild Trembling hours ; she will arise With new love within her eyes. January gray is here, Like a sextor by her grave ; F'ebruary bears the bier ; March with grief doih howl and rave, And .\])ril wee])S— but, ( ) ye hours I Follow with May's fairest flowers. Pkkcv 1?. Shei.i.kv. Ill ■ s i t I I 126 POETRY OF THE YEAR. THE LAST SNOW OF WINTER. SOFT snow still rests within tliis wayside cle t. Veiling the primrose biuis not yet unfurlctl ; l,ast trace of dreary winter, idly left On beds of moss, and sere leaves crisply curled; Why tloes it linger while the violets blow. And sweet things grow? A relic of long nights and weary days. When all fair things were hidden from niv sight ; It was a time of rapture I Clear and loud i'he village clot k tolled six — I wheeletl ahout, Proud and exulting, like an initired horse 'I'hat cares not for hi> home. — All shod vith st>el We hisseil along the jiolished ice, in ganes Confederate, imitati\e of the chase And woodland pleasures— the resoimding horn, The ])a( k loud-chiming, and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle : with the din yir'' ».-4^ 'l.r/jcr/-- FEBRUARY -SPARROW. The piljiii ^Ip.iis viiur |iiai>e away, III vain vuu liavi; tlu' winter coKl; lor all have evts fur featlu is gay, IJut lii) one marks yniir jerkin old. . I'-i i ;| 1 i 1 ■ . n * i \ 'i i ' 1 i; <[.? \ chill reminder of those mourniu' >\avs 1 ira\erscyi when the fields were cold and white; My lite was dim, my hopes la\ still and low Beneath the snow ! Now sjiring is connng, and in\- buried love Breaks fresh and strong am sotl; llironyh the The lark sings loniily in the blue above, The budding eartii must nKignily her Cod; Let the old sorrows and old errors go With tlie la^t snow 1 Sak.M! Doi dnkv. t. CATIN 1. AND in the frosty season, when the sun Was set, and. visible for many a ndle, The cottage-windows through the twiligiit blazed. I heeded not the smiimv^ns: hajijiy time It was indeed for all of lis ; <"or me Smitten, the iire( ipices rang alomi ; The Katless trees and e\erv ic\ cr.ig Tinkled \\Vv iron ; while the distant hills Into the tumult sent an alien s-und Of mel .nchely, not unnoticed, wliile the stars, I'.asiwani, were sjiarkling clear, and in the west The orange sky of evening ilii d awav. Xot seldom from the uproar I retired Into a silent bay, or sportively (ilanced sideway, leaving the tnmnltuons throng. To cut across the retlex of a star ; Image, tiiat. fl\ing still before me, gleametl L'pon the glassy |ilain : and oftentimes, W'h.n we had given our bodies to the wind. And all the shadowy banks on either side Came sweepiu'; throtmh the dark less, spinnini still T'le rapid line o!' motion, then at once Ha\e I. recdining back njion my heels, btopped short ; yet still the solitary cliffs 127 ii I I 128 POETRY OF THE YEAR. \ i \ -' Wheeled by me — even as if the earth liad rolled Willi visible motion her diurnal round ! IJeiiincl me did tiiey stretcii in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and 1 stood and watched Till all was irancjuil as a sunnner sea. WiLiiAM Wordsworth. WITHERED FLOWERS. DIKU ! ye withered flowerets ! Your day of j^lory's past ; lUit \()ur parting smile was loveliest, For we knew it was your last: No more tiie sweet uronia Of your golden cups shall rise. To scent t!ie morning's stilly breath, Or gloaming's zephyr sighs, \'e were the sweetest offerings Which friendsiiii) could bestow — A token of devoted love In pleasure or in woe ! Ye graced the head of infancy, by sot't aftection twined Into a fiiry < oronal Its sunny brows to bind. Ye ilecked the cuftins of the dead, H\- \ earning sorrows strewd Along eacli lifeless lineament, In death's cold clam])s bestowed ; Ye were the pleasure of our eyes In dingle, wood and word, In the ])arterre's slieltered ])remises, And on tiie mountain cold. But ah I a dreary blast hath blown Athwart you in your bloom. And, pale and sickly, now your leave*; The hues of death assume : We mourn your vanished loveliness, Ye sweet departed llowers ! P'or ah ! the fate which blighted you An '.Mnblem is of ours. There comes a blast to terminate Our evanescent s]ian : For frail, as \our existence, is 'Ihe mortal life of man ! And is the land we hasten to A land of grief and gloom? Mo! tiiere the Lily of the Vale And Rose of Sharon bloom I And there a stream of ecstasy Through groves c;f glory flows, And on its banks the Tree of Life In heavenly beauty grows; And flowers that never fade away, Whose blossoms never clo.se, Elcoiu round the walks where angels stra/. And saints redeemeil repose. And though, like you, sweet floweis ofeartt We uidier ami depart. And leave behind, to mourn our loss, Full many an aching heart ; Yet, w hen the winter of the grave Is past, we hope to rise. Warmed by the Sun of Righieousness, '1 o blossom in tlie skies. John P)I■■.THu^ f I < i DESCRIPTIONS AND TALES OF Till' SEA: i:mhra( iNG GRAPHIC PEX-PirrURKS OF Till- WORLD OF WATERS. THE LIFE BRIGADE. ARK ! iiiid ihe strife ul' waters A slirill despairing < r\. As of some drowniiiti sailor III liis last agony ! Another ! and now are mingled Heart-rending slirieks for aid. 1,0 '. a sinking ship. What Arouse the Life Brigade ho : arouse They come with hurrying foot^teIlt^: No need for a second call ; They are broad awake and ready, And willing one and all. Not a hand among them trembles, Each tread is firm and free, Not one man's spirit falters In the face of the awful sea. Yet well may the bra\est sailor Shrink back appalled to-night From that army of massive breakers With their foam-crests gleaming white, Those beautiful, terrible breakers. Waiting to snatch their i)rey, And bury yon hapless vessel 'Neath a monument of spra}' ! But rugged, and strong, and cheery Dauntless and undismayed, Are the weather-beaten heroes Of the gallant Life Brigade. '' To the re.scue !" shouts their leader. Nor pauses for reply — A plunge ! — and the great waves bear him Away to do or die ! The whole night long, unwearied. They battle with wind and sea, All ignorant and heedless Of what their end may be. They search the tattered rigging, They climb the quivering mast, -And life after life is rescued Till the frail ship sinks at last. i) The thutiderous clouds h' . .aiiished, And roso-fingered morn awakes. While over tlie breast of ocean The shimmering sunlight breaks ; And the Life Brigade have finished The work dod gave them to do. Their names are called. "Any missing?" Mournful the answer — '• Two !" Two of the best and bravest Have been dragged by the cruel waves Down to tlie depths unmeasured, 'Mid thousands of sailor graves! Two lives are given for many! And the tears of sorrow shed. Should be tears of joy and glory For the grandeur of the dead ! Minnie Mackay. 129 1 -i^ h' Ml- ! ' 1^ ' i iii I ( III i I 1 I ino DhSi Riri/OXS AM) lAIJiS ('/•■ J //J: SEA. THE LANOSMANS SONO. ^"^ H \ who would be bound to tlie barren sea, i I If he could dwell on land — ^*-^ Where his step is ever both (iiin anu f'ee, V/here (lowers arise, Like sweet girls' eyes, And rivulets sing Like birds in spring ? And so — 1 will take my stand On land, on land 1 For ever and ever on solid land ! Some swear they could dii- (,n the salt, salt sea, (But have lliey been loved on land ?) Some rave ot the ocean in drunken glee — Ot the music born For me — 1 will take my stand On land, on land ! lor ever and ever on solid land ! I've sailed on the riotous roaring sea. With an undaunted band : Yet my village home more pleaseth me, With its vallev gav Where maidens stray. And its grassy mead Where the white flocks feed : And billow^ are breaking. And lightning llashing. And the thi( k rain dashing, And the winds and the thunders Shout forth the sea wonders ! — Such things may give joy To a dreaming boy : l!ut for inf — 1 will take my stand On land, on land ! Kor ever and ever on solid land. Bakrv Cornwall. MY BRIGANTINE. Jl'S T in thy mould and beauteous in th\ I'orm, (lenUe in roll and buoyant on the surge. T^ight as the sea-fowl rocking in the storm. In breeze and gale thy onward course we urge. My water-queen ! l.ady of mine. More light and swift than thou none thread the sea. With surer keel or steadier on its jiath. We braxe each waste of ocean -mystery .\nd laugh to hear the howling tem|)esl's wrath. For we are thine. '• My brigantine ! Trust to the mystic power that points thy way, 'i'riist to the eye that ])ierces from afar ; Trust the reil meteors that around thee ])lay. And, fearless, trust the Sea-Oreen Lady's Star, Thou bark divine !" James Fenimore Cooper. CORAL TREASURKS OK THE SEA. 1!V I il iFillil ill' 131 Ml ^'11' M lU 'I '11.. r li! 132 /)/iSCA'//'/7(K\S AXD TAIMS OF Tllli SEA. IS MY LOVIiR ON THli SliA ? IS my lover mi llie se;i, Sailing i-^ast, or sailing Wcit ? Mi^lU) o< eaii, gentle be, Koi k liini into rest ! Li't no angr\ wiml arise, Nor a wave with wliitenecl ( re^t ; All l)e gentle as his e\es When he is ( aresseJ ! of the deep for a hurricane ! All's well at twelve u'(:lo( k at night ! Strike eight bells! All's u.il at one o'clock in the morning ! Strike two hell- ' How the water tosses Irum the iron prow of tii'' Huron as she seems moving irresisti!)ly on ! li \ llsliing smack came in her way she wotild ride it down and not know sl'.e touched it. lint, alas! through the darkness she is aiiiiin- for Nag's Head! What is the matter with th.' compasses \ Bear him (as the breeze above liears the bird imto its nest), ?Iere — unto his home of love, And there bid him rest ! Barkv Cornwali.. WRECK OF THE HURON. A FEW days ago there went out from our Brooklyn Navy Yanl a man-of-war, the Huron. She steamed down to Hampton Roads, dropped anchor for further orders, and then went on southward — one hundred and thirty- six souls on board — and the life of the humblest boy in sailor's jacket as ])recious as the life of the commande»". There were storms in the air, the jib-stay had been carried away, but what cares such a monarch At one o'doi k and tori\ minutiN there is a harsh grating on the bottom of the shi|). and the ciy goes across the ship. •• What's tiie matter?" Then the sea lifts up the shi]) to let her fall on tin.' breakers — shock ! shock ! slnx k ! The dreadful command of tlu/ cajitain rings across tiie deck aid is repeated anujiig the hamiimi k^, '• .\11 hands save the ship! " riieii cduies the .'iiid of the a.\e in answer to the order to tui awa\- the mast. Overboard go the gims. They are of no use in this battle with the wind and wave. Heavier and heavier the ves^t 1 falls till the timbers begin lo crack. The work of death goes on, ever\' surge of the sea carr\ ■ ing more men from the tbrecastle. and reaching up its briny tingeis to those hanging in the rigging. Numb and frozen, tliey hold on antl lash themselves fast, wiiile some, daring each other to the undertaking, plunge into the beating surf and struggle for the land. Oh, cruel sea ! I'ity theni, as bruised, and mangled, and with broken bones, tiiey make desper ate effort for dear life, lor thirty miles along the beai h the dead of the Huron arc strewn, and throughout the land tliere is weeping and lamentation and great woe. .•\ surviving officer of the vessel testifies that I tiie conduct of the men was admirable. It is a magnificent thing to see a man dying at his post, I doing his whole duty. It seems that every siiij)- ' wreck must give to the world an illustration (jl the doctrine of vicarious sacrifice — men daring all things to save their felhjws. Who can see such things without thinking of the greatest deed of these nineteen ( enturies, the pushing out of the Chiettain of the universe to take the human race off the wreck of the world ? And this is a rescue that will fill heaven with hallelujahs and resounding praise, and the jubilant notes of the anthem will never cease. ' T. De Witt Talmace. l)/:.SCK/rnONS A.\D J.UJ.S ('/■ 77//: Si- A. 138 T THE IJOHTdOUSE. FIl'' rocky ledge runs far iiito the sea. And on its outer poinl. some miles auay, The ligiithouse lifts its massive masonrv, A inllar of fire hv nii,'ht, of cloud hv day. liven at this tiisiance F can see the tides, U|)lieaving, hre.ik uniieard along its base, A -])eechiess uratli. that rises and subsides In the wliite lip and tremor of ihe face. And as the e\eiiing darkens, lo ! how briglit. ■riin^igii the (le^p pnr|)le of the twilight aii Reams forth the sutlden radiance of its light With strange, nncarthly splendor in its glare ! .And the great ships sail outward and return, bending and bowing o'er the billowy swells, .And ever joyful, as they see it burn. I'hey wave their silent welcomes .uul farewells. They come fortli from the tlarkiuss, and their sails Crleam for a moment only in the blaze, And eager faces, as the light uiueils, (ia/,e at the tower, and v.mish while they gaze. The mariner remembers when a child, ( >n his first voyage, he saw it fade and sink ; And when, returning iVom adventures wild, lie saw it rise again o'er oceanN brink. Steadfast, serene, immovable, the same Year after year, through all the silent night burns on for evermore that quenchless tlanie, .Shines on that inextinguishable light I It sees the ocean to its bosom clasp The rocks and sea-sand with the kiss of peace ; It sees the wild winds lift it in their grasp, And hold it up, and shake it like a tleecc. The startled wn\ s K t)ver it ; the storm .Smites it w' ' all ' -scourges of the rain, .■\iul steadily ■.^., 'n.t ..-..oiiil form I're-s the -at '•lulders of the hiirrii ane. The sea-biri wi nns round it. with the din Of wing- and winds and solit,ir\' crie^. I'.liiuled I ■ na ' lened by the light within. Dashes i. ..si if again>t the glare, and dies. :\ new rrometheus, chained upon the rock, Still grasping in his hand the lire of jo\e, It does not hear the cry, nor heed the shock, l)Ul hails the mariner with words of love. " Sail on I" it sa\s, " sail on. ye Ntately shii - ! hnd with your lloating bridge the oi ean span ; Re mine to guard this light from all ecli])^', Be yours to bring man nearer unto man I" II. \V. LoNCFELLOW. '1 \ i 1 i :-Jii !l '■ i i r 1 i ! i ■I £ ! H I: I i 131 DRscnrrnoxs .wd talis o/- tui: sea. THE MINUTB (lUN. w III'iN in tlie storm on Al' ion's coast, riie ni^;lu-w,it(li j^iiards lus wary jjost, I'roni llioii^lits of ilan^,'ir free, Ho marks some vessel's iliisky torn), And licarM, annd the Iiowlinj,' storm, I'lie minnt(.'-gun at sea. Swift on the sliorc a liardy few 'I'lif life- boat man with pallant irew And dare tlie dinjieroiis wave ; Thronnh the wild surf they (leave their way, l,osl in the foam, »or know tlisniuy, For they go tlie crew to save. ISut, ( ), wh.it rapture fills each breast < )f the hopeles-. < rew of tlie ship distrcs.sed{ Then, landed safe, what joy to leil Of all the (lan>,'prs that hefell ! Then is heard no more. By the walch on shore. 'riu' miiiiitegiin at sea. k. s. sharpe. I LOVED THE OCEAN. WHAT was it tliat Moved so well about my No scene half l)rit,^lit enough to win my young ( hiltlliood's home? heart from the seal It was the wide ami wave-lashed shore. No! 't was the ocep.i. vast and ileep. the fathom- the black rocks crowned with foam ! less, the tree 1 It w.as the sea-gull's flapping wing, all trackless in The mighty rushing waters, that were ever dear Its flight, to me ! Its screaming note that welcomed on the fierce My e.u best stejis would wander Irom the green and and stormv night ! fertile land. The wild lieath had its llowers and nKM. the for- Down where the clear blue ocean rolled to pace est had its trees. the rugged strand ; Which bending to the evening wind, made musi( Oh ! how I loved the waters, and even longed in the bree/e. to be But earth, ha! ha! I laugh e'en now. earth had A bird, a boat, or anything that dwelt upon the no charms for me ; sea ! Iu.iza Cook. iU. D/iSCKirriOXS AXD TALHS Oh THH Sh.A. 131 v> THE WMIII". SyiALL. M) -.() llif liours kept tulliiii; ; And tliroiinh the ocean rolliii)^ Went tiic brave Iberia liowlin^, Het'ore the l)reak of (lay— Wlien a s(]iiall \\\m\\ a sadden, Canie o'er tlie waters scudding ; And tlie clouds liegan to gatlicr, And the sea was laslied to latlier, And tlie lowering thun- der nniml)led, And tlie I i j; h t n i n (T jiiiii|ied and tiinil>led. And the shi|), an a howliiij;. And the ])Oodle dog a \o\\ling, And the cocks began a crowing. And the old cow raised a lowing. As she heard the teiiiiie^l blowing ; And tbwls and geese did cackle, And the cordage and the tackle Hegan to shriek and crackle; And the spray dashetl o'er the tunnels, And (k)wn the deck in runnels; And tiie rnshing water soaks all, From the seamen in the t'o'ksal To the stokers, whose black t'aces Peer out of their bed-places ; AntI the ( aptairi he was bawling, And the sailors pulling, hauling. And the ([uarter-deck tarjiauling Was shivered in the stiualling ; And the passengers awaken. Most pitifully sluiken ; And the steward jumjis np. and hastens I'^or the necessary basins. And when, its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea — I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking. And smiling, and making A praver at liomi' for me. William M \y.!!'E\i :k Thvkekav. THE BOATMBNS SON(J. COMK, sport with the sea-gull — on- 5MOKI;. Ill wf.ither- ' 'I'lu- ilani;iroiis -liu.iU dii ihr Iit ro itMin, aiul the f i- > li ro u il s >laress, yet cannot all conceal. LOKU JJVRON. ROCK AND SAND liORORS. Aiii'int; llic wonders (if tlic sea is a low order of animals adiiiiralily adaplrd for Ixiriiif; in tlie sainl and also in liardcr substances. Insi^iiificaiit rii appear- aiu c, easily cru.slied liy tlie (m t of a i aroless pa->er- 5 by, lliey are yet eiKlowed witli renia\kni!f p'.iiv as "tlie Leviathan tliat sporlitli liiniiii in the sea. " 'I"'. whole trilie of ni<)llu.--l are done, .More (juiet than tlie i)abbling broi>k is he. So mightiest p(j\vers by deepest calms are fed. And asleep, how oft, in things tliat gentlest be ' '*\RK', Cmknwai.l n^r '** ,u 1: I '. i 1 f I ■: 1 ^' 1 ■'l ?'■ i ? il !i I !: i I I 140 DtscK/rnoxs a.\j> ialis oi- the sea. THE LOST ATLANTIC. 9" I ""IS iiiyht on 'lie wattrs. 'I'lic darkness liang? I over the sea like a pall: * 'I'lie moon is dissdlvetl ui the gldaiuing — the stars lia\e gone out in the sky. Hushed is the voice ot' the inerniaid; secure in her spar-liuhted hall, Rest, man: in thy confident power, enwrai.t u un broken repose, While ocean is hearing thee forth from thylai... to a strange, distant >hore. Tranciuilly slumber, sweet maid! nor thine eyeiiu of heautv unclose ABANDONING THE SHIP. She lists to the voice of the In'llnws. and winds that are fitnil and Irgh , But tlie gallant -hip s|ieeds on her passage, and soon in the harbor will glide, I'nscathed from the fury of ocean, and safe from the rage of the blast ; On, on, with the iirosjjerous bree/es, she fearlessly walks on the tide. Witli the iilash of Ikt i)addl-.s time keeping with waves that nprear — fall — are passed. On the sorrows and Jovs nf a world that shall grieve thee and glad thee no more. niiihl of ill omen. 'Tis night on the waters- disaster and doom— For DK.vrtt is the ghastly commander that now on the vessel's deck stand-; ' I'rom the mystic unknown he adv • ls. appareled in garbs of the tomb. And over a thousand still sleejiers he stretches his skeleton hands! "I'is night on the waters. Now gentle, oh babe! Hark to the loud detonations of breakers and be thy slumbers and deep: billows! .... A shock ! Thy visions contrast with the heavens that The strong ancl majestical vessel goes down— die darkly ar. h over thee, < hild ; seas break o'er her now ! Nor chill sweeping down from the Nortldaiid, nor The jiroud but ill-fated Atlantic is (';!r:,ed on the storm shall forbid thee ic sleeji, perilous rock. Nor danger approach thee, though booms the For Death— the ' < ommander— tl.^ pilot- hi- loud ocean in majesty wild, I station has ta'en at her prow. ■.-.» -.Wi^erianthDsai*** v.- /)/iSCA'//'77(\yS ./.\7> V.l/./iS ()/•■ 77/A S/i.l. in t I' ihrough the niglit on tin- waters, and filling,' witli horror tin- air, liie agoiii/cd wails of a ihoiisaiul, iluit shrink from the sei)iii(:lire, rise. I'j) .'.am the waste of wide w.aer^ ascend Imth a curse and a prayer; III each, ill hi.s trinnipii nnsaixd, .Liri'" I>eath, tlie coniniander, rejiiies; " TiiL- erypls ot" 'he rharnel are open. To nit — i the invincible i\iny — l\ lentless — coinpassionkss — deathless — i(j me , lie an offerint.j made! " l'.\i liiroii.L;h the iiiyht on the waiers ihe sonls nt five h' .idrecl tai below, A ^i!iii lies Unde- 'ho .\'al! 't i'ar'^ ■!'se. 1 'i'. I walls Tht vViier? swells and falls 1 s dei 1' brta' t at 'iitervals. O'erveiled with vines, She glows aiKJ shines Among her liiture oil and wines. Her children, hid 'I'he clilfs amid. .•\re gamboling with the gamboling kid, ( )r down the walls, With tipsy calls, I.augh on the rocks like waterfalls. The lisher's child. With tresses wikl, I'nto the smooth, briglit sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as he skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon dee)) bark goes Where traffic Idows From lands of sun to lands of snows ; J-*. .sSSSS~i~r=_. DESCR/PTIONS AND TALES OF THE SEA. Ii3 This liappier onf, Its cour«e is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. O happy sliip, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip ! (J liajipy crew, My lieart with you Sails, a 1(1 sails, and sings anew 1 No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids nic with its loud uproar ! With dreamful eye'- My spirit lies Under the walls of paradise ! Thomas Hihhanan Rkad. THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. ALL is fmislied, and at length Has come the bridal day Of beauty and of strength. To-day the vessel shall be launciied! With lleecy clouds the sky is blanched, And o'er llie Ijay. Slowly, in all its splendors dight, The great sun rises t) behoM the sight. The ocean old, Centui'es old. Strong as )outh, and as uncontrolled, Paces restless to and fro, Up and down the sands of gold. His beating heart is not at rest ; And far and wide. With ceaseless (low, His beard of snow Heaves with the heaving of his breast. He waits impatient lor his bride. There she stands, Witli her fool upon the sands. Decked witli flags and streamers gay. In honor of lier marriage-day ; Her snow-white signals lluttering, blending Round her like a veil descending, Ready to be The bride of the gray old sea. Then the Master, With a gesture of command, Waveu his liand ; And at the «ord. Loud and sudden there was heard, All arotmd tliem and below. The sound of hammers, blow on blo\, , Knocking away the shores and sjuirs. And see ! she stirs. She starts, she moves, — she seems to feel The tiirill of life along her keel, And, spurning with her foot the ground, With one exulting, joyous bound. She leaps into .he ocean's arms. And lo ! from the assembled crowd There rose a shout, prolonged and loud. That to the ocean seemed to say, "Take lier, () bridegroom, old and gray; Take her to thy protecting armi- Witii all her youtii and all her charms." How l)eautiful slie is! how fair She lies within those arms, that press Her form with many a soft caress Of tenderness and watchfid care ! Sail forth into the sea, O siiij)! Through wind and wave, .-ight onward steer; The moistened e\e, tiie trembling lip. Are not liie signs of doubt or fear. Sail forth into the sea of lile. O gentle, loving, trusting wife ! .\nd safe f'^Tiii ail .ulversity. Upon tiie iiosom of that .sea Thv comings and thy goings be ! For gentleness, and love, and trust, Prevail o'er angry wwc and gust ; And in tlie wrec k of iiol)le lives Something innnortal still survives! Thou, too, sail on. O ship of State! Sail on, O I nion, strong and gro it i Humanity, with all its fears. With all its hopes of future years. Is lianging breathless on thy fate I We know what master laiil thv keel, Wiiat worknvn wrought thy ribs of steel, Who made each m;ist, and sail, anu rope, What anvils rang, what hammers l)e .t. In what a forge, and what a heat. Were siiaj) d the anchors of thy hope. Fear nut each sudden sound ami .hock ; ' ris of the w !■ e and not the rock ; ' ris but tlie ping of the sail, And not a made by the ::ale. In spite oi k and tempest roar, In si)ite OI lalse lights on the shore, Sail on, n ' fear to breast th.e sea. ( )ur hear- )ur hopes, are all witli thtc, — O ir hear--, our lioi)es, our pra>ers. ouv tears, Our fa 'riumphant o er our fear-. Are all vith thee — are all with thee. H. W. LONCI I'M ow. SUBLIMITY OF THE OCEAN WI lA r i.^ tliere uKire sublime tliaii tlie track- less, desert, all surrounding, unfatiioir.a- bk- sea? What is there more jieace'iiUy sublime tliau the calm, genth heaving, silent sea? What is there : >re terriblv sublime than the angry, dashing, foam , g sea? Power — resistless, over- whelming power — is its attribute and its expression, w!iether in the careless, conscious grandeur of its deep rest, or the wild tumult of its excited wrath. iu; %.v^ W m ; !* ; ». S In' m m \'>At ! ' t< i^t)i:^;i.MM,i i 1i I M P' 1 !IH 1^ if 111 • D/iSCRl/'T/ONS AiVD TAf.liS OF Till: SUA. MARINERS HYMN. AlTNCll thy l),irk, niarim- ! •• Wliat of the nij,'ln, wattiliir.an ? Christian, (lod s|)ocil ihrc ! I Wliat of tlic iii^'ht?" Let h)ose tlio rii(i(lerl)aiuls — •' Cloudy — all ([uiet — L C.ood angels-lcati thee ! Sel thy sails warily, No land yol— all's ri,i;ht." P>e wakL't'nl, he vigilant — TIIK RKSCUK. .. t : MM Tetnicsts will come ; Steer th\ cours^e steadily ; Christian, steer home I Look to the weather-bow, ]5reakers are round thee ; l,et fall the plummet now. Shallows may ground thee. ■Reef in the t\)resail there ; Hold the helm fast ! .Sd — let the vessel wear — There swept the blast. Danger may be At an hour when all secmeth Securest to thee. How ! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold — Hoist uj> thy merchandise, Heave out the gold ; There — let the ingots go — Now the ship rights ; Hurrah ! the harbor's near — I -o ! the red lights ! /V:.S(7v7/77('.V.S AXJi 7:UJ:S ( V-' 77//;' .sA.i. 145 Slai ken not sail yet At inlet or inland ; Straight tor the heacon steer, Straii^lit for the hij^li land. ( 'rowil all thy ( anvas on, Cut tlnouj;h the loan) — Christian ! cast anchor now — Heaven is thv lujine ! Mu^. RiiliEKl SoUTHKV. THH RKTIjRN OF THE ADMIRAL. ^4#S Oh ! wonlci I were our Adniii il. To order, with a word — To lose a dozen drops of Mnod, .•\iul straight rise up a lord ! I'd sho\it e'en to )ou shark, tlure, Who t'lillows in our lee. "Some day I'll make thee carrv me, Like liglitning throiiiiJi the sea." The Admiral grew iialer, And paler as we llew : Slill talked he to his otiticer^. And smiled upon his erew : And he looked u|i at the heavens, And looked down on the sea, .'Vnd at last he spied the creature, That kept following in our lee. He shook — 'twas but an instant — For sj)eedily the pride Kan crimson to his heart, Till all chances he defied: It threw lioldness on his forehead ; (lave firmness to his breath ; .And he stood like some grim warrior New risen up from death. 10 ( )rH gallantly, and merrily. We ride along the ^ea ! The morning is all sunshine, The wiiul is hlowing free : The billows are all sparkling, .\nd bounding m the light, Like creatures in whose sunn\ \eins The bltjod is running bright. .\ll nature knows our triumph : Strange birds about us sueeji ; StrangL- things come up to look at us, The masters of the deep. In our wake, like any servant, Follows even the bold shark — Oh, jiroud must be our Admiral ( >f such .' bonny ban pie ! I'rouil, ]iroud. must be our Aduutal {Though he is ]iale to-da\ ;. Of twice five hundred iron men. Who all his nod obey : ^Vho've fought for him, and conquered — Who've won, with sweat and gore, A^obility .' which he shall have Whene'er he touch the sin ire. That night, a horrid whis|)er Fell on us where we lay ; And we knew our old fine Ailmiral Was changing into clay ; .\nd We heard tlie wash of waters. Though nothing < ould we set.-, And a whistle and a plunge Among the billows on our lee ! Till dawn we watched the 1)ody In its dead and ghastly sleep. And next evening at sunset. It was slung into the deep I And never, from that moment — Save one shudder through the sea. Saw we (or heard") the shark That had followed in our lee ! H.\KR\ ( ■oRNW.\Ll^ LIFE'S TROUBLED SEA. THIS life IS like a troubled sea. Where, helm a-weather or a-lee. The ship will neither stay nor wear. But drives, of every rock in fear. Still blows in vain the hurricane, While love is at the helm. 11 I II .11 iiti '* 'W\ >!! Ill li i^^t'^v.j^^mm^iimmkti'^'mm'^^- i^M^^^ I- 140 DESCK/rr/o.\s Axn talus oi- rim sua. THE SAILORS JOURNAL. 1 little ti) tluir mirth iiulmeit. While tender thoughts rushed on my tanry. At six she lint^ered on the shore, And my warm sighs increased the wind, Witli uplift hands and broken-hearted. Looked on the moon, and tliought of NaiK s ! ^'T^WAS |K)St meridian, half iiasi four I Hy signal I from Nancy parted ; I H ! I 11 1 IP • 1 IiUl! At seven, while taughtening the forest»y, I saw her faint or else 'twas fancy; At eight we all got under weigh, And bade a long adieu to Nancy ! Night came, and now eight belk Iwil rung. While careless sailors, ever < hcery. On the mid watch so jovial sung. With tempers labor cannot weary. .\nd now arrived that jovial night When every true-bred tar carouses When o'er the grog, all hands delighi- To toast their sweethearts and their s[)Ouses. Round went the can, the jest, the glee. While tender wisln - filled each fancy ; And when, in turn, it came to me, 1 hea\etl a sigh, and toasted Nancy ! Next morn a sitvrm came on at four, \t six the eV, Fuents in motion I'timged me and three }«)or sailors more Headlong within the loaming ocean, loor vrs-tches! they soon found their graves; For me — it may V only fa-^cv — But love seemed toXirbid thv »ave> i"o snatch me fri..m tiie arms of Nancy ! DliSCK/tT/ONS AM) 7\/.l:S ()/• ////•. S/:.\. 147 Scarce the foul liurricaiu- was t Irared, I Scarce winds and waves hail (eased to rattle, When a bold enemy apiieand, Xnd. (iaimtless. we |ire|)ared lor l>aitU-. \ntl now, while some loved friend or wile Like lightnini,' rushed on every fane y, 1(1 I'roviilence I trusted lil'e. Put up a prayer and thouj^ht of N.in( y ! ■if: JiV*f" W; I inr,, mi At last — 'twas in the month ol May — The < rew, it Iieing lovel\ weather, Ai three a m. discovrred day, And i'lngland's ciialky clilTs together. At se\en up Channel now we Imre, While hopes and feais rushed u\\ in\ l.iiu \ ; At twelve I ^;aily j\imped ashore, And to my tlirohliing heart pressed \ain \- 1 I 'll M'l I - I IIIUUN. iiiiHijili'iiiiifiiii;:! i ■: ■■■ "'feii;''''''-:*"" ';i::d?f!i« r!*?^^C*i*«' . — '^'< OKC' of: THE QE''^ m y* V' > W, Uy"- Mifi 1-W,: •^3f^4<. n INliVl'lR knew how dear thou wert, Till I was on the silent sea ; .\nd tlien my lone and iiiusing heart Sent hack its ])assionate tho;i,t;hts to thee. When the wimi slept on ocean's hreast. And the moon smiled ahovi' tlie deej", I longed thus o'er thy spirit's vest \ vigil like yon moon to keeji. When the LiaUs rose, and. tempest-tossed, Our struugliug siiip was sore beset, Our topsails rent, our bearing lost. And fear in every s]'irif met — Oh! then, amid the midniLiht storm. Peace on my soul thy memory shed : The floating image of thy form Made strong my heart amid its dread. Yes ! on the dark and troubled sea, I strove niy sjiirit's depths to know, And found its cleep, deep love for thee, Fathondess as the gulfs below. Tile waters bore me on my way — ^"et, oh ! more swift than rushing streams To thee flew l.ack, from day to day. My clinging love — my burning dreams. ("\T1IARINK \VaKHK1 H. OCEAN. OF all objeets whicii I have ever seen, tliere is noni' whidi .uTects my imaginatiiui so much as the sea, or oce.in. I cannot see th;' heavii'gs of this proiligious bulk of waters, even m a calm, without a very pleasing astonishment ; but when it is worked up in a tempest, so that t'le horizon on everv side is nothing bin foaming' lul- lows and floating mountains, it is impossible to describe the agreeable horror that rises from such a pro-jiect. Joseph Addison. ■ ill 1^^ Mill iH Hi f i :• 148 T i)iisc/\vy anthein, lu'er to sleep Lntil the close of time. It lills the noontide's calm prot'ouiid The ^iin.iet's lieaven ot'tiold ; Oil 1 many a glorious voice is pone From the rich bowers of earth. And hushed is many a lovely one Of mournfulness or mirth. But thou art swelling on, thou deep! Through many an olden clime. And the still midnight hears the sound Kven as first it rolled. T.et tliere he silence, dee]) and strange, AVliere S(ei)tred cities rose ! 'i'hou speakest of One wlio doth not cliange- So may our hearts repose. Felk i.v I). Hkmans. /)/:sr/^/j'j70.\\s Axn r.u./s .•/■ ////; si.a. 1-10 I THE MERMAID. il( > would tic A III! rinnid fiiir, SlIlUIII^ .lloiH', ( (iinliin^; litr li.iir I'lulcr tlic sia, III a (golden cnrl With a cdiiil) lit jifarl, ( 111 a tliiuiif ? I would lie a iiifrniaid fair: I Wdiild siuj; 111 iiiVM'll the wliolc t.^( tho \\\\\\ a (oiiili I coiiilicd 1 would sing and " \Vh(i is it loves nie? who loves not nit-?' I would <()Mil' iiiy hair till nu ringk-ts won Low mlown, low adowii. w (lay ; lir, il la Iroiii under my starry sia-lnid crown l,ow adown and around. And I should look like a fountain of j;old Springing alone With a shrill inner sound, ( )ver the throne In the midst of tlie hall : AikI all the mermen under the sea Would feel their iminortahty iMe in their hearts fnr the love of me. I It ,it nii;]u I would wander away, away, 1 would IliiiL,' ou each side my low-tlowing locks. And lii,'htly vault from the throne and play With the mermen in and out of the rocks ; We woidd run to and fro, and hide and seek. ( >n the liroad sea-wolds in the crimson shells. Whose silvery spikes are ni,i:hest the sea. l!ut if anv came near I wdiikl call, ami shriek. ,\nd adown the sit ep like a v^.ive I w( uid leap Imm the diamlln(hk■d^e^ th.it iut Irom the lUlls; I'or 1 would not he kissed liy all who wciiild list, ( M the hold merry mermen under the se.i ; They would sue me, ami who me. and tlatter me, in the purple twilii,'lits under the sea ; Hut the king of them all would carry nii'. Woo me, and win me. and marry me, In the branching jasjiers under the sea ; Then all the dry pied things that he In the hueless mosses under the se.i Would ( ml round my silver leet silentK, All looking up for the love of me. And if I should carol aloud, from alott All things tliat are forked, "id horned, and solt. \\'ould lean out from 'lie hollow splien- of tlie sea. All looking down lor tlu' love (ifnie. Ai.i ki n 'l'iNN\s(,\. !;i i GONE LIKE A DREAM. Sl'DDlCNLV, out in the Mack night lielbreus, and not two hundred yards away, wi' heard, at a moment when the wind was silent, the ( lear note of a human voii e. Instantly the wind swept howling down upon the Head, and the Cove hellowed, and churned, and danced with a new liiry. Ihit we had heard the sound, ami we knew, with agony, that this was the doomed shij) now < lose on ruin, .uul that wh.it we had heard was the voice of her master issuing his last command. Crouching together on the edge, we waited, straining every sense, for the inevitable end. It was long, howe\er. and to ns it seemed like ages, ere the vessel suddenly a|i]ieared for one brief in- stant, relieved against a tower of glinunering foam. 1 still see her reefed mainsail fla])ping loose, as the boom fell heavilv across the deck ; I still see th-- bl.ick outline of the hull, and still think 1 can dis- tinmiish the fiL'iire of a man stretched uiici the till'er. \'et the whole sight we hatl ol her jiassed swilter than lightning; the very wave that disclo.sed her fell burying her forever ; the mingled cry of manv voi( es at the point of death rose ami was (|uenched in the roaring of the ocean. .\nd with that the tragedy was at an end. The strong ship, with all her gear, ami the lamp perhaps still burning in her cabin, the lives of sf) many men. precious surelvto others, dear, at least, as heaven to themselves, had all. in that one moment, gone ilown into the surg- ing waters. They were gone like a dream. And the wind still ran and shouted, and the senseless waters in ;he Cove still leaped and tumbled as before. Rohirt I>i>iis SrF.vENsox. ill IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) m A I/. 1.0 I.I 1^ liO ^ MS 112.0 IL25 i 1.4 1.8 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 % V ^ I i! il ii ir)0 T n/:S(/s Aa\ wont liown Over ihr waste of waters, like a veil. Which, if witlulrawn, would hnl (Hm ioie the IrowM I'iiat still cDiild keej) a'loai the strugf;ling tars, For yet they stro\e, although of no great nse: Tliere was no light in heaven but a few star^. The boats put off o'crrrowded with their crews: Of one whose hate is masked l)ut to assail. Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown, .And grimly darkled over tiit faces pale. And the iliiii ilesolate deep; twelve days had tear Been their familiar, and now death was liere. At half past eight o'clock, booms, hencoops, spars, And all things for a chance, had been cast loose, She gave a lieel, and tlien a lurch to port. And, going down head foreniusl — sunk, in short. Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell — Then shrieked tiie timid, and stood still the brave, Thtn some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticiijate their grave; And the sol \nddo\\l 1,,1,,' one \\ And strive^ And tir-i ' l.oiuli I 01 edioni] Save thL 01 billowsj \((lasii, A solitary siiriek, the luihliling ( rv (»i .-.onie strong swinuner in his agony. There were two fathers in this ghastly crew, And with tliein their twn sons, of whom the one \\':l^ nu)re robust and iiarch' to the view, lint lie dietl carl\ ; and when he was gone, lii^ nearest messmate told his sire, who threw One gl.mce at him, and said, " Heaven's will be tione ; I (an do nothing." and he saw him thrown Into the deej) without a tear or groan. The other father hail a weaklier child, Of a sott < heek, and asjiec t delii ate ; Hut the boy bore u]) long, and with a mild And ])atient spirit held aloof his fate ; Little he said, and now and then he smiled, .As if to win a jiart from off the weight lie saw in< Teasing on his father's heart. With the deep deadly thought, that they must part .\m\ o'er him bent his sire, and never raised His eyes from off his face, liut wi])ed the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed ; .And when the wished-for shower at length was come, THE SECRET AH ! what ])lcasiint \ isions haunt me •As I gaze tipon the sea! All the old romantic legends. All my dreams come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sendal, Sufh as J 'earn in ancient lore; Aiul the singing of the sailors, And the answer from the shore! Most of all, the Spanish ballad Haimts nie oft, and tarries long, Of the noble Count Arnaldos .And the sailor's mystic song. Like the long waves on a sea-beach, Where the sand as silver shines. AVith a soft, monotonous cadence, I'low its unrhymed lyric lines; Telling how the Count Arnaldos, With his hawk upon his hand, Saw a fair and stately galley. Steering onward to the land ; — eyes, whu h the dull lilm half .\iid the bo\ ' gla/.ed, Ihiglitened. and for a moment seemed to ri'am. He sijueezed from out a r.ig some drcjps ol' rain Into his d\ ing child's mouth — but in vain The boy e.\pired — the lather held tne ( i.iy. .And looked ii|)on it long ; .iiul when at hist Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay .Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hojie were past; He wat( hed it wistfully, until awa\ ' Twas borne by the rude w.ive wlirrein tw.is cast ; Then he himself sunk down, all /:.\( R/rr/ii\s .\.\n taij:s <'/•■ /"///: sua. DRIFTING OUT TO 5EA. T\\'( ) littk" ones j^rowii tired ul I'li'V* KuaiiK'd liy tlic sc.i one summer day, VVatehiiig the great waves tome and j;« Prattling — as rhddren will, you know — Of dolls and marbles, kites and strings, Sometimes hinting at graver things. At last they spied within their reach, An old boat last ii|)on tlie liea( ii. Helter-skelter with merry din, Anil now across the sunny skv A \<\mV. (loud streti Iks lar away, And shuts the golden gates ol day. .\ storm conies on with Hash and roar, Willie all the sky is shrouded o'er; Tlie great waves rolling trom the West. Hring night and darkness on their breast, Still lloats the boat through driving ?>tonii, I'roteited by (iod's powerful arm. Over its sides they ( hiuil'cr in — l^en, with his tangled, nut-brown hair. Bess, with iier sweet la< e flushed and lair. Rolling in from the briny deep. Nearer, nearer, the great waves creep: Higher, higher, npon the sar.ds. Reaching out with their giant hands; (Irasping tlie boat in boisterous glee. Tossing it uji and out to sea. The sun went down 'mid clouds of gold ; Night came, with footsteps damp and cold Day dawned ; the hours > rej)' slowly by : les The hdiiR'-bound \essel. •' Seabinl." !n ready trim, 'twist sea and skies. Her ( ai)tain pa< es re.^'less now. A troubled look ui)on his brow: While all his iut\ es uitji terror tlirill- The shadow (jf some (umiiig ill. The mate comes ti|> to where he stands. And grasi)s his arm with eager hamls ; " .\ boat has just swept p;ist," says he, '• r>e;iring two children out to sea — ' I'is dangerous now to ))ut about. \'/:.S( /aiity will MiHicr — 'I'lii'V must ill' saviti ■" tlie «a|itain < rii's, •' \\\ every tlioiiglit tliat's jii;' .iiid ri^;lu, Ky lips I lui|it(l to kiss to night. I'll jn'ril \essrl, lift and men. And (ioii will not lorsakf mi- tht-n." With .invioiis tail's, onr and all. liaih man ri'S|)ondi'd to the tall ; And wlii-n at last, through driving storm. The\ lil'teil up lai h little toini, 'I'lif ( ajitain slarti^l with .i gro.iii : •• Mv (iod '" lie tried, •• they are my own. THE VOY.AfiE. W\. lelt liehind the |raiiiti(l ImoN That tosses .it the h.irliorinoiith : And madly dam ed our hearts with jipv, As l.ist we llected to the South : How fresh was every sight and sound ( )n open main or winding shore' We knew ilii' merr\ world was round, And ue niiglit sail lor(\(rniiire. Warm i)roke the i>ree/.e against the hrow, Dry sang the tat kle, sang the s.iil : The l.adv's head njioii the prow Caught the shrill s.ilt, and shiertil the gale. The broad se.is swelled to meet the keel, And swept behind: so ipnt k the run, We felt the good shi]i shake and reel, We seemed to sail into the sun ! ]'v peaks that tl.inied. or. all i;i >hade, (llooined the low (oasl and iiuivermg brine With ash\ rains, that s])re.!ding made I'antastic |ilmne or sable pine ; By sands ,ind ste.niiing ll.its. ami flooils Of mightv mouth, we seiiddid f.ist, And hills and si arlrt-mingleil woods (Jlowed lor a nionient as we passed. For one fair N'ision ever tleil I)own the waste w.iters i\.\\ .ind iiiclit, And still we followed where she led In hojie to gain upon her lliglii. Her face was evermore unseen. And fixed u]ion the f.ir sea line; Hut lai h m.m inurmurrd, ■•< » inv (Jiieeii. I follow till 1 make tlue ni lie. " And now we lost her. now she gii.imed I ike f.ini y made of golden .lir, .Now nearer to the |irow she setmed Like Mrtue firm, like knowledge f.dr, .Now high on waves th.it idl> burst I ike he.i\enl\ hope she ( rowned the sea, .\nd now. the blijodless |ioint reveiseil. She bore the blade of libertv. And H I w H ■1 % II .1 i H ' 1 !v .| H i i l.-.t n/-:sciwect tat fs, ri)indc'tl arm>, and bosoms |tri;>l I'd little liar|)s of ^^old ; and wliilo they mused. \\ hisiieriiiL; to r.icli otlier half in fear, Shrill intiM( reat lied lliein on the middle sea. Wlulhcr aw.iy, whither away, wliiihcr .iw.i\ ? lly no more. M.iniH'r. m.iriiior. furl yonr s.dls, {■'or here are llif lilissfni downs .md dales. And nu'rrih, merrily < .irol the ^.des, And the spangle dances in liij;hl and hay And the rainbow lorins and lliis on the land Over the islanils free ; .Villi the rainbow lives in the inrve ot the sand Hillier, come hither atid see; And the r.iiidiow hanL;s on the |)oisin^' wave, And sweet is the color of cove ami cave, Whither away Irom the high green field, and the happy l)U)ssomiiig shore ? Day antl night to the billow the fountain calls; Down shower the gamboling waterfalls from wandering over the lea : Out of the live-green heart of the dells They freshen the silvery-crimson shells, \nd thi( k with white bells the clover-hill swells High over the full toned sea: < > iiither, come hithei and furl your sails, Come hither to me and to me: Hither, come hither and froli( and play ; Here it is only the mew thit wails ; We will sing to you all the day : .And sweet shall \our welcome be : O hither, come hither, and be our lortls For merry brides are we : We will kiss sweet kisses, and speak sweet words: () listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten With pleasure and love and jubilee : O listen, listen, your eyes shall glisten When the shar]) clear twang of the golden chords Runs up the ridged sea. Who can light on as happy a shore .Ml the world o'er, all the world o'er? Whither away ? listen and stay : mariner, mariner, fly no more. Ai.FRKiJ Tennyson. AN (>l W" I 1-1 to ilul sailor, f I I 1 lot- wa- ll I- was till touulx wdi 1' .\: .UU tin- \\,- closed non t« Mv capiaif \\, liad re the w ( In our l< at the ' in« " Fi-hting .1 Till o'cl' leak> porte The mastt in th them The trans by til 'I'hey see whoi Our friga The othe If our CO Now 1 la littl. ••We ha havi ( )nly thi One is (S ene Two. N">' his The toi esi They he Nut a 1 The le; to' One ol al Serene He is I His e 1 'n»iii i)i-:s( N/rrnws .;\/> ia/j-.s (>/■ tiii- si-.a. Vo-i AN 0LD-FASHI()M:I) SI:A-I KiHT. W()l l.l> \oii liiar ol an olil-iasliioiitd >c;i- r„h, ? Uoulil you liarii who won liy tlic lij^lu ot tlie iiiDon and ^tars? I 1 I to tlif story a-. ni\ ;,'raii(lniotlu-r's latiui, the ■-ailor. told it to IIR-. I I I i(p<- was no skulk in lii^^liip, I tell \ou(>aul lie) : ill- was tlie >iirl\ ljij,dNl) plutk.aiui there is no toucher or truer, an '. never was. and never H dl lie ; A. iiiu the lowered eve he ( anie. horrddy rakinj^ ns \\ closed with him. the yards entan^ded, the can lion touched ; Mv captain lashed fast with his own hands. \\ I had receixcd some ei^hteen-|iound shot', under the w.iter ; (111 our lower-gun deck two large pieces hail Imrst at the first fiic. killing all around, and hlow- ' ing n|) overheail. Fi.i;hting at sundown, fighting at dark ; Till o'< lock at night, the lull moon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five liet ol water re ported ; 'llie niastcr-at-arnis looking the prisoners confined in the alter hold, to give them a < hance for themselves. The transit to and from the magazine is miw stopt by the sentinels. 'I'liev see so luanv strange tai es, tliev do not know whom to trust. Our frigate takes fire ; The other asks if we ilemand (piarter, It our colors are struck, and die I'ighting is done Now 1 laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little cajitain : •'We have not struck," he composedly cries, "we have just liegiin our ji.irt of the fighting." Duly three guns are in use: One is directed by the optaiii liimselt against the enemy's main-mast : Two, well served with grajie and canister, silence his musketry and dear his decks The tops alone second the fire of this little battery, cspei ially the main-top ; Ihey hold out bnively during the whole of the act ion. Not a moment's cease ; The leaks gain f.ist on the ])umps, the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. One of the pumps has been shot away, it is gener- ally thought we are sinking. Serene stands the little captain ; He is not hurried, his voire is neither high nor lov/ ; His eves give more light to us than our battle- lanterns. I oward twelve at night, tliere in the beams of the moon, they surreniler to us Sirelched and still lies the nndniglu ; I wo great hills motionless on the breas' of the darkness ; Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking — prepara tioiis to pass to the one we have ( oii wm Mil »i i! ',■ ! IM n/:S( /•' tiicir prattling speech Ii.i.ied with the siirl-song, loud and i dear, in music dulcet to tlie car. Tlie l.ishion of the town was there I'o lireathe the cool and jir. icing air: The men of mind, the men of wealth. The men who. in jiursuit of health. Take pdls ,ind potions for their ills — Dull headache-i, sideachcs, sweats and chills — And. skip|iing off from work and care, T.ike once a year .i l>re,ith ol air. .And women, ]),ile and melancholy, I! irned out hy f.ishion's winter follv. I. ike (astern ipieens were tle> ked and dressed, Just to lie by and t.ike a rest. 'I'hese drooping \\ illows, day i'V day, In stu|)id languor seemed to s.iy. " Life somewiiere on this dism.d sphere M.iy lie \M,>rth iising, but not iicre." \ot sucii the sprightly, inerrv jiarty. Young maidens bright and fellows hearty. Who stood with (.'onrad on the sh tc. Where break the w.iters evermore. y\niong the grouji that clustered there, (lould there be found .t mated pair. Who, coni'' what miglit of wind and weather, Would siil life's riiinpled se.i together? The boat, imp.itient of delay. With spreading, white wings (lew away. Pushed its bold venture more and more, Left far behind the lading shore, And glidt'd on, swandike and free, S tiling of life, syl|ih ot the sea. The speetl greiv switt, eac h eager sail Swelled as it caught the gentle gale. I And so, with canvas all unfurled. I .Around the prow the waters cm led. .\nd vsre.itiis ol spr.iy. formeil one by iiie, I .Made rainbows in the shining sun. I The lively breeze then stiffer grew. Tile saibboat le.iped and d.irtcd througli I Kaih billow as it strut k her l>re;.st, ( ir, iiioimting u]>w.ird, si nimed the ciesf. Plunged ilown into the hollow graves, M.ide iiy the last advaiu ing wa\es. Tlien rose again witii grateful bound. Wit with the white-caps splashing roi, d, .And in her frolitsome atlvaiit f, Movetl like a maiden in the dant c C'.ireening low r''t)n her side. No bird that t iits the air tonlil glide More ileftly tiian she gail\ llew. Light heartetl. o'er the waters blue. .Aiul just as gav were thtise tin board, Their youthful spirits in accord. As well-tuned strings wake with a thrill, Tom iietl by the harpist's fat ile skill, l^o these voiing he.iits were in attune. Anil carolled like the birds of June. The pleasure-seekers, side by side, Rotle with the wind, rode with the tide. While sp.iikling jest anil blitiiesome M)ng, .And bursts of laughter loud and long. S|>ontaneous mirth and shouts tif glee. Went lloatiny o'er the ruftled sea. HkNKV DWKNI'OKI. UnALITY OF SEA-WAVES. A1.\1»V, on seeing tlie sea at Lrighton for tlie first time, excl.iimed, ''What a beai, iibil field ! " Siie had never seen siitii .1 beautiful green, moving, sparkling, gra.ssy jiraiiie Mr. Leigh Hunt lavishctl .1 jiage of admiration upon a line of Ariosto's tiescribing the waves as " Nei.luiie's wliite lierds Inwiny o'er the ileep." Anacreon cxtlaims. in language ajipropriate to calm seas .ind smooth sand beaches, "How the waves of the sea kiss the shore ! " Saint-Lambert has four lines descrijitive of the waves of a stoini\ sea dashing upon the beach, which have biei much ailmireti by writers upon imitative hariiunv " Neiitiine has raiseil up his turbulent iilains, ilu sea falls and leaps upon the tremiilimg shoies She remounts, groans, and with reilonbled bluw makes tiie.ibvssand the shaken mountains resound. uLli^ ALBUM OF LOVE: l^ 1 (>M AIMS'. GLOWING TRIBUTHS TO THE MASTER PASSION. IHI- CROWNINU (JkACB. MANV li\c ;iiul (lif kiiowiii:; iiDtlniii; nt loM- CXI L'|lt tllllUl^h tlicir iiitfllfct. Tlirir ideas on tlic siilijei t are fanciful, liecausi- it has ncviT lieen re- vealed liy < tjnsc ions ness. Vet it were to (|iie>tion the heni iiitv ol I iod to li Ae that an element (if ipiir lieiML; so oper- ative and snlitie, and one thai ahounds ehielly in the i;ood and tiie joined, is of lii;ht iniiKirt or not sus( eptilile ot lieini,' esplained liy reason, justified by con- science, and hal- lowed by religion, and thus iiiade to bear a harvest not only of delii;h', but of virtue. Love, I'etr.iri li maintains, is tlie • rowning L'r.ice ol hnm.uiity, tiie holiest nuht ot the soul, the golden link which bind-, us to duty and truth, the redeeming prim iple that ( hielly reconciles the heart to life, and is prophetic of eternal good. It is a blessing of a glorious e.x- jierience, according to the soul in whioul itself, and is felt to be its legitimate and holi- est fruit. Thus, and thus alone, is human nature richly developed, and the best interests of life wisely embraceil. Shadows give w.i\ to substance, vague wishes to permanent aims, indifferent moods to endearing associations, and vain desire to a "hope full of immortality." Man is for the first time revealed to hinisell", and absolutely known to another ; for entire sympathy, not friendly obser- vation, is the key to our individual natures , and T when this h.is fairly opened tiie s.k red ]Mirtal, we .ire .done no more for ever ! I \VS\\ I I'l 1 KKK.M.VN. A CUBAN L()\l- S()N(i. Ill; d<-«droii> -litter "W the lue, (;
inv Sweet C!liarmi.me. D.Xl.sS 1)1-\,\K. I WONT Ml YOUR DEARIF: ANY MORE. Y( >L' are tickle, nh, so li, kle, tl.ire I tell. All niv striving shall niulo the iiiagit spell, Sweet the dre.ims I drciinl ihe wlule Will no more my heart beguile, l"or 1 won't be your dearie .my more. .\ll rontiding on voiir single heart I dreamt, Little thinking that )our vows were ni'ver meant; \'ou will wonder when you lind. That the girl you left behind, Isn't going to be \our tlearie any more. In some otluT lus< ious beautv's lii,,:'d e\es \'■* i|)* ''. ji I.'iK H M.m.M oi toil-:. MY IDKAL. KR litight ? I'crhaps \oii'(l tlcini lur tail I'o lip V\M t. IIIM I'lVf fl'tt >fM'n. llcT art liiiij; (o t ar<' not tun Miiall ; Hit glaiK in^' f\fs arc l>it> nl luavi-n. litr iidsp IS [list till- |.r liii^irs ; Her hands are all tliat hands ■-hoiild he, And own a toiu li wiu sr mcnuirv lingers. Though little OI her iieek is seen. That little is both smooth antl sij:htly ; And lair as marble is its ~hetii Above her bodice j:leaimi)g wlntelv. In mirth and woe her voice is low. Her calm demeanor never fluttered ; Her every accent seems to go Straij^ht to one's heart as soon as ulii red. .She ne'er coquets as others ilo ; Her tender heart would ne\ir lei her. ^^"here dots she dwell? I would 1 knew, As \et, alas I Ive never nu t lu r. SaMI El. MlNTl'KN TkCK. i A/.i:iM 01- IaHi:. i:.f> TMI: riU5l kiss. HOW is till- winning; ( »f a kiss at love's hcf^iimiiif;. U'lun two luiitiial licirts .irc sij;liing I'or till- knot tlnri-'s lui mityinj;. I I't reiiifiiiliiT, midst \oiir woinn};, l.iivf has Mi^s, Idit Idvc has riling ; •thiT siiiilih III, IN maki- you Ck klc, I cars lor otlicr i haiiiis ma) tri( kir. I «>vr he « (lines, ami love he tarries, lust as (ate or fancy carries, — I ohgest St i\s when sorest i huiilen, l.an);hs ami (lies wlien pressed and bidden. i!ind tlie sc' to sluinhtT stilly. Kind its odor to llie lily, Kind tiie .is|ien ne'er to (|iiiver, — I hen hind love to last lorevt r • Love's a fire that needs renewal ( )f frcsli lieaiitv for its fuel ; Love's \\\\\^ moults when ra^ed and < apturt'd. — Only free he so.irs eiirapturt d Can you keep the l)ee from lan^iii);, « 'r the rinj;-(love's iiec k Imm < han^;lI.).; ? No! nor fettered love from d\iiij; In the knot there's no iintMiif,'. I IMMAs ( AMPHFLl.. QUAKI-RDOM. IIIK |i>KM\l. lAll.. TIIKOUC.H her for. ed, .ilmormal ([uiet I'l.ished the --oiii of trolic not. And a ino-.l main ions laughter li>;hted up her downcast eves ; All in vain I tried each topic, Kangcd from polar climes to tropi( , - I'lvery coiiimoiipla( i' I started met with yes-oriio replies. l''or her inotner— stiff and stately, As if starclird and iroiied lalelv - Sat erect, with ri^id eitinws bedded thus in (urvinf; |>;ilms ; There she sat on guard before us, And in words jirecise, decorous. And most calm, reviewed the weather, and recited several psalms. How without ahruiilly ending This my visit, and offending Wealthy neigliliors, wjs the problem which em- ployed my mental care ; Wiien the Imtler, bowing lowly. Uttered clearly, stiflly, slowly, " Madam, please, the gardener wants you," — Heaven, 1 thought, has heard \\\\ jirayer. " Pardon me !" she grandly uttered ; Mowing low, 1 uladlv muttered, "Surely, madam !" and, relieved. 1 turned to scan the daughter's face : li.i ' what |>eniiip niirlli oiitll.tsnes KroMi beneath dioMO pern illed l.i.shes ! Mow the drill oi (Jiiaki r i u^iom vields i>i nature', bnlli.iiit gr.tce. llrightK springs the prisoned fouiiiani Iroiii the side of helphi s miMiutain When the stone tli.ii weighed upon ik buoviinl life is thrust .iside ; So the loll.; eiilorced st.ii;iiation OI the m.iiden's ronvers.ilion Now imparted live fold biilliain< to its ever-v.iry- ing tide. Width ranging, ijuk kU i hanging. Witty, winniii-, from beginning Unto eml I listened, merely llinging in a casual word ; l'!loi|ueiil .iiid yet \v<\\ simple! ll.iiid .Mid eye. .iiid iildyiiig dimple, 'I'ongiii' .lud lip together made .> mii-.i( seen as well .is heard. When the noond.iv wcods .ire rin:.;ing. .Ml the biriK of Slimmer siiigiiiij, • Suddeiilv there lads .i sileiue, ami we know .i ser- pent nigh : So upon the door a r.ittle Slopped our animated tattle. And the stately mother loiiiid ii^ prim enough to suit her eye. (iivkik.s (i. Mamink. MARION )V\{M)RI:. GO.N'L. art llmu, .Mfliinn. .M.iiioii .Moore. Gone, like the biril in the aiitimiii ili.it siiiueth ; (lOiie, like the flower bv the w.i\-side tli.it springt lli ; (Joiie, like the le.if of the ivv th.it < ling ili Koiind the lone rock on a storm-beale'i shore ' Kear wert thou, Mai ion. Marion Moore. Dear as the tide in my broken heart throbbing ; Dear as the soul o'er thy memor\ sobbing ; Sorrow my life of its roses is robbing Wasting is all the glad beauty of yore. 1 will remember thee, Marion Moore I I shall remember, alas; to regret thee I I will regret when all others lorgel thee: Deep in my bre.ist will the hour tli.it I met thee Linger and burn till life's fever is o'er. Cfone. art thou, Marinn. NLir;on Moore! ("■one, like the bree/e o'er the billow that blowcth ; Cone, like the rill to tlie ocean that floweth ; (lone, as the d.iy from the grey mountain goeth. Darkness behind thee, but glorv before. I'eace to thee, Marion, M.irion Moore ! Peaie whii h the (lueeiisof the I'arth (annot borrow ; Peace from a kingdom that ( rowned thee with sorrow ; O ' to be happv with thee on the morrow Who would not fl\' from this desolatr shore? Iamks Ci. Ciakk. t)i! n ^' I J! ii! t,' I' Hi: ( 'iftii If !' \ m\\\ ii !' i i !«>*) Al.ni .\f (>/ /.('/■/:, SPIiAk 11 USCli MOki:. I K"M illK I'oK ll'iil I I SA\ over a^ain, ami yi-t oiue ovit iinam. I'ry; " >|u.ik oikc iiiDri' — tli-m l()Vf>i!" Wlioi i I lull tlioii itii'it ltar>, iIkhi^Ii imi Ii hi li>-a\(-ii shall mil >liiiiiUi !»ft'iii "a i,u« kuD-soiij;." as llioii (liisi treat It, 'rmi iii.iiiv llowtr".. tlmiiuli ca« I. >iiill iTdwii i, UiMiuiiilii'i, iiivcr to tlio lull ur |»i.iin, year ■' \ .illc\ ami woml. witiioiit lift nu ki-n stiaiii, Say tli>iii du-^t Imm- mr, lnvc iix . luM- me — tnjl ( iiim-s tlic lrf>li s|iniiL; mall Iut nn-cni «»iii|ilttt'(l. I he ^ilvii iiorain c ! — onh iniiuliiiu. ih-ar. ItrliiM'il. I. aiind ihi" darkiicis j;to in sihn. c, witli th\ xml Hy a douhthil spirit voice, 111 that il.iii|it\ [Mill , I,ii/\imii I! liiowNiN<,. hi;r likKini i;vi;s told mi: vks. \\ I I r MulU ua- ,1 iiiai-. >lie taiitah/cil pnur me. Siie l.iii;;liiil .it ail iii\ pi iiIiuj^n, oh. it Memed iliey «Me m \aiii. My anient \()w> ^he ridieiileil, and ire.ited uitii disd.im I'.iit wlifii I fiA/vA into litr tare, lU) nmre 1 I'elt di>tre>-., I (II tli(tii^;h her lip'' they told me no. her l>rij;lit eves told ine y*"* .\lthou^;h her lip> they toM nu- no. iut lirijilit e\es told me yes, lieliealh her sweepilljj l.l>l\e-> I i oilld •-<•<■ lo\e'-. teiideriHss. .^ome da\ I knew she would he mine -the truth she would eoiiless — I'or thoiiuh her liiis the\ toM me no. Iier luight eves told me \es. At timrs 1 tried to steal a kiss, my arm crept round .\nd now tor \ear> she's lieeii my wile, we hoth lur waist. -ire ,i:<'ttinj; old. I tdted up her dimpKd < hin ind stooped, her lips < )ur head> .ire white, our li;u k-. are hent, ImiI love to t.iste. has not grown c nld. And then iii siniiilateil wr.itli. .md with a li.iu^lity Content we journey hand in IkuuI .dung lile'-. "sir." wiiulinn way ; She'd tear herselt" irom iii\ emhrace, Imt ^wilt I'd joy keep-- our hearts forever yoiinu, as on oiir wed follow her. diiiu day. And unili>m.iyed I'd trv again— her tlunmht^ 1 My vouthl':il die. mi c .ime Hue. I knew I'd have well could' giie^s— this happines>- For thouiih her li|»s they told me no. In r hriuht I'or thougli her lip-> they told me no, her hrigb; eves told me. \es. eve-, told me, \es, Ti «m I, >\i I'INi/ion. THE CHK5S-B()ARI). M N little love, do yon remember, |-,re we were grown so sadly wi".e. Those evenings in the hle.ik iJei emher. ( iirt.iiiied warm from the snowy weather. When voii and I playeil chess together. Checkmated l)V each other's eves? Ah ! still I see your soft white hand Hovering warm o'er (^>iieen and Knight; Urave r,iwns in valiant battle stand ; '{'he double Castles guard the wings; I'he r.ishop. bent .' tlioii idly ask to hear At \s lull gentle seasons Nyniplis relent, when lovers near I'ress the tenden-^t reasons? Ah, tlicy L;ive their faith too oft To the careK ->> wooer ; Maiden-i' hearts are alwass soft : Would that men's were truer. When, through boughs that knit the houcr. Moonlight fleams are stealing; Woo her, till tlie L;entle hour Wake a gentler leeling. Woo her, when autumnal dyes 'I'inge the woody mountain ; When ihc drooping loliage lies In the wc'v'dv fountain ; MATCHMAKING IN TlIK ol.DKN TIMK Woo the fiir one, when around Maily birds are smgii.g ; When, o'er all the fragrant g-ound, Karly herbs are springing; When the brooksiile, bank, and grove, All with blossoms laden. Shine with beauty, breathe of love — Woo the timiti maiden. \\\m her when, with rosy blush, .Summer eve is sinking' ; When, on lills that softh gush, Stars are softly winking ; Let the .scene, thai tells how fast \'oiith is passing o\er. Warn her, ere her bloom is past. To secure her lover. II Woo her, when the north winds e; At the lattice nightlv ; When, within tlie cheerrul hall, lilaze the fagots brightly .: While tlie wintry tempest round Sweeps the landscape hoary. Sweeter in her ear siiall sound Love's delightful story. W. C. Bryant. '' i)')wcr i^:i: ALBUM Of LOl'ii. T\\ 11, 1(;ilT. shade is(aln,ly tV.lling Kouiul aiioiit the c'cw-rolii'ii llowiTs; riiiloiiiel's lone song is i ailing Lovers to their tairy liowi i^ ; Kcho, on the /eiili\rs glitiirg, Bears a voice that seems U) sa\ — '• Ears and hearts, coi.ie, li>t my tiding: This !ia.; l;een a wedding day." Hark I '!"he merry chinus are pealing — Sott and giau the music swells ; daily on tin- ni^lit wind stealing, Sv.eelly sonnil the v.eiiding bells. Ev'rv simple lire.ist rejoirt s. Laughter rides njion the gale; Hap])y hearts and happy voic es Dwell witiiin the lo\vl\ \.ile ; O, how sweet, on zeplurs gliding, Sound the hells that setni to say — " Ears and hearts, come, list m\- tilling: This has heen a wedding da\." Hark ! The merry chimes are pealing — .^ol't and g'ad tlie music swells : Gaily on the night wind stealing. Sweetly soiind the wedding bells. J',I.I/A COdK.. k;;; M u Ml Hi I li i M'! fm Ill it •• .11 h]\ ALBUM OF LOVE. MIZPAH! It <> said oil |;(H)(1 aiillioritv ili:it ;i coiiiinon -iiMom ainung till- ai. ieiil Hebrews wlieii iliey se|iaialccl wa^ lo speaU tlie wonl • .Nli/pali," men'iin^; tiieieln, " Jehovali walcli lielweeii me ami tliee while we aie al)>eiil one from aiiollier." IKISSMD y)ve ! I tremble while I jirav'. Mi/pah! But sprit g shall blossoir. up the jilam. And MastiT lilies scent the air, And song birds not iverywhere, And heart and hope g'ow glail again. Yet still my nightly prayer shall be. Though swallows build or swallows flee, Until niv love ( omes back to me, Mi/pah! And when, with flowers of June, you come, And face to face again we stand. And heart to heart and hand to hand, () love I within the one dear home : We shall noi need to say again. In wi, Iter's sno v or summer's rain, Till death sliall coine to part us twain; M izp;ili TRUE LOVE. HI", offers me no palace. No name of high tlegree ; Hright fortune's golden chalice lie does not bring co me ; \\\\\. he has won mv hand. And he has r me is stirred ; For this I give m\ hand .And yield my trusting heart, For more than title grand, Or aught wealth can impart, Is a true heart to me ! Is a true heart to me ! Hright are tlu nails of jileasure, And grand is fashion's train. Hut far more do 1 treasure .\ home without a stain ! Rank may not alwass charm, N'or fortune always bless; ]!ut love the heart will w.irm. And bring true ha|)piness I Then a bright home for me ! Truth, love, and home for me ! BON.NIE WEE THING. B( )\\IF wee thing! cannie wee thing I Lovely rt-ee thing ! wert thou mine, 1 wad wear thee in m\ bosom, Lest my jewel I should tine. Wishfully I li)i>k. and languish, In that bonn e facj o' thine ; And my h.eart .t stcunds wi' anguish. Lest mv wee thing \,<. n.i mine. Wit and grace and love and beauty. In ae constellation shine; To adore -.lie-j is my duty, (ioddess o' this soul o' mine ! Bonnie wee thing, cannie wee thing, Lovely v.ee tiling, wert thou mine, I waa 'vear thee in my bosom, L«st my jewel I shmiM tine. RoHF.KT Burns. HER CHRISTMAS LETTER. w lil'N i write to voii .>Iy |)en I'd dip with honey dew. When I write to vou. What can a woman say ! Not hers to sing love's roundelay, What can a woman say ! '• I'aithful, strong and true I" Muse run my letter through, When I write to vou. ^V'llen you are far away My heart can make no holiday ; Come Christmas when it may. Augusta Prescott. .^sim AUiVM OF LOl'fi. 16o OH DOUBT ME NOT 1 OH doubt me not !— the season Is o'er, when folly made n'" rove, And now the vestal, nason, Shall watch the fire awaked by love. Although this heart was early blown, And fairest hands disturbed the tree, They only siiook some blossoms down, Its fruit has all been kept for thee. Then doubt me not — the season Is o'er, when folly made me rove ; And now the vestal, reason, Shall watch the fire awaked by love. Thomas Moore. REMEMBERED. NAY, tempt me not to love again, Tliere was a time when love was sweet; Dear Nea ! had I known thee then, > )ur souls had not been slow to meet ! But, oh ! this weary heart liatli run So n\any a time the rounds of jain, Not e'en for thee, thou lovely one! Would I endure such pangs again. In ])leasure's dream or sorrow's hour, In crowded liail or lonely bower, The business of my soul shall be, Forever to remember thee ! Thomas Moore. ' ; I •\- , I i \ 166 W/./.T.]/ ()/•■ /.()/'/;. TO MY DREAM-LOVE. WIIKRI", art thou, oh 1 mv beautiful ? Afar 1 seek thee sadly, till the day is done, And o'er the splendor of the settini,' sun, Cold, calm, and silvery floats the ven- ing star : Where art thou? Ah! where art thou, hid in light That haunts me, yet still wraps thee from my sight ? Not whiilly, ah I not wholly — still love's eyes Tra( e thy dim beanty through the mystic veil, Like the yotmg moon that glmimers faint and pale, At nocntitle through the sun-web of the skies: Hut ah ! I ojje mine arms, and thou art gime, And only memory knows where thou hast shoi;e. Night — night the tender, the (:omi)assionate, Hindeth thee, gem-like, 'mid her raven hair; I dream, I see, I feel that thou art there — And stand all weejiing at sleejVs golden gate, Till the leaves open, and the glory streams Down through my tranced soul in radimt dreams. Too short, too short, soon conies the chilly morn. To shake from love's boughs all their sleep-born bloom, KISS ME, AND S\Vi:i:'IlIi:ART, if there should cornea time \\'hen in my careworn face The beauty of a vanished ])rime, \'ou strive in vain to trace; When faded tresses gray and thin, Defy the binder's skill ; 5Mve"theart, betrav no sign, By wonl no look re])ine. Think of the gnce that on,;e was mine; Kiss me and be still. Sweetheart, if there should come a year When from my withered lips The loving word that now rings clear, In tuneless weakness slips; If I should sing with quavering voice And uake my heart back to its bitter doom, Sending me through the land downcast, forlorn, Whilst thou, my beautifid, art far away, Hearing the brightness from my joyless day. I stand and gaze across earth's fairest sea, And still the Hashing of the restless main Sounds like the clashing of a i)risoner's chain, That binds me, oh ! my beautiful, from thee. Oh ! sea-bird, flashing jiast on snow white wing, Hear my soul to her in thy wandering I My heart is weary, gazing o'er the se.a — O'er the long dreary lines that close the sky : Through solemn simsets ever niournfully, (lazing in vain, my beautiiid, for thee; Hearing the sullen waves for evermore Dashing around me on the lonely shore. Hut tides creep lazily about the sands, Washing frail land-marks, Lethe-like, away; And though their records perish day by day, Still stand I ever with close-claped hands, (lazing far westward o'er the heaving sea, Gazing in vain, my beautiful, for thee. Walter A. Cassels. BE STILL. Some old song worse than ill. Sweetheart, with kind deceit. No mocking words repeat. Think of tiie voice that once was sweet ; Kiss me, and be still. Sweeth art, if there should come a day — I know not when nor how — When your love beams with lessening ray, Thnt burns so brightly now ; When you can meet my faithful eyes. And feel no answering thrill ; Sweetheart, let me know — I could not bear the woe — Think of the dear, dead long ago ; Kiss me, and be still. Samuel Minturn Peck. G ON 11 ll lb KolU ili'l 'l In' w illo^i (,ive out a The siuiJ Ay. 'tis thi Hark, ti' 1 lie loO'i'il riie suiil Scawaril tl While do\s| Tlie foal See, love, Hy ocea The'lietrcl More s-.\ We'll go. Her eggs Heside THK Al of the lor to trust t the green Beh he dilati and tlie with th( Thi and ver of passi Th clown ! and CO him to and ke to his i u , , M.iU'M OF i.om:. 1(J7 THE ARCTIC LOVER. GOXM is the Ioul:, Idd),' winter nij,'iit; I.Dok, my lifloved out.' '. liow glorious, liirougii lii> depiiis of lig'ii. Rolls llif n.ajcstic sun ! 'Ill ■ willows waki'il Irmn winter's death, (ine oiil .1 I'r.ij^ranee lii^e thy bieath — The siiniMicr is bej^'ini : Av. 'tis the Ion,!,' hrij^ht siininur day : 11. irk, to that nnj,'l)ty ( r.ish I The loosened ice-ridge lirtaks awa\ — I'he smitten waters Hash. Seawartl the glittering mountain riilcs, Wiiile down its green translucent sides, The loamy torrents liasli. See, love, mv boat is moored for tliee, I5v ocean's weedy lloor — Tiie i)etrel does not skim the sea More swiftly tlian my oar. We'll go. where, on the rocky isles. Her eggs tlie screaming sea-fowl jiiles lieside the pebbly shore. * )r. bide thou where the poi'l'V 1 lows, W itli wmdlloweis Hail and Ian, W'lule 1, 1 pon his isle of snov s. .Seek .ind defy tiie bear. I ieri e tlioiigh he be, and huge of frame, I his arm !u> ^a\age strength shall l.ime, .\nd i.n.; him Iroui his lair. When ( riiison sky and I'auiy (loud iie^peak thc>uu.mer o'er. .\nd the dead \. lleys wear a ^l.roud • >f snows ili.u melt no more, I'll jiuild < f ice thy winter home, Witii glistening walls and gla-s\ (hnue, .■\nd spri'ad with skins the llooi. play; The white lux by tliy couch blial And. from the irc/Aii skies, '1 he meteors of a mimi( day Shall flash upon ihine eyes. And 1 — 'or such thv vow — iniaiiwlnle Sh.ill liear tli\- \(iice .ind sec tli\' smile, 1 ill that long midnight l'ie-> \\'. ( '. nk\ ANT. THE POWER OF LOVE. TWV. passion remakes the world for the Nouth It makes all things alive and signifu a'lt. Nature grcjws conscious livery bird on the boughs of the tree tings now to 1 is hr.iri .ind soul. Almost the notes an- artit to the river, Till you ask of \c)ur darling what gift von can give her. C)h ! she'll »>hi-i)ei \oii— " 1 .os c, as iiiu iiangi-alilv heanii.iL', And trust, wlun inse< ret. mot tunefull, streaniii g; Till the starlight of heaven atiove us shall ([iiiver, As our souls \\nv in one ('own tternitv's river." AI.nr.M OF LOVE. THE WELCOME. <>Mi; in the evening, or lonie in the morning; (ciuie win n xon're looked for, or come witliout warning; IvisMS and welcome \i>u'll find here before yon. And tlie oftener you (ome liere the more I'll adore you! I.ght is U'y heart site the day we were iiligliled ; Red is my cluek that they told me was blighted; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, .And the limets are >-iiigi: g. "True lovers c'on't sever!" I'll pull \(ai : weet llowers. to wear if you < hoose iheiu ! C)r, afier \ou've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom; I'll fell li tVom the mountain its bree/.e to inspire you; I'll le c Ii from m. lane, a talc that won't tire you. ( )h ! io:r steji's like the r.iin to the summer-vexed fun:er, Or s.dne and shield to a kii:ght without armor; I'll sing you sweet s mgs till the stars rise above me. I'll wish \()U in silence to lo\e me. So (ome in the evening, or (■i)me in tiie mornin;^; Com.' when \ou're looked for, or eome w tliout warning ; Ki.sses and welcome you'll find here before you, .■\nd the oftener you come lute ilie more I'll adore \ou ! Light i. my heart sinee the day we were ])ligh:'. d; Ked is my cheek t!iat the\- told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ew r, .\nd the linnets are singing, " 'I'rue lovers don't sever!" TllOMAs D.wis. CAN YOU FORGET ME? C.W vou forget me? — I who la\-' so < her- i'shed The veriest trifle that was nier.ior . 's link ? The roses that you ga\e mc. althoigh perished. Were precious in my sight ; they made me think Von took them in their scentless b autv stooping From the warn) shelter of the g.rden wall ; Autumn, while into languid wiuer droojiin;', Gave its list blos.soms, opening but t p f 1!. ( 'an \ou f.;rget thim ? Can \ou forget n;e ? Mv whole s twX was bleude:! ; At least it sought to blend itself with thine: My life's win le purpose, winning thee, seemed etuied ; Thou wert my heart's jwect home — my s[)irit's shrine. Can you firget me? — when the fireliglu burning. Klung sudden gleams around the ipiiet room? How would thy wonls, to long past moments turn- ing. Trust me with tho\ights s(J't as the :hado.vy gloom ! Can yo', forget the.:i? Can \()!i forget me? This is vainly tasking The faithles'^ heart where 1. alas ! am not. Too well I know the idleness of asking — The misery — of why am I forgot? The lia])py hours that I have passed while kneebng, Half slave, half child, to ga/.e upon thy fate, liut what to thee this passionate ap])ealing — Let n)y heart break -it is a common ca.se. A'ou liave forgotten me. Lktiti«i I;. Landon. THE STARS ARE WITH THE VOYAGER. T lil'^ stais are with the voyager Wherever he may sail ; The moon is constant to her time The sun w ill never fail ; liut follow, follow round the world. The green earth and the sea ; So love is with the lover's heart, Wherever he may be. Wherever he may be, the stars Must daily lose their light ; The moon will veil her in the >hade ; The sun will set at night. The sun may set, but constant love Will shine when he's away ; So that dull night i^ never night. And day is brighter dav. Tho.mas Hood. ( ) worlds Notes Notes ke ( ) wori love, I'rom A' \ }' ' _i^ ' AUn'.U OF LOl'/i. ](J9 ETHEL'S SONG OF LOVE. KRi >.M IWIN siHM.s: A I'^Vi IIH' kuMANfl. II.OVFv and my heart tliat was dying. Scam- gaspwi},' a trL■nllllou^> tri'ath, To song turns its sorrowful sigliing, \u(\ (eases Us nioanings for deatli ; 1 1 worlds ! iiear m\ jiiliilant singing — Notes key d to tiie coo of the do\c — Notes keyed to the c larion, ringing — () worlds, 'tis the music of love ! love, I hear nieioilies stealing From woodlands and meadows and dell Now, lines of the May-tree^ a:e whiter, And deeper the hliisli oi iin ii,iwn. The far loiistellaiiuns art- brighter. The wail of the night winds is gone Husli, hush ! Through tiie sliadows tiiat Around me this star-lighted n:,uii', I cat( h the footfall of my lover — 'I'wo lieings in one now unite : He comes with the glow of the morning, He (nines with the hreath of the spriuL liner As if the glad angels were j)ealing Soft chimes from invisible bells ; A mystical harj) thou art thrunmiing. Whose strings are the sun's mellow beams- I list to the sweet, tender humming, And hear it again in my dreams. O love, mv hot brow thou art wreathing With blossoms j'earl dews ha\e caressed ; With affluent joy thou art breathing New life through my perishing breast; Too cheaji were such tawdry a(iorning As graces the head of a king. O lover, to me thou art bringing Tiie gems of earth's opult nt zones. And down at my feet tlio i art Hinging l-'ar more than the splendor (,f thrones I Poor, i)Oor was my sjiirit and ( ying, 'I'ill thou to my bosom didst ll; , Now, angels as well might be sighing. I And pant in th"ir heaven t;> die. I Hl,Nk\ DaVKNI'OKT. FOR LOVE'5 SWEET SAKE. A WAKI'", ! — the starry midnight hour Hangs charmed, and pauseth in its flight ; In its own sweetness sleeps the flower. And the doves lie hushed in deep delight. Awake ! awake I Look forth, my love, for love's sweet sake I Awake I — soft dews will soon arise From daisied mead and thoriiy brake: Then, sweet, uncloud those eastern eyes, And like the tender morning break ! Awake ! awake . Dawn forth, my love, for love's sweet sake ! Awake I — within the musk-rose bower I Wat( h. pale flower of love, for tliee. Ah, come ! anil show the starrv hour What wealth of love thou liid'st from mc ! A\>'ake ! awake ! Show all thy love, for love's sweet sake 1 Awake I — ne'ir heed though listening night Steal music from thy silver voice ; Uncloud thy beauty, rare and bright, And bid the world and me rejoice I Awake I awake ' — She comes at last, for love's sweet sake. Barry Cornwall. ix i < :i m I _J, 170 .!/./.• ('.]/ OF LOVE. THE S:^EPIN(i m-AlITY. Y I KdM '■ I \\y \<\\ hKI \M.'' KAR .ifier vfiir unto lur ('(.■ct, Shu Ivinj,' . Ill lae 1 Or \< ,11 >, year| Were in In short, w 1 tell in 1 S.HV Ik-T ill ' Theie, win C.ive si^'iial s ( )f hands a |lcr> \\.is the oiall lliat she was our ( .Nik! then ; 1 lark was her Her voice ller ey^s wel 1 n.ver sav ller eveiy lo Shot right I thought 't .\nd wond Through snr 1 l)ved b< I spoke her ; I wrote tl' My mother That anci My father fi Sec any 1 Slie was the Rich, fat She had on Whose c< Her grandr Had fed Her second ,\nd Ion Hut titles a And mo And India (), what Black eves AIJilM OJ- I.O\'li. 171 "A liiiiidrcil summers! i an it be? And wiiiilier j^oc^t lliou, tell mu whurc !" ■•< 1, NLck my lailicr's (unit with nie, I ,i I'urc arc j;ri.itcr woiuiors there." \i ,' .I'er the hill-., and tar away 1 Nond their utmost juMple rim, i!f .nd the night, ai ross the day, I Iirouj^h all the world she followed him. .\l.l II II JKNNY.SON. THE BI-LLI- OF THl- BALL. Yi: \KS, years ago, ere yet ni> dreams ilail been of being wise or witty, lire I had done with writing themes, ( )r yawned o'er this infernal Chitty — \i ,ii>, \ears ago, while all my joys Were in ww l(>\\liiig-|)ie(c and filly ; 111 short, while 1 was yet a boy, I Irll in love with l.atira Lilly. 1 S.UV her at the county ball ; There, when the soinuls ol flute and fiddle (i.nc signal sucet in that old hall ( M hands across and down t! e middle, 111 Is was the subtil St spell by far ( M all that sets young hearts romancing: She was our iiueen, our rose, our star ; And then she danced— () heaven ! her dancing. Dark was her hair ; her hand was white ; Her voice was ex(iuisitel\ ttiider; Ikreyis well full it lii|uid light; 1 iiiver saw a waist so slemler ; Her eveiy look, her ever\ smile. Shot right and lelt a score ot arrows : I thought 't was Venus from her isL', .\ik1 wondered where she'd left her sparrows, Through simny May, throui h sultry June, 1 lived her with a love eternal ; I sjiiike her j)raisis to tlu- nioiui, 1 wrote them to the .Sunday journal. My mother laughed ; I soon found out That ancient ladies have no feeling : M\ father frowiud ; but how shoulil gout See any luippiness in kneeling ? She was the daughter of a dean — Rich, fat and rather apoplectic ; She had one biother ju->t thirteen, Whose color was extremely hectic ; Her grandmother for many a year, Had fed the ]iarish with her bounty; Hi r second cousin was a peer, .\ik1 lord lieutenant ol the county. but titles and the thrce-jier-cents, ;\nd mortgages, and great relations, .And India bonds, and tithes and rents, < ), what are they to love's sensations ; Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks — Such wealth, sik h honors Cupid iliooses; lie cares as little for the slinks As liaron Kothscliikl hir the muses. She sketcheil ; the vale, the wnod, the beach, drew lovelier Irom her pi ncil's shading: She bntani/.td ; I ensied i ai li N'oung blossnm in her bo'aloii l.ulmg: Shew.irlihd llamUl; it w.s grain; — She made the C'atilina 'ealoiis : She toiii hid the organ ; 1 i oiiltl stand I'or hours and hours to blow ilu bellows .And she was fattered, woishi] ped, bored ; ller steps weie watched, her dress was noted ; Her pooille-diig was ijuite iidi-red ; He! sayings were extiemely i|uoteil. She laughed -and eveiy heari w.is glad, .As if the ta.xes were abolished ; She frowneil — .md every look was sad, As ii the opera were demolisheil She smiled on many just lor fun — I knew that tin re was nothing in it ; I was the fust, the only one, 1 Itr heai t had thought ot f r a minute. I knew it, for she ti hi me so. In phrase whiih was divinely moulded ; She wrote a i harming hand — ami ( ), How sweetly all her notis were tolded ! Our love was iiiost like titlier loves, — A little glow, a little slii\er, A rosebud and a pair of glovis. And " I'ly Not Vet," upon the river; Some jealousy of some one's In ir. Some hopes of dying biokei -luarted ; A miniature, a lock of luiir. The usual vows — and tlan we parted. We parted : months and years rolled by ; We met again four sununers alter. Our 1 artinj; was all sob ai;d sigh. Our meeting was all mirth aiul laughter ! For ill my heart s most secret cell There h:iil been many other lodgers; .And she was not the ball-room's belle. Hut only Mrs. — Something — Rogers I WiN-niuoi' ^^ I'rafd. \-\ M MY TRUE-LOVE HATH MY HEART. ^' true lo\c hath my heart, and I have his, \\\ just exchange or.e to the other given : 1 hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, Thire mvir was a better bargain driven : My true-love ha'.h my heart, aiul 1 have his. His heart in me kee] s him and me in one ; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; I cherish his becaibe in me it bides: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir riiiLii' Sidney. i ' li ! f ; Hi; 172 ALU CM OF LOVE. A REVERIE. IT was only a wiiisoiiK' \va\ sIjc had, As tlicrc ill tlie twiliglii j,'ray Slic Miiilid oil inr till my heart was , lad, 111 the glail. ol(l-lashioiu-(l wa\ ; And fainter lar tlian ri hoi s are Was the toix h of a ireiniilous tone 'I'hat ronnd ine lell with the inaj^ir ^pell Of .1 iiand that e I and iiUerwove With (.''her llowers, bind my love! 'I'ell lur, too, she must not lie Longer flowing, longer free. That so oft hath fettered me. Say, if she's fretful, 1 have band* Of jiearl and gold to bind her hands; Tell her. if she struggle still, I have myrtle rods at will, For to tame, though not to kill. Take then my blessing thus, and go, .\nd tell her this, — but do not so ! Lest a handsome anger fly. Like a lightning from her eye. And burn thee up, as well as 1. Roi'.KKT HeKKK K. LIGHT. TIIK night has a thousand eyes, .\nd the day but one ; Vet the light of the bright world dies, With the dying sun. The mind has a thousand eyes, .\nd the heart but one: Vet the light of a whole life dies, When love is done. Francis W. Bourdu lon. "t-c/e, line ' It I I !; I CONSTANCY. 173 171 A/.lilM 01' IaU'IL H LOVE AND fAW. I'.R wiifii-. Ii 11 •'oli ii|i>iii m\ lar, l.iki' tlr<>|i|iiii^ (lews iriiiii li-al'v Hjiray She knew III) tihiiiiii', .11x1 li'lt III) loar ; Slic toiil mu Imw Iut i liililliuod ^^icw — Her joys hnw ki-cn, Ikt tares liow Uw : She stnili (I aiul saul Ikt n.uiic was Mm' , I marked lier for a little sjiace ; And ^L)on she seemed to heetl me not. But gathered tlowers lielore my fa( e. (Jh, sweet to me her iiiUaii,L;hl ways 1 The love I bore her all my days Was born of that wild woodland spot. I never < ailed her bride nor wife, I watched her bluom a little more, And then she faded out of life: She ijuaffed the wave I might not drink, And I stood thirsting on the brink ! Oh ! hurrying tide !— Oh, dreary shore ! Wild .IS an iintaiiifd liir■• she as tlu' It.mkH of June. Wliere liummiiig-bce-' ke,'l sweetest tuii< The soul of love was \\ her la)s. Still, s!iVb Ml |HI«I1I, llll I,' 111""' '''I : iiii. 11 »»y>"K. H: Al./U A/ ('/■ /.in'/i. (■) LOVi- Mil I.ITTI.ri, I.OVI- Ml- LONd. |> Kll^lll.lll) I, iiioic lliiiii )<><> ^cutt a);ii, I III' lillr lu> liniiiiir it I ihii 11 "tyiXKi "■"' ''"* ^"ilxiK'iil aiijiratt In li.ivi* liprii oig- )(F,i. In aiiollirr Hayiiij;, llial " Iml luvc i- aUvii)t iliiirt.' LI »\l') 1110 liiili', love iiir loiiK ! I> llie liiinlfii ot my smi^; ; l.iivi' tli.it !-< ton liiii ami siroiig llnriicili Midi) tn vv.i^tc. Still I wotllil liiit hilM- tilci- riilil,— . .Not too li < kw.inl, nor too liuld ; I.ovc that laMi til till 't ii old ladctli tint ill hu.str. I.iHf 111',' link', lu\f liif lolii; I Ih lllr Ininlcil ol iiiv Miii)^. If thnll lOM'Sl IlK' too IllIK ll, ' r« ill not |iiiivo ai Inif .i toiu h ; LoM." iiic litlK' tiuirf than mi< li, — i or 1 lear tin- fiid. I'm with littir well content, And a little Inmi ilu'o sent Is ciiiiii^li, with true inti'iit To lie ^tcadlast, Irieiid. Say thou lovest nie, while thou livci I to thee my lnve will );ivc, Never tin amiu ; tmleieive \V Idle that lite endures ; Nay, and a(";er death, in sooth, 1 to thee will keep my tn.tli, As now wlun in my Ma\ ol' \niith : This m\- luve assure-'. Constant Ihm- is moderate ever. And it will through life iiersever' ; (ii\e me that with true eiiikavor, — 1 will It restore. A suit of duraiue let it lie. I'or all weathers. — that (or me, — I or tliL- land or for the sea ; Lasting' evi'rinore. Winter's redd or simmer's heat, Autumn's tempests on it heat; It cm never know defeat, N'i'\er ( ail rcliel : Such the lo\e ijiil 1 would gain, Such the love, I tfll thee plain. Thou must gi\e. or woo in vain : So to thee — farewell ! THE MILKMAID'S SONO. Prid,, pull ! and llu' | ail is full. .\iid milkinL;'s done and over. Who would I ot sit lure under the tree? What a fair, fiir thin;,''s a green tielil to see! hrim, brim, to the rim. ah me ! 1 have set my pail on the daisies! It -eems so light — can the sun he set ? 'I'hi' dews must he heavy, nu checks are wet, 1 lould cry to have hurt the daisies I II irry in near, Harry is near, .\|\ heart's as su k lus il he were lure, .\lv lips are Imrumg, my i lieeks are wet, He hasn't uttered a word .is jit, ilul the .iir's a:.tir with lii-< praiM'H. .M\ Harry ! The .iir's astir with )uiir praiscN. He lias scaled the nu k liy the piw's stnne, He's anions the kingt iipH — he |)ii ks iiic one, I love llie gias~. that I tread iipiui When I go to my llariy ! He li.is jumped the hrook. he lia-< i Imilied (he knowe. There's never a faster looi I know. Hut still he seems to t.irry. Harry! () Harry I m> love, my priile, .\I\ heart ii leijiing. my amis ,ire wide 1 Roll up, roll u|i, \ou dull hillside, Roll up, and hriiig iii> I i.irr\ ! I'hey may t.dk of glory over the sea, lint Harry's alive, and Harry's for me, .My love, my lad, my Harry I ( 'ome Kpriiig, < oine winter, i (Uue sun, i omc snow. Wh.it tares I lolly, wiielluror no, Wiiile 1 1 an milk and m.irry ? Right or wrong, and wrong or right, (Jiiarn 1 who (piarrel, and fight who li^ht. Hut I'll hriiig my pad home every night To love, and home, and Harr)' ! We'll drink our ( .in, we'll e.it our < ake. There's lieer in the barrel, there's hreail in tho hake. The wnrld ni.iy sleeji, the world may wake, Hut I shall milk .iml marry, And marry, 1 shall miik and marry. Sykni v I)()1:KII.. K THE PLAYTHINd. I ri \"S (harming voii e and face. Syren like, first c.mght mv fancy ; Wit and humor next t.ikc place, .And now I dote on sprightly Nancy, Kitty tuius lur pipe in v.iin. With airs most laiigni hmg ai d d\ ing ; Calls me l.ilse, ungiatefnl sw.iin, .\ikI tries in vain to shocjt me flying. Nancy « ith resistless art. Always Ivimoroiis, ga\ . and witty, Has talked liersi If into nn heart, .\nd q\iite e.xcliideil tuneiul Kilt)'. .•\h, Kittv ! Love, a \\ant(Ui hoy, .\(iw pleased with song, and now with pi.ittle. Still longing tor the newest toy. Has changeil his whistle for a rattle. '" ^ildiil; 178 ALBUM OF LOVE. il WHEN SHOULD LOVERS BREATHE THEIR VOWS? \\\-.\ ^hoiiltl lovers hieatlic tlieir vows? U'licn -^lioiilcl 1 lilies hear them? Wlit'ii tlie (lew is on tlie hoiigiis, W'lien none else arc iiear them When tlie moon shines cold and pale, w When the birds are sleeping, When no voice is on the gale. When the rose is weeping ; When the stars aie bright on high, Like h()|>es in yoinig love's dreaming, And glancing' round the light clouds lly. Like soft fears to shaile their beaming. The fairest smiles are those that live On tlie brow by starlight wreathing; And the lips their richest incense give When the sigh is at midnight breathing. U, softest is the cheek's love-ray When s"en by moonlight hours, Other roses seek the day, lint blushes are night (lowers. O, when the moon and stars are bright, When the dew dro|)S glisten. Then their vows shoul I lovers pligiit, Then should ladies listen ! LiiiTiA L. Landon. MOLL Mccarty. She's not so very gay, Hut 1 can't stay away From her party — from her party. Doun the street, beside the glare Of a lamplight's rosy llare Lives McCarty— Moll McCarty. Chorus: — .'\nd her eves shine bright Like the stars on fmsty night, And just as hearty — just as hearty, With a crystalline de- light I iiat sinks my soul in l)light, Oh, McCarty— Moll McCarty. ' Her lips are ciierry retl. Like rosel)uds in their bed ; Or at a party — at a jiarty. When the sad tears fill her eye, Then in sym|iathy I cry With McCarty— Moll McCarty. You're not so very gay, But yon stole my heart away At your party — at your partv ; Antl tiioiigh o'er this workl I'd roam My heart would turn to you as home, Sweet McCarty — Moll McCarty. Your home be-ide the flare Of lamplight's rosy glare Holds a party — holds a part)-: The sweet babe upon my knee, Who resem])les you and me. My McCarty— Moll McC:arty. CHi^RI.I••,S M. Wai.lincton. A HEINE LOVE SONG. THL iuKv^e of liie moon at night .\11 trembling in the ocean lies. But she, with calm and steadfast light. Moves proudly through the radiant skies. How like the tranipiil moon thou an — • Thou fairest flower of womankind 1 And, look, within my fluttering heart Thy image trembling is enshrined 1 EucENE Field. \t\ soul in — Moll 178 I ; ALBUM OF LOVE. A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE. T HIS is the place. Stand ^till, my steed, Let iiic review the scene, And hituunon tiom the sliadowy past 'I'he lurnis that once have l)ecn. Tlie past and jjrcscnt liere unite Ik'neath time's tlowint; tide, Like f.'otprints hidden l)y a brook, Hut seen on either side. Here runs tiie iii uhway ti) the town ; There the green lane descends, Throngli which I walked to church witli thee. O gentlest of my friends ! The shadow of the lintlen trees Lay moving on the grass ; IJetween tiiein and the moving houghs, A shadow, thou didst pass. Thy dress was like the lilies. And thy heart as pure as they: One of (lod's holy messenger; Did walk with me that day. i saw the branches of the trees Bend down thy touch to meet, The clover-blossoms in the grass Risj tip to kiss tiiy feet. "Sleep, sleep to-da\, tormenting cares, Of earth and folly born ! " Solemnly sang the village choir On th t sweet Sabbath morn. Through the closed blinds the golden s ui Poured in a dusty beam. Like the celestial ladder seen By Jacob in his dream. And ever and anon, the wind. Sweet-scented with the hay, Turned o'er the hymn-book's fluttering haves Th.it on the window lay. T>ong was the good man's sermon. Vet it seemed ncjt so to me ; For he sj)oke of Ruth the bea>itifi:l. And still L thought of thee. Long was the i)rayer he uttered, Yet it seemed not .so to me ; For in my heart I prayed with him. And still I thought of thee. Hut now, alas ! the jilace seems changed; Thou art no longer here : Part of the sunshine of tiie scene With thee did disappear. Though thought?, deep-rooted in my heart. Like pine-trees dark and high, Subdue the light of noon, and breathe A 1;)W and ceaseless sigh ; This memory brightens o'er the past, .•\s wiien the sun, concealed Hehind some cloud that near ns hangs, Shines on a distant field H. W. LoXliKELLOW. UP I QUIT THY BOWER. ■ UP ! quit thy bower ! late wears the hour, I .ong have the rooks cawed round the towe O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee. And the wild Kid sports merrily. The sun is brigl.*:, the sky is clear ; Wake, lady, wake 1 and hasten here. Up, maiden fair ! and bind thy hair. And rouse thee in the bn zv air ! The 1 illing stream that soothed th)- dream Is dancing in the sunny beam. Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay: Leave thy s )ft couch, and haste away I Up ! Time will tell the morning bell Its service-sound has chimed well; The aged crone keeps house alone. The reapers to the fields ai; "one. Lose not these hours, so cool, zn gay: Lo! whilst thou sleep'st they haste away ! lOANNA lUlLLIK. FOLLOWING SUIT. NE springtime day a gentle maid Adown the garden jathway strayed That wound the shady orchard through ; And thinking of her eyes of blue, And tender glances, sweet and true, 1 followed suit — pray, wouldn't you? A saucy bree/.e that chanced to stray A'ong that fragrant garilen way Sw pt back her wavy golden hair, Surprised to see a maid so fair, And sighed for love such charms to view, I followed suit — pray, wouldn't you? A r.iy from out the sunlit sky Espied the maid as she i«ss' d by, And rained his kisses, soft and arm, On neck and hair and snowy arm. And cheek of ap])le-blossom hue. I followed suit — pray, wouldn't you? i \i ALBUM OF LOVE. 173 ien Mill ri'i,^' Icives iKf'i ; ^' iieart. :ll( )\v. LLIB. I 3 AW TWO CLOUDS AT MORNING. 1SAW two clouds at morning, Tinged by tlie rising sun. And in the dawn they floated on, And mingled into one; i ihouglit that morning cloud was Messed, It moved so sweetly to the west. I .-.iw two summer currents \ ."\s smoothly to their meeting. Ami join their course, witii silent t'orce. In jicace each other greeting ; t'alin was their course through banks of ;:rein, Willie dimpling eddies played between. Slid) be your gentle motion. Till life's last jjuIso shall beat ; l,il\u summer's beam antl smnmer's stream, I'loat on, in joy, to meet A ealnier sea, where storm-i shall cease, A jnirur sky, where all is [jeace. JdHX ("r. C. Brainakd. QREEN GROW THE RUSHES OI GR1:EN grow the rash as O, (ireen grow the rashes O ; The sweetest hours that e'er I spend Are sj/ent amang the lasses O. There's naught but care on ev'ry han'. In every hour that passes O ; What signifies the life o' man, An' 't were na for the lasses (,> ? The warly race may riches chase, An' riches still may fly them O ; An' tliough at last they cati h them fast Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them O.' Gie me a canny hour at e'en. My arms about my dearie O, An warly cares an' warly men May all gae tapsalteerie O. For you sae douce, ye sneer at this, Ye 're naught but senseless asses O ! The wisest man the warl' e'ei saw- He dearly lo'cd the lasses O. Auld nature swears the lovely dears Her noblest work she classes O : Her 'prentice han' she tried on man. And then she made the lasses O. Robert Burns. T A MADRIGAL. 1 11'. dreary d.us of wii.tcr come. The lielils are bare, the wooiis are dumb, ■Xnd chilled witli drenciiiiig rain ; But. dearest, in xoiir lai e I see Tiie iiieriv, nierrv nuiiitiis a'.;ain. For A])ril left witiiin your eyes The jieerless azure of his skies ; And snowy blooms of May Are on your brow; and June impressed The kisses of his rosiest day On either cheek. .\s for your hair, September stored his treasure there Of glittering gold, that 1 Might gaze thereon and valiantly The winter frosts and chills defy. V '• f I ! ? !i I I. ' «! i . i' ( ! .If ill 180 AIMCM OF LOVE. T HROUCrH the golden co'ii wc went, In tlie rosy evening liglit ; We, tlie poppies mid the gold, Gatiiered with a child's delight. Time was naught to us, for we Scarcely felt the moments g'.ide ; She, in robes of jiurest white, Seemed an angel by my side. O, that glorioi's .-.unset hour. With its radiance round us thrown, Seemed an emblem sweet and fair. Of the joy I deemed m\' own. LOVES II'' I were blind and thou shouldst enter E'er so softly in the room, I should know it, I should feel it, Something subtle woi'ld reveal it, And a glory round the CLMitre That would lighten up the gloom. And my heart would surely guide me, With love's second-sight i)rovide me. One amid the crowd to fnul. If I were blind ! If I were deaf, and thou had-^t s|)oken Ere thy presence I had known, I should know it, I should feel it, Something subtle would rev \\ it. On we wandered for a while, Then the cornfield i)ath we traced ; I'lvening shadows from the sky All its glowing tints had chased. All the ruddy petals gone. From the gathered poj)ijies now ; All the light ot hope and joy Faded out from cheek and brow. For a question and reply. Those sad evening breezes bore— And I knew that side by side We should wander nevermore. S J. Ueillv. FLOWER. And the seal at cnce be broken B\ love's liquid undertone. And the world's discordant noises — Whisper, wheresoe'er thou art, 'Twill reach th,' heart. If I were dead and thou .should venture Near the coffin where I lay, I should know it, 1 should feel it. Something subtle would re\eal it, And no look of mildest censure Rest upon that lace of clay. Shouldst tliou kiss me, conscious flashes Of love's fire through death's cold ashes Would give back the cheek its red. If I were dead ! E JAMIE'S ON THE SEA RIC the twilight bat was flitting, In the sunset at lier knitting, Sang a !f)nely maiden, siu.ng Underneath her threshold tree. And as daylight died before us, And the vesper star shone o'er us. Fitful rose her tender chorus, " Jamie's on the stormy sea." Z^SSSmSm ALBL'Jf OF LOV/i. 181 SONQ. OH I never, no, never, Tlioii It meet me again ! 'I'liv sijirit lor ever Has liiirst from its cliain ; 'I'he links iIkju iuist Ijroktii Are all that remain. For never, oli 1 never, 'I'liou'lt meet me again. Like the sonnil of the viol, ■j'hat (lies on the bl.i^t ; Like the shaile on the liuu. Thy spirit has passed. The liree/.es blow round me, liut give lack no strain ; The shatle on tlie dial Retnrns not again. Where roses enshrined thee, III light trelli-ed shade. Still hoping to find thee, How oft ha\e I strajed ! Thy desolate dwelling I traverse in vain ; — The stillness has whispered 'I'hou'lt ne'er come again. ("akoi.ine OI-IPHANT. WHEN YOUR BE.AUTY APPEARS. 4 4 "\ TJ 7HLN yonr heanty appears, \/\/ 111 its graces and airs, ' ' All bright as an angel new dropt from the skies, At distance I gaze, and am awetl by my fears, So strangely yon dazzle m\' eyes ! i5iit when without art Your kind thoughts you impart, When your love runs in blushes through every vein, When it darts from your e\es, when it pants at your heart. Then I know that \oii're woman again. ' " There's a i)assion and jiride In our sex," she re])lied ; "And thus (might I gratify both) I would do — Still an angel appear to each lover beside, But still be a woman for you. ' Tno.MAS Parnell. SWEET, BE NOT PROUD. SWLICT, be not jiioud ot' those two eyes, Which stavlike sparkle in their skies; Nor be you proud that yon can see All hearts your captives, yours yet free. He you not proud of that ric h hair. Which v»antons with the lovesick air; When as that ruliy which you wear, Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, ^\'ill last to be a precious stone When all your world of beautv's gone. Robert Herrick. T AN OLD LOVE-LETTER. in<( )UGH her tears she gazed upon it, Recoril s now silent. (."ouiing from a hand now cold ; .Vnd she telt the same emotion It had thrilled her with of old. Mrs. J. C. NiAi.. DON'T MARRY A MAN "TO SAVE HIM." A CRY conusover from Oregon Fur a car-load of maitiens. fullv grown, .Ml of them women of blood and tone- Come marry our men " to save them." ! li M:i IS'2 AinUM OF LOVE. ' \ ■1 1 J .1' Thcri' are tlio'isamls liorc in tluse li. units utsin, S|Kiulin^' tlnir inoiif) in g.iinnij,' and i^iii, (■<)rni|it without ami < orriipt witliin — Conrj niaiiv tluse men "to save tliem." 'I'iiev liave each liceii sDnielxxlv's |iriilean(l ]o\, Somebody's )ietted and pamperid boy. Spoiled for lick ul a maiden c o\ - Come marry tliese men '-to save tluin." ^^lll must be healthy, pure, anil strong, Alike to breast aial bear the wrong, Willin.u' to carry a bmdeii lonu — Come marry these men "to save them." You imist be leader, but always seem Tt) be gentle and helpless .is love's young dream, Ami leaned upon when you seem to lean — Come marry tiie-e men " to s.ive them." \'ou must be < leard\', and kind, and sweet. Making a ]iath lor their godless 1. et L'p to the gr.K e it' the mercy-seat — Come ni.irry these men " to save them." ()h. woman, you arr sold at a fearful ]irice. If voii wcil vour virtue to whiskv ami dice, Aiul trust your soul to ailen of vice — l)on't marry a man " to save him." A life th.it is pure needs a jmre one in turn, A being to honor, and I'o'. to spurn, An fiiiial love, that shall c;onstant burn — l)ou't marrv a iiian " to save him." A woman's life is a jirecious thing, Her lov e a rose unwithering ; Woukl you biirv it deep in early spring. By marrying a ni.in " to save !iim?" You (an pray I'or his soul from morn till ev^, You can \vi>h the angels to bring reprieve To his sin-bound heart, but you'll always grieve If you marry a man " to save him." Ciod gives to woman a right to jiress Her claim to a man's lust manliness. A woman gives all ; shall a man give less? Don't marrv a man " to save him." THE EMERALD RING. A sii'i-.Ksrn ION. IT is a gem which hath the power to show If ])lighted lovers keep their faith or no; If taithtul. it is like the leaves of spring; If faithless, like tho>e leaves when withering. Take back again your emerald gem. There is no color in the stone; It might have graced a diadem. But now its line and light ;ire gon"! Take back vour gilt, and give me mine — The kiss that sealed our last love-vow ; Ah, other lips have been on thine — My kiss is lost and siillieii now ! The gem is pale, the kiss forgot. .Anil, more than either, you are (hanm,!; But wr true love has altered not, My heart i^ broken — not estran;;(.(l I l.inillA Iv I,V,N|ii)\. THE LOVE OF A MOTHER. WI l( > that has langiii>hed, even in adv.iiurd life, in si( kne^s and despondency ; >vlu) th.it has pinetl on a weary bed in the neglect and loneliness of a foreign land; but has thought on the motlur •■ih.u looked on his chililhood," that smoothed his jj 1- low and administircd t(j his helples>ness? ( iii : till re is an enduring teiulerne.ss in the love ul a mother to a son that transcends all other affcetKnis of the heart, it is neither to be chilled bv sel.ish- iiess, nor daunted bv (hinger, i.or weakened hv vvorthlessness, nor stilled bv ingratitude. She will sai rit'ice every comfort to his conveni- ence ; she will surrender every ]'leasure io his en- jovnient; she will glory m his (aire ami e.Nuit in his prosjierity — and, if niisforttme overtake him, he will be the dearer to her from his misforinncs ; and if disgraie settle upon his name, she will still love ami cherish him in s])iie of his disgrace ; and if all the world beside cast him olf, she will be all the world to him. W'.ASIIINCTON IkVINC. "O NANCY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME." o .\AXC\', wilt thou go with me, Nor sigh to leav e the Haunting town ? Can silent glens have charms for thee, The lonelv cot and russet gown? No longer drest in silken sheen. No longer decked w ith jewels rare. Say, canst thou ipiit each courtly scene Where thou wert fairest of the fair ? O Nancv ! when thou 'rt far away. Wilt thou not cast a wish behind? Say, canst thou t'a< e the jiarching rav. Nor shrink before the wintry wind ? O, can that soft and gentle mien I'^xtremes of hardshi]) learn to bear. Nor sad regret each courtly scene \\'here thou wert fairest of the fair? O Nancy! canst thou love so true. Through ]ierils keen with me to go, Or when thy swain mishap shall rue, To share with him the pangs of woe ? Say. should disease or pain befall. Wilt thou assume the nurse's care. Nor wistful those gay scenes recall Where thou wert t'airest of the fair? \m1 w Will A \ni'. St T ir 1 ALBUM OF LOl'K. i^a "'"l.sl'l. \Mm)\ And when at last thy h)ve shall die, Wilt thou receive his parting iireath? W lit tlioii rei)res.s each struggling sigh, Anil ( lieer with smiles the bed of death? \rid wilt thoti o'er his hrealldess clay, >tre\v (lowers and i!ro|) the teniler tear, N.ir liien regret those scenes so gay Where tluju wert fairest of the fair? TiiDMAS Pekcv. (^r is thy faith as clear and fret- As that whi( ii 1 can niediie to thee? Does tiien- within tin diuuiiest dreams |)ossn)le future lence (jrili )V mine; VViierein thy life (mil L'lilou hed, unshared If so, at any pain or cost, (), tell me before all is lost ! bre.iti T LOVE DISSEMBLED. 11 NK not I love him. though 1 ask for him ; r is but a i)eevish bov : — vet he talks well ; — lint what care 1 for words ? — vet words do well. When he that speaks them pleases those that hear. lint. ire, he's jiroud ; and yet his pride .lines mm He 'II make a projier man : The best thing in him Is his complexion and faster th h Kjnuiie lake offence, his eve did heal it IS not very tall ; tall ; )et for his years he's Hi- leg is but so so ; and yet 't is well : I'liere was a pretty redness in his lip, A little rijier and more lusty red Thau that mixed in his cheek ; 't was just the difference Ik'twixt the constant red, and mingled lainask. they There be some women, Silvius, had marked him In jiarcels, as I did. would have gone near To fall in love with him : but, for my part, I love him not, nor hate hiin not ; and yet 1 have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at nie ? Mj said mine e es were black, and my hair black; A id, now I am remembered, scorned at me : I marvel, why I answered not again : Hut that's all one ; omittance is no are thee all reuu)r:ie, So ( oinfort thee, in\latc: ^Vh,lte^^•r on my heart may lall, keineniher, I <-i «'///(/ risk it all ! Al)|;i.\ll>l. ASNI I'KOeTI k. T THE KNIGHT'S TOAST. IH least IS o'er! Now lirininiinL; wine in lordly cup is seen to shine Ik'tore each eager gutst ; And silence lilU the crowded hall. As deep as wlien ihe herald's call Thrills in tl'e loyal breast. Then up arose tlie noble host, And, suiilini,', < rieil ; "A toast I a toast! To all our ladies fair ! Here, before a.l, 1 ])ledge the name Of Staunion's proud and beauteous dame — Th • l.ady C.undamere !" Then lo his feet each gallant sprung, And joyous was the shout that rung, As Stanley gave the word ; And every cup was raised on high. Nor ceased the loud and gladsome cry, Till Stanley's voice was heard. '* Enough, enough," he smiling said, And lowly bent his haughty luad ; " That all may have their due, Now each, in turn, must ]ila\ his part, .And |)letlge the iac'y of his heart. Like gallant knight and true!" 'I'hen, one by one, each guest s]irang up, And drained in turn the brinmiing cup, .\nd named the loved one's name; And ea( h, as hand on high he raised. His lady's grace or beauty praised. Her constancy and fame. 'Tis low St. Leon's turn to rise ; On him are fixed those countless eyes; .'\ gallant knight is lie; Envied by some, admired by all. Far famed m lad\ 's bower, and hall — 'I'hc llower of chivalry. St. Leon raised his kindling eye. And lifts the sjjarkling cup on high; " 1 drink to otif,'" he said, *' AVhose image never may depart, Deep graven on this grateful heart. Till memory be dead. To one whose love for me shall last When lighter passions long have passed— So holy 'lis and true ; 'i"o one whose love hath longer dwelt. More deeply fi\ed, more keenly felt, i'han any jjledged by \ou." Each guest ujistarted at the word, .And hiid a hand upon hiss\>.'rd. With f iry-llashing eye ; .And Stai.le. s.iid : '• We crave the name, I'rond kiu^iit, of this most |ieerless d.inie, \\ huse love you cdimt so hig! . " St. Leiin |iause.!, as if he would Not l>reathe her name in careless mood, Thus lightly, to another ; Then bent his noble head, as though To give that wort! the reverence iliie, And gently said, " My mother !" L I LOVE IS A SICKNESS. ON'L is a sickness full of woes, .All remedies relusing ; .A jilant that most with cutting grv)ws, Most barren with best using. Why so? More < e enjoy it, more it dies; If not ciijoyeii, it sighing cries I ieigh-ho ! Love is a torment of tl.e mind, ,A tempest everlasting ; And lo\e hath macle it of a kind. Not well, nor fill, mr fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not eiijo\e(i, it sighing cries Heigl ho! Samukl Daniel. GRAY AND SILVER. H.AD a love ; dark haired was she. Her eyes were gray I'or sake of lit r across the sea I saileil away . Death, sickness, tempest and tlefeat All passed me by ; With years came fortune, fair ami fleet, And rich was L Again for me the sun looked down Familiar skies ; I fountl my love, her locks had grown C.ray as her eyes. " Alas !" she sighed, " forget me, now No longer fair." " I loved thy heart," I whispered low, " .And not thv hair." C. E. D. Phi:lps. llllf, line. 'i • tl ii i^ ft 1H«{ M.iir.M or i.ovE, LET NOT WOMAN EUK COMPLAIN. LI', r iioi wiiiii.iii e'er i:()ni| lain ( )f ill! (iiisUiK y in lovi- ; let imt wnni.in i 'rr < nniplain I- i raiiut. MY OWN. ICANNO'l" call tlicc biaiitifiil, I cannot call tiiee lair, (iivf praist' nnlioiinded to tliiiie eyes. I'lie ( iilor nt' iliy liair, i'ronotinci' tliv Inrni a liflic's. i Ir, \()iif (if iiiat( liic>^ ti'ii ; lint kiiuw tiioii art a wmiian, And lovalik', nn own I cannot (all tluc oilar Than what ihoii art, for thotiiLjh I felt disposed to flatter thee, 'riiini woiiidst not iiave it so; rh\ charms are no divinity's — I Inmanity alone ll.itli muitipliid the jjifls tint make Tliee lovable, my own. I'.iit it' thou lie not heantiful, And if thou be not lair, The lo\in^,' heart thy ho.sdni shields, .\nd all the goodness there, first won my admiration, And truly have 1 grown To know thai more thin beauty makes Thee lovable, my own. let others measure ha])iiiness r>y (harn's that j lease the eye; 1 sought for gills more lasting Than beauty, therefore I, In seeking fouiul ihee-arul th.„::'.rl (Nofrn's walls il.iil loii^ l)C('ii ri'iiit'inlnriii wiili awi- nml 'lisiiiav ; lor M'.irs not a siiiilicain \\m[ |ila\i(l in \\> li.ilK, Ami It ^fciiu'd UM >liiit mil Irom tlir rcj^iun-. nl'dav, Tiioii^;!: tin- \allt)s wire liri^hU'iutl li\ in. tin a hiani, Net iiiinr ( (luhl the ^^(ll)(l^ol lli.it i ,i?>tU" ilhiiiii-; Ami ilic lij^luiiiiii;, wl>itiHla>iiL'(l im ilic iiiMj;iil)orinK ff!" Said U'illiiniliiT^'s lord ti> tlic Seer of tlie t'ave ; — " It (.111 ntviT (lis|jel." \,\u\ tlic wi/aid of Vit>l', " Tili tlie liri:;lit sl.ir of « liivalry sinks in tlio w.ivc ! " .\n(l who was tlic I'li-lit star of ( ,at e written \\.> nanif on lie; jane. I-'or WilluniherLi's liaii.iiliter his yoiinu heart had heat — For Ro>e, who was brifiiit as the spirit of dawn, When with wand drowpini,' (iiainond>, and sihery feet, It walks o'er tiie llowcrs of the monntaiii and i.iwn. Must Rose, then, from Reuben so faiallv sever? ' All, all Imt the soul of tlie maid was in li^lit. Sad, sad were the worils ot the Seer of the There sorrow and terror lay ^^loomy and blank . Cave, Two days did she wamlcr, and all the \'A\)i That darkness should cover that < astle forever, nij^ht, ( )r Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave! In (juest of her love, on the wide river's bank. To the wi/artl she llew, .sayin;;, " Tell me, oh, tell 1 ( )ft. oft did she paii' e for the toil of the In II, ^hall my Reuben no more be restoretl to my .\"id heard but the breathinj,'s of nij^ht in the eyes? ' air; "Yes, yes — when a spirit shall toll the great bell Loni\\i did she ya/e on the w.itevy ^well. Of the mouldering abbev, vonr Ri uben shall A id saw but the foam of the white billow tliere. rise!" Anil often as midnight its veil would nndr.iw. Twice, thrice he repeated, •• \'oiir Reuben .shall As she looked at the liLiht of the moon in the rise!" stream. And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain; She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw, And wijied. while siu- listenetl, the tears from lur As the curl of the surge glittered high in the eyes, beam. And lioped she might yit set' her hero again. And now the third night was begemming the That hero could smile at the terrors of de.ith, sky ; When he felt that he died lor the sire of his Poor Rose, on the cold tlewv margent recbned, Rose. There wept till the tear almost froze in iier e\e, lb the < Ider he flew, and there, plunging beneath. When — hark I — 'twas the bell that came deep in In the dei)tli of the billows soon found his re- the wind '. pose. I I She startled, and saw. through the glinmiering How strangely the order of destim- falls ! — I shade. Not long in the waters the warrior law A form o'er the waters in majesty glide ; When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the She knew 'twas her 1 ive, thonjh his ( heek was walls. decayed. And the castle of Willumberg basked in the Ami his helmet of silver wp.s washed by the ray. tide. A/./ii/.n OF f.o ]•/•:. W.i- III" « luit the Seer of the Cave had rori-tukl ? — ' I Mill, liiiii, thi'itii^li the pli.iiiloin thi- iiiniin sliot .1 t;lf.iiii. ' Tw.i- KoiiIh'ii, liiii, all I lie was ile.iilily and < old, \iic| lli'i'U'd M\A\ like th<' >|icll ol .1 (Irt'im ' h\ii f. tliri< (.' ( id lie ti-><', iiid as nitcii shr thon^lit I rmn ilic lank to tMiiliratc iiitn, Imi vain hi'r I'MtUMvor, I'liiMi, |ihii\^iii^ liciiL-atli, at a liilluw she lat^lit, j Ami sunk to rcimse im its liosoiu lorfscr ' 'I'llKMAs Ml "IKK. I.OVKS I ()R(i()Tli;N PROMISH. 'Tis love that Mindii the eyi". o| iimiIkth; "I'l-. Ii)v<- that makes thf yuan;' iitaids tair ! She tDUt hed my hand; my riii^^ sla- < uiiiiteil ; \ It never lelt ihc shmlows tliere. Kee|i. ^MinfAonie love, lieluNcd inlani, Kii'p ever thus all mnthiT^ lilmd ; And make thy dciliralcd \ir.;ins In sidistance as in slutdnw. kind I ArilKKV |)K. \ K.KK. Wll.l, come back," j.ovu criod ; "I will d |>assi'ad wat( her at a ^ilent ;^ate — i'ur love, who is so fair and swilt and stronj,';, I wait, 1 wait He will come back — come b.ick, though he delays; lie will come b.uk — lor in old years and da\s lie was my |ila\matc. lie will not tbrj^et. 'l'li(Mi),di lie ma\ lin^'er ion^,' amid new wavs, He will bring b.ick, with b.irren sweet regret, ( )ld years and days. Hush ! on the lonely hills Love conies again ; But his yomig feet are marked with many a stain, The golden ha/e h.is passed from his lair brow, And round him clings the bhjod-red robe of pain; .■\nd it is night. O Love — Love — enter now! Remain I remain ! B HER SHADOW. LNDIN'O between me and the taper, While o'er the harp her while hands strayed, liie shadnws of her waving tresses M)ove m\- hand were gently swayed. With every gracefd nujvement waving, I marketl their undulating swell ; 1 w.itched them wliile they met and |)arted, Curled close or widened, rose or I'ell. I laughed in triumph and in jileasure — So strange the sport, so uniesigned ! Her mother turned and asked me, gravely, 'What thought was passing through my mind?" I FOUNt) AT I.A5T. .V each m. Ill's miuI there li\es a dre.im Lit b\ II woin.m's cys. Whose glance is like the tender ^\v.\n\ That thrills the evening skies. It is a dream that never l.dnts. Though wfal or woe belalL ; I!nt haunts the he.irt and snlily |).iints A picture (Ui its walls In e.K h man's he.iit there lloatsa \oice rii.it spe.iks to him alone. The voice of her, his spirit's < hoice. He longs to call his own The (l.iys may hasten like tin- wiiul. Or l.ig with sullen feet ; Some ilay his wandering heart shall find The face he longs to meet. Samiei. M. I'Ki k WAITING NHAR. ALTIIO'JC.II I .nler not, N'et round about the spot Oftiimes 1 hover; .And near the sacred gate With longing eyes I wait, I'lxpei tant of her. Mv lady comes at list. Timid, and stepping la^t, And hastening hither. With modest e\ es downcast ; She comes — she's here - she's past — May heaven go with her. Kneel, undisturbed, fliir saint: Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and dulv ; I will not enter there. To sully your pure prayer With tlioughls unruly. Hut suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place. Lingering a minute Like outcast sjiirits who wait. And see through heaven's gate Angels witiiin it. W. M. Th.^ckekav 190 AI.IUJM OF LOIR. I'll'' ft # /, h « m^ fi w^ -ja^ Mtff^ sx/*iv. I 'I" is the miller's daughter, And slie is grown so dear, so dear, That I woukl be tlie jewel That trembles in her ear ; For, hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white. And 1 would be the girdle About her dainty, dainty waist, And her lieart would beat against me In sorrow and in rest ; And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight. And I would be the necklace, And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom, With her laugiiter and her sighs; And I would lie so light, so light I scarce should be unclasped at night. Alfred Tennyson. MY CHOICE. SHALL I tell you whom I love? Hearken then awhile to me; And if such a woman move As 1 now shall versify. Be assured 'tis she or none. That I love, and love alone. Nature did her so much right .Ar, she scorns the help of art In as many virtues dight As e'er yet embraced a heart. So much good so trulv tried, Some for less were deified Wit she hi th without desire To make known how much she hath ; And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath. Full of ]>ity as may be. Though perhaps not so to me. Reason masters every sense, And her virtues grace her birth; Lovely as all excellence Modest in her most of mirth. Likelihood enough to prove Only worth could kindle love. Such she is ; and if you know Such a one as I have sung ; Be she brown, or fair, or so That she be but somewhat young j Be assured 'tis she, or none. That I love, and love alone. William Browne. n! 1' I'hil \N Ciirlv r.illl Sighiil Lndel Wal ALBUM OF LOVE. 1!)1 H THE AGE OF WISDOM. {)! jiietty page, with the diiniik-d chin, 'hiat never has kiKJwn tlie Ixirliei's shear. All your wish is woman to win ; Tliis is the way that hoys begin — Wail till you cnmc to forty year. ('urly gold locks cover foolish l)rains; Hilling and cooing is all your cheer — Sighing, and singing of midnight strains, L'nder Honnybell's window-i-'anes — Wait till you come to forty year. I'orty times over let Michaelmas ]iass; drizzling hair the brain doth cic r ; Then you know a boy is an ass. Then you know the worth of a lass — Once you have come to forty year. Pledge me round ; 1 bid ye declare. All good fellows whose beards are gray — Did not the fairest of the fair Connnon grow and wearisome ere Ever a month was past away ? The reddest lips that ever have kissed, The brightest eyes that e\ er havi' shone, May jjray and whisper ai.d we not list. Or look away and never be missed — Ere )et ever a montn is gone. (lillian's dead ! God rest her bier — How I loved her twenty years sine — Marian's married ; but I sit here, Alone and merry at forty year, Dipping my nose in the Oascon wine. W. M Thackeray. AH! WHAT IS LOVE? AH ! what is love? It is a pretty thing. As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, And sweeter too ; Fur kings have cares that wait upon a crown. And cp.res can make the sweetest face to frown ; Ah then, all then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? His flocks are folded ; he conies home at Jiight As merry as a king in his delight, And merrier, too ; For kings bethink them what the state require. Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire ; Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curd as doth the king his meat, And. blither, too ; For, kings have often fears wlien they sup. Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup; Ah then, ah then. If country loves stich sweet desires gain, What lady would not lo\e a shepherd swain? Upon his couch of straw he slee])S as sound .■\s doth the king upon his i)e(ls of down, Mcjre sounder, too ; For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill; Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain. What ladv would not love a shepherd swain? Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe As doth the king at every tide or syth. And blither, too ; For kings have wars and broils to take in hand. When shepherds laugh, and love upon the land ; Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires gain, What lady wouKl not love a shepherd swain? RoiiEKT Okkkne. TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE. w HEN Delia on the jjlain ajjjjcars, .\wed by a thousand lender fears, 1 would approac ), but dare not move, ■ Tell me, my, heart, if this be love. Whene'er she speaks, my ravished ear No other voice than hers can hear ; Xo other wit but hers ap])rove, — Tell me, my heart, ii this be love. If she some other swain commend. Though I was once his fondest friend. His instant enemy I prove ;— Te'l me, mv heirt, if this be love. ; I m 7 i'i I'Jli Ai.iU'M Ol-' l.Ol'E. Wiieii slie i.j at)^enl, I no more Dei^^lu in all that pleased beore. 'I'lie clearest s|)riri^, tlie sliadiesi throve ; — Tell inc. my heari. if tins he Inve, Wlieu foiul of power, of he.iuty vain, Her nets slie spread lor ever\- suaiii, I strove to hate, hut vainly strove ; — Tell me, my heart, if this be love ( iKiikiiK l.oKn \.\ rri:i.Mj\. BROKEN HEARTS. SHAM, I contes-. it? — 1 helieve in broken hearts, and the jiossibility of dying ot' dis- appointed love. 1 do not. however, con- sider it a malady ol'ten latal to my own sex ; hnl I firmh believe that it witlv.-rs tlown man\- a lovelv woman into an earh' uravc Look for her, after a little while, and yon wiK till I friendshii) weeping over her imtimel\ ^:,ive .liid wondering that one who but lately pi^jwej with all tile radiance of health and beaiitv, sl.ciulcl so s|)eedily lie hro ighl down to "darkness .nid the worm" Voii will he told of some umtrv chill, some casual i.idisposition that laid he: low' — b it no one knows of the nieiiia maia(l\ that previously sapped her strengtii. and made hi-r so ea>.y a prey to the spoiler She is like some tender tree, the pride and of the gro\-' ; gracehil in its form, bright foliai,'e. but with the worm pre\ ing at its We find it suddenly withering when it should be most fresh and luxuriant. We see it drooping it.; br.iiuhes to the earth and shedding leaf by leai ; until, wasted and perished away, it falls even in xatity in it's heart. How many bright eyes grow dim — how many soft cheeks grow pale — how many lovely forms fade away into the tomb, and nont; can tell the '.anse that blighted their IwvX'liness I As the dove will clasp Its wings to its side, and cover and con- ceal the arrow that is jjreying on its vitals, so it is the nature of uoman to hide from the world the l)angs of wounded alfection. The love of a deli- cate female is always shv and silent, i'lven when fortunate, she scan ely breathes it to herself ; but when otherwise, she Imries it in the recesses of her bosom, and there lets it cower and brood among the in ins of her peace. With her the desire of the heart has tailed. The great charm of existence is at an end. She neg- lects all the cheerful exercis's which gladden the spirits, (|ui(ken the pulses, and send the tide of life in healthful currents throimh the veins. Her rest is broken — the sweet refreshment of sleep is ])()iso 'ed by melancholv dreams — -'tirv sorrow drinks her blood," until her enfeebled frame sinks 'Under the slii:hted external injury. thj stillnes- of the forest ; and as we muse over the beautiiul ruin, we strive in vain to recollect the blast or thunderbolt that could have smitten it with decay. W.\sni.Nt;ruN Ikvini;. WHY. THl'lkP'/S a little rustic seat Just beneath the hill-top's brow, I'xjwered with meadow-grasses sweet .And with many a fragrant bough; And on sunny summer da\s, There a lassie oft I see. With a far-off dreamy ga-^e As of deej) expectancv. Shall 1 tell you why she lingers? This is why ! this is why ! Though she kiunvs it not, she's waiting P'or young love to wander by! I'',re the summer's colors pass Into autumn's dee]ier hues, Kre the trees and tlowers and gras-; Young-year strength and freshness lose. ALBUM OF LOl'H. 1113 1(1 yo! H-ili iiclv ,. ,.i ? ..!ve, e!y -; J«nl "ty, M on 1(1 rkiif.ss nid )nie u nir\' i(i he: low laladi iliat 'Kit- ll>- ■ so "I'i I'.aiitv 'Kill in its Its h,. art. shoiil,! be oopiug i's 1'3- JtMl ; s even in Or. that little rustic seat Lass a id lad I'm sure to see, 3i) ( uuipaiiionship sd sweet Tiie\ 've nu eye.; or thought tor ine ! Snail 1 tell you why 'tis so? This is A'h\ ! this is why ! I.ove the master, love the tyrant, He at length has wandered by! HI: THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK. HI that loves a rosy cheek, ( )r a coral lip admires, ( )r tVom starlight eyes doth seek liiel to maintain his tires; As old Time makes these decay, .So his llames must waste away. Hii; a smooth and steadfast iinnd, ( leiule thoughts, and calm desires, ll'.uts with ei[ual love combined. Kindle never dying fires: — \\ lure these are not, 1 despise Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. TllOM.VS CVKKW. THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. Sn.\LL 1, wasting in despair. Die because a woman's lair? Or make pale iin cheeks with care 'Cause another's ro.sy are? lie she fairer than the day. Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to ae, What care I how fan she be? 'C" luse her fortune seems ti o high, >hall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find, Think what w ith them they would do That without them dare to woo ; .'Vnd unless that mind I see. What care 1 how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, T will ne'er the more despair: If she lo\e me, this believe — I will die ere she shall grieve, If she slight nie when I woo, 1 can scorn and let her go ; For if she be not for me. What care 1 for whom she be? Okokhe Wither. My second, he was g.iant .ind thin, .Mi round the hemispheres he'd been; He'd shot at lions, killed a bear; I loved him for aluiiil a \ear. My thinl had tlowing co.d black hjcks, (1 wore then green and yellow Irocksj. lie pla\ed antl sang my heart away ; 1 loved him one \ear and a tlay. My fourth, was handsome, but so [loor ! That only made me love him more; I wei)t and sighed, but had to jiarl, It almost, almost broke my heait. My fifth was — well, 1 cannot say What he was like ; but one fine day 1 swore to love him all my life ; And now he calls me "little wife." My sixth ? M;, s!.\th is very small, He hardly seems a man at all ; But, O, 1 could not bear to part, With either filth or sixth sweetheart. LOVE NOT ME FOR COMELY GRACE. LO\'R not me for comel\- grace. For mv pleasing eye or face, Nor for any outward part. No. nor for my constant heart; F'or those may fail or turn to ill, So thou and 1 shall sever ; Keej) therefore a true woman's e\ e. And love me still, but know not why. So hast thou the same reason still To dote ujion me ever. N M MY SWEETHEARTS. \ fust was young and ver\ fair. With bright blue eyes and yellow hair: A surplice white in church he wore; I loved him lor a month or more. 13 TO HELEN IN A HUFF. W, Lidy. one I'rown is enough In a life as soon over as this — .\nd though minutes seem long in a huff, They're minutes tis pity to miss! The smiles you iinprist)n so liglitly ,\re reckoned, like da\s in eclipse; And though you may smile again brightly. You've lost so much light from your lipst I'rav. lady, smile ! The cup that is longest untasted May be with our bliss running o'er. II)'!- HM ALB I'M OF l.OVE. I'i i i And, love when we will, we have wasted An age in not loving helore ! PerchaiK (• Cupid's forging a letter To tie us togetlier some dav, And, just for the chance, we had better lie laying up love, I sliould say I Nay, lady, smile 1 N. P. Willis. JEALOUSY. I HA\'K thy love — 1 know no fear Of that divine possession ; \'et draw more close, and thou shalt luar A jealous liearl"s confession. I am so nmcii a miser grown. That I could wish to hide tliee, Whfre never ,)reatli but mine alone Could drink debgiit beside thee. 1 nurse no ]i:\ng, lest fairer youth Of loftier hopes should win thee ; There blows no wind to chill the truth. Whose amaranth blooms within thee. I'n worthier thee if I could grow (The lo\e that lured thee ]ierished), Thy woman heart could ne'er forego The earliest dream it cherished. I lio not think that doubt and love .Are one — whate'er they tell ns ; ^'et — nay — lift not thy looks above, A star can make me jealous. If thou art mine, all mine at last, I covet so the treasure, No trlani e that thou canst elsewhere cast, But robs me of a pleasure. Tiien say not. w.th tiiat soothing air, I have no rival nigh thee ; The sunbeam lingering in thy hair — The l>reeze that trembles by thee — The \ery herb beneath thy feet — 'I'he rose wiiose odors woo tiiee — In all tilings, rivals he must meet. \\"h,' would be all things to thee ! If sunlight from the dial be but for one moment banished Turn to the silenced plate and see The hours themselves are vanished. In aught that from me lures thine eyes, My jealousy has trial ; Tlie lightest cloud across the skies Has darkness for the dial. E. BULWER LyTTON. [ t,JJ_-':^S! ALBUM OF LOlh. 195 FOR LOVE'S SAKE. II ■\.t>\\ must lovL- UK', let it be tor iiauf^ht j x( ijit for love's sake only. Do not say, 1 Idve her for her sniilu, her look, her way (); ir<-, iking gently — lor a triik ot thoiiglit I 111! lalls in well with mine, and ( ertes bronght .A M i:se of pleasant ease on such a day." 1(11 these thinys in themselves, beloved, may Ik- c hanged, or change for thee — and love wrought, Ma\ lie unwrought so. Neither love nic for I lime own dear pity's wiping my ( heeks dry- A I nature might forge' to weep, who bore I'hv lomfort long, aii ' lose thy love thereby. But love me for love's sake, that evermore Thou mayst lo\e on, through love's eternity. lu.i/AHKiii H. BkdWNiNc. JENNYS KISS. J1;N\V kissed mc when we met, jumping from the chair she sat in ; I'ime. you thief! who love to get Sweets into yoiu" list, put /// tear .should be I) — Couldst thou endure, not scurn alone, l)Ut scorn and iMivert\ lor me? CouldNt tliou. for .\nieth\sta'> ^ake, Renounce the honors, tliine li_\ birth — The wealth, the titks, and the power. And all that men most ])ri/.e on earth; And dwell in our secluded c(jl, 1>\ all tli\ former tViends tor,i;ot. And ne\er c'.ide me, or repine That 1 consented to be thine?" *' No, Amediysta! poor the heart That veers as Ibrtiuie's c:urreiits blow; And nune shall be a nobler part — My true atTection shall not know Chani;e or decrease, or e\er cease To prize thee best ot all below. Love, like the beacon on the sea That warns the tempest-beaten bark, Still hhines, if true, like mine for t'^ee, 'l"he brightest when the sk\ is tlark ! " Thus as they speak his finders play Amid her soft luxuriant tresses, Their cheeks with nnitual blusi:es burn, Their tender eyes exchange caresses. So gentle is the night of May, So nr.ich the lovers ha\e to sa)-, They never heed the flight of time ; .•\nd it !•< far towards the hour "When sounds the matin chime, l']re from their sheltering forest bower, Ancl bank with early tlowers bestrewn. They rise and think they ri.se too soon, And .see the modest e.'stern sky Blushing lie( ause the nuini draws nigh, And hear the wood> and welkin ringing ^Vith the sweet song the lark is singing. •'Oh, light the touch of time has been, Antl tlowers his hand has carried, Or thus all night in foie-ts green Our leel wculd not have tarried. We have outwatchtd the moon, my love. And all the stars but one : There is no need that we should part I'or rising of the sun. The air so full of odors sweet, The breeze-encircled hill, The music of the earlv birds, And thy sweet looks anfl sweeter words, 'i vite to linger still." 1 hi' maid looked up into his face ^Vith eves lie thought that dimmed day, And the reply upon her lips Melted in hajip}' smiles away. Charles Mackav I LOVe THOU THE BEST. I )( > not say that thou shouldst never chaise; ( )nlv let not thy w; 'ulering fancy rangr To waste itself in lollies mirepressed ; Love me, or else at least, love thou the li-.-st. Thy love for me how often hast declarei: ' Ihine inmost S(jnl before m\ vision barc'l ! 1 know thy tcrvenl loudness, yet the jir.usc Of les>er loves doth light th\ lonel\ da\s. Oh, listen, love, and to my words jiray heed ; If ever thou shouldst feel thy si)irit's need Mori' fully satisfied, or understood. More ([uenched in evil, spuried to all things -uod. I the I'v newer love, think not of plighted truth. Think nevcrt)!' lho>e hot, wild vows of vonth ; Ming off old bonds, each, tie and liroim^e break Not lor ihy senses', biU thy spirit's sake. Though 1 should wee]i, yet through my tears I'd see Such faithfulness more fine than constancy : Through breaking heart ami lonel\- life unblessed I'd still rejoice that thou shonklst love the best. LOVE AND JEALOUSY. ASWKIIT little vol( f comes ringing Krom a < ottage over the way ; 'Tis a fiir little maiden singing '1 he whole of the li\elong day. And this is her song, 1 hear her .\ lilting it o'er and o'er — " When jealousy creeps in the window, Then love flies out at the door," "With little of wealth to squander True love will be satisfied ; And ne^er an envi(jus murmur, When luxury is denied. But list to tl.ese words of warning, And your heart will never be sore; When jealousy creejis in the window, Then love flies out at the door. Churi'S — •' Oh love flies out at the door, Oh love flies out at the door ; When jealousy creeps in the window, Then love flies out at the door." Marv Ini.ka.m Mattis. TO THE END. AS the wings of an angel nn'ght guard, as the hands of a mcdier nnght cherish. So luue I loved you, mine own, diough hojie and though faith should perish; And my will is set to hold you yet, close hid in my deep heart's centre. In a secret shrine tint none mav divine, where no i one but I may enter. A/JICM OF I.OVE. 197 U!,rii ilie stars siiinc dimly and wan, when the leaves on tlie pane are (retting. LEGEND OF A COQL'ET. Uii. 11 the niisi has blotted the world in a liuil and 'T^IS saiii that wb.en Dan CiiiMd aims his a dread loryettin^, I arrow, (ivri the hill where the wind 1. lows chill, over the * Its golden point ne'er faiK to fnid the wintrv hollows. poi mark ; A wild voice calls, on my sleet it tall>, and inv Dm onre. at lea.t. his victim's charms unn., rved spirit awakes and tollows. him Call, and I come through the night, though the Or else lie aimed at liessie in the dark. niist and the darkness may liiile von. Weary and desolate heart, my i)lace is surely lie- I'or m her tremhlin- i heek the iVail vhalt -luiv- side you. ^.,.,.,1_ i-ro:n the dejuh ot vour black despair, come ba. k, Til] pitvin-, nrieved at his unwitting sin mv arm shall be .strong to move you. Kissing, he healed the wound, withdrew the ar- 10 Deal you up to the golden gates of heaven, be- row, cause I love you. l.-aving a dimple where the barb had been. ' V \ % \\\ I'' i. In n\ II-! «i If ' II I ' ! i Lll III*' k 198 ALliUM OF LOVE. And in tlie diniplc wliero its point luii rcsti'd riie wondiDUs arrow iet't its laMed power; Hilt ('ii|iiil. fcarini; lest aL;.iin he haini lier, lias iievfr dared a^hail lier iVoiii tli.il hour. LINDBR THE: MISTLHTOE. FROM Clinsinias dance .iiul |ileasant plans \'oii stole awav — perrliance to re^it. Vou were a daiiuiiler ol the manse And 1 — a hapless, homeless tuest. Along those storieii walls \o\\ sped. l''()rj,Mve me that I watched yon go ! How could 1 help it, when sou shed More radiam •; than the taper's glow? From light-spun jest and careless mirth \o\\ tied. Oh, love, wh\- tlid \nii llee ? Coukl you ha\e ilreamt how void of worth, Your absence made that cheer to me ? The rooms were full of ('liristmas time, And the ladies' laughter, sweetly low, Rang taint as distant siKered chime Ot' hells, across the crystal snow. A sensuous, soobing waltz — indeed Within tiie mazes of that dance Man might have well forsworn his creed; Disarmed by beauty's magic lance, Yet o'er the fairest there ivw shone, Ah, did 1 not, sweet, tell you so. While we two brielly were alone — lMirai)turetl 'neath the mi^tlet(Je ? Within the circling glow ytiu stood, Nay, was I then so much to blame? Your eyes downcast, in jiensive mood, Seemetl but to spur the leading tlaine. I loved \oii so ! Vou were so fair ! But I'ar above me, dear, 1 know ; Yet I forgot — yet, then and there, I kissed you 'neath the mistletoe. One thrilling second 'neath m\' kiss, Your sweet lijjs pulsed — coukl you forget? That moment's clinging, tempting bliss, Seems worth a w hole life of regret. Y'^our warm face quivered on my breast. So long before 1 let you go ; For I, in Paradise, was blessed Full well beneath that mistletoe. In dreams I oft repeat that night. While ])ausing 'neath some verdant bough; The distant strains, that leaping light. My madilened jnilse, long sobered now! And oft I've wondered, love, since then. As Yule-log seasons come ami go, If you recall that dear one, when I kissed you 'neath the mistletoe. Ah, me ! The strongest are but weak, When pushing 'gainst fate's iron chain ; Crushed passions, which we dare not s|)eak, .\re tliifse that wear upon the brain. Hut wiielher better to forget 'I'lmt Christmas pagi' of long .igo, I woiilil not, it 1 could, regret One moment ne.uh its mi>tletoe. So often, when I jkiss you by, .\ serf where you are throned a ipieen, I wonder if nou ne\er sigh. Or weep, perchance, when all unseen! And if we two shoiihl stand again, Alone, as in that grand Yule glow, Wcjiild you be tender, love, as when I kissed you 'neath the mistletoe? M \KrilA v. li \1.AHAN. T THE CHANCiE. IIV leatures do not wear the light 'I'hey wore in happier ilays ; Though still there may be much to love, There's little left to praise. The rose has faded trom thy cheek — There's scarce a blush left now; And there's a dark and weary sign Upon thine altered brow Thy raven hair is dashed with gray, 'i'hine eyes are dim with tears ; And care, before tlu' youth is jiast, Has done the w ork of years. Beautiful wreck ! for still thy face, Though changed, is very fair : Like beaut\'s moonlight, left to show Her morning sun was there. l.F.riTI \ I".. L.VNDON, THE HUNTER'S SERENADE. TH\' bower is finished, fairest ! Kit bower for hunter's bride — • Where old woods overshadow The green savanna's sitle. I've wandereil long, and wandered far. And never have 1 met. In all this lovely western land, A spot so lovely yet. But I shall think it fairer. When thou art come to bless, With thy sweet smile and silver voice, Its silent loveliness. For thee the wild grape glistens, On sunny knoll and tree. The slim jiapaya ripens Its yellow fruit for thee. For tliee the duck, on glassy stream. The ])rairie-fowl shall die. My rifle for thy feast shall bring The wild swan from the sky. ALBUM OJ- I.O\'E. 199 L-UK, love, 'I'lic forest's leaping pantlier, Fierce, beauliliil, and tket, >hali \iei(l lii> sijottcd iiidf to Ije A (arpet tor tiiy I'eet. 1 know, lor thou iiast told me, I'liy maiden love ol llowers ; All, tiiose tiiat deck thy {gardens Are pale compared with our^. When our wide uood', and mighty lawns Hkiom to tile Ajnil skies. The eaitli lias no more gorgeous sight I'o sliow to human e\es. In meadows red with blossoms. Ail sunniier long, the l)ee Murmuis, and loads liis yellow tin , l''()r tlice, my love, and me. Or wcjuldst tliou ga/.e at tokens Of ages long ago — Our old oaks stream with mosses, And sprout with mistletoe ; And mighty vines, like ^erjients, climb The giant sy< amore ; And trunks, o'erihrown Ibr ( cnturies, Cumber the forest floor; And in the great savanna. The solitary mound, Huilt by the elder world, o'erlooks 'I'he lonelinos arouiul. Come, thou has not lorgotten Th)' pledge and ])romise ipiite, With many blushes nnirmured, Heneadi the evening light. Come, tlie young violets crowd my door, Thy earliest look to win, And at my silent window-sill The jessamine peeps in. All day the red-bird warbles, I'pon the n)ul berry near. And the night-sparrow trills her song, All night, with none to hear. W. C. Hrvant, THE LOVELINESS OF LOVE. I r is not beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair. Tell me not of your starry eyes, \'onr lii)s that seem on roses fed. Your breasts, where ('upid tumbling lies Xor sleeps lor kissing of his bed — A bloomv j)air of vermeil cheeks Like Hel)e's in her ruddiest hours. A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooinsi flowers ; These are but gauds; nay, what are lips? Coral beneath the ocean-stream. Whose brink when yoni adventurer slips I'lill olt he pcri>helli on them. .\nd what are ( heeks, but ensigns oft Th.it wave hot \oiitli to fields f)f bhjod? Did Helen's bn ast though ne er so soft, l)o (iree(e nr I limn aii\ gni)d ? Eyes can with baleful ardor burn , I'oison can breath, that erst perlumed; There's main a white hand liold> an urn With lover's hearts to dust con>>iinied. For (■r)'^.tal brows there's naught within; They are but empty cells lor iiruic ; He who the .Siren's hair would win Is mo>tl\ strangled in the tide. (five me, instead of beauty's bust, A lender heart, a loyal mind, AN'hich with temptation 1 would trust, ^'et ne\er linked with error liiul — One in whose giuitle bo-.om I (oiild |M)ur my secret heart of woes. Like the c ire-burdened hone\-tly That hides Ins mnrniurs in the rose— M\' earthly ( onil'orter ! whose love So indefeasible might be That, when my spirit wonned above, Hers could not stay, for symi)athy. MV DEAR AND ONLY LOVE. M A \' dear and only lose. I jiray. This noble world of thee I5e governed by no other sway 15ut ])iirest monarchy. For if confusion have a i)art, Which virtuous souls abhor, And hold a syno ' in thy heart, I'll never love liiee more. Like .\lexander I will reign. And I will reign alone. My thoughts shall evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small. That puts it not unto the touch, To win or lose it all. James Oraham. WOOING. LITTLE bird once met another bi"d. And whistled to her, " Will you be my mate?" With fluttering wings she twittered, Wo'^ absurd ! Oh. what a sillv i>ate !" Vk 1 ,11 ' r\\\ <\ i And olf inti) ;i distant trci- she flew, lo lind concealiiieiil in the shady cover; Ami ]).issed tiie hours in sl\ly pcrping throngli At her rejected hjver. Tliejdted l)ird, with drooping heart and win;;, I'onred lortli his uriel' all day in plaintive songs; Telling in sadness to the ear of spring The storv of his wrongs. But little th(jii.L;lu he, while (•a( h nook and dell With the wild niii>ii of Ins iilaint was thrillini; LOVi; is enough. Let lis not seek for golil. Wealth breeds false aims, and priile and Mlii>hnes^ : In tiiose serine, .Xreuiian days of old Men gave no thought to prim ely homes and dress. The gods who duelt in f.iir Olympia's height. Livetl oiil_\' for dear love and lo\e's delight ; 1 .ove is enough. ALBUM (>/•■ LOl-R. I That stornfiil breast with sighs began to swell— Half-pitying ami lialf-\\ dliiig. .Next month I walked the s.ime se(|ne>tered way, When close together on a twig 1 spied them ; .And in a nest half-hid with leaves tliere lay I'oiir little birds beside them. Coy maiil, this moral in your lar I droj': When lover's hopes within iheir hearts \.]it jirison, I'ly out of sight and hearing; lio not slop To look behind and listen. ||>I1N li. L. SoLll. LOVE IS ENOUGH. T^ove is enough. Whv snouiii we (are .Vinbition is a most unpleasant guest : It lures 'is with the gloiy of a name Far from the hai)py haunts ol' ]ieace ami rest Let us stay here in this secluded pl.ice, ,\Lnde iieautiful by love's endearing grace : Love is enouuh. fame ? Love is enough. Why should we strive for pom r? It brings men onl\ envy and distrust ; The ])oor world's homage pleases but an houi, .\inl earthlv honors vanish in the ilust. The grandest Wws are ofttinies desolate ; Let .ne be loved, and let who will be great ; l.ove is enough. Love is enough. Why should we ask for more? What greater gift have gi)ds vouchsafed to meiir What better boon of all their ])recious store Than our I'ond hearts that love ami love again r Old love mav die ; new lose is just as sweet ; And life is fair, and all the v.orld complete ; Love is enough. Kl.l \ WllF.l.I.KK Win (IX. TO AN ABSENT WIFE. 7'T^l.s morn ; the se,i bree/.e -eems to bring I b'V. health, and freshness on its wing ; ■^ bright tlowers, to me all stiangeand new, Are glittering in the early dew; .\nd perfumes riKep Is on the blue waves iif the ileep ; .\ sot't ha/e, like a fairy dream, Is floating over hill and stream ; And many a broad magnoli.i flower Within its shadowy woodbind bower Is gleaming like a lo\'ely star ; r.ut I am sad — thou art afiir. 'Tis eve ; on earth the siin>et skies .\re jiainting their own Ltlen dves ; The stars < ome down, and trembling glow Like blossoms in the waves below ; .•\nd, like some unseen sprite, the breeze Seems lingering 'mid the orange-trees. Breathing in music round the sjiot : Hut 1 am sa'.l — I see thee not. 'Tis miilnight ; widr a soothing spell The tar tones of the ocean swell. Soft as a mother's cadence mild. Low bending o'er her sleeping child : And on each wandering bree/.e aie heard 'i'he rich notes of the mocking-bird In man\' a wiUl and wondrous !a\ ; ]!ut 1 am sad — thou art away. I sink in ilreams, low, sweet, ami clear; Thv own dear voice is in my ear ; Around my cheek thy tresses twine. Thy own loved liand is ( lasped in mine, 'I'hy own sol't lip to mine is pressed. Tin- head is pillowed on my breast. Oh : I ha\e all my heart holds tlear ; And I am hajipy — thou art here. Oeokci: 1). Prentice. NARRATIVES IN VERSE: INCLUDING TALES OF ADVENTURE AND ROMANCE. MAS5ACRE Al FORT l)B:ARB(>RN. CHICA(i(), 1812. t )RN ui tlic jiraiiie ami ilu- wave — tlic liliie sia ami llic ^reen. A (ity Ot' the ()(( ideiU, Cliu Ai.n, lay lietwcen; Dim trails uinjii the meadow, faint wakes ti|)ea a s( hooiier ami a canvas-cDvereil wain. 1 saw a dot upon the ma;i, and a hoiise-lly\ llimsy win.u — They said 'twas I)earl>()rn's jiirket Hag when Wili'.ermss was king: 1 lieard the reed-Mrd's morning s.n- — the Indian's awkuard llail — Tiie ri( e tattoo in his rude < anoe like a dash ot' A|iril iiail- — The headeil grasses' rustling bend — the swash of tlie la/\ tide Where ships shake out the salted sails and navit's grandly ride! I heard the lilo( kdiouse gates unliar, the < nlmnn's M)lenHi tre.id, I saw the tree of a single leaf its splendid foliage shed To wave awhile that August morn above the column's head ; I lieard the moan of nniflled drum the woman's wail of fife, The 1 )ea(.i March jjlayed for Hearborn's men just marciiing out of lite. The swooping of the savage iloud that burst ujion the rank And strui k it with its thundi-'rbolt in Ibrehead and in Hank. The spatter of the nuisket-shot, the ritles' whistling rain — The sand-hills drift round ho]ie forlorn that never marched again ! Hf.niamin 1'. r.WLOR. AN INCIDENT OF THE FIRE AT HAMBLIROH. Tlll'^ tower of old Saint Nii holas soared uji- ward to the skies, Like some huge piece of nature's make the growth of centuries; You could not deem its crowiiing sjiires a work of human art, They seemed to struggle lightvvanl so from a sturdy living heart. \ut nature's self more freeh' speaks in ( rystnl or in oak Than, through the pious builder's hand, in that gray pile she spoke ; And as from acorn sjirings the oak. so. freely and alone Sprang from his heart this hymn to (mmI. sung in obedient stone. It seemed a wondrous freak of chance, so perfect. yet so rough, A whim of nature crystallized slowly in granite tough ; The thick spires yearned toward the skv in cpiaint harnioniiMis lini'S. And in broad sunlight basked and slept, like a grove of blasted i)ines. \e\er did rock or stream or tree lav < laim with better right 'I'o all the adorning s\nii>athies of shadow and of light: And in that lore t ji'Mrified. ,is fore>ler there dwells Stout Herman, the old sacristan, sole lord of all its bells. Surge leaping after surge, the fire roared onward. red as blood. Till half of Hamburgh lay i^ngulfed beneath the edd\ ing llood ; I'or miles awa\ . the llerv' s|)ray pouretl down its deadly rain. And back anci I'orth the billows drew . and jxiused. and broke again. 201 ir I ill :? 1.1,? m ^h- I ! } 7 U I qti,ire to Sc|iiari.', \vill\ ti.;cr W:\\\>, still cm And, ere a /(//»•;■ lull' was suiil, 'mid sinoki- jiml .iiul oti It taiiu' : I ia< kliii^ Klarr, Tiic .lir to Iri'ward tremMcd witli tiie I'.iiitinn' "' "'"• '■'I'lnd in\\i.r m ar< f juts il> iir.nl .iIminc i||,. the llaiiic, wide di'^pair. And t luiK li and lahu f, wliicii I'vcii imw simid ,.,,., uiK'lin.'d l>ut to thf kiRv. ^ i'f'" "'^" l'*^'^'' ^ di'>i>ciatr \,vA Ins luMrt >t.M„l I. lit tlicir l.l.uk roofs like Lrrakor-, lour amid the ,, . "I"'"l'l|i'i<-' i rusliiiv sia l '"'''^ ihi)Hj;hi was tor (.oil aiiovi'. his next w.i, lor his t hiiiif ; I'll in his towiTdld Ilcrinan sit .ind w.it<;licd with "Siiij; now. ami iiiaki' \our \oi hcird in lumn-, iiuii't look ; i)( |iraisi'." < ri'il lie, llis soul had trusted (lod too Ion- to lie ,ii l,i>t " As did tin.' Israelites ol' old, Hale-walkin),' tliniti^tn torsook : He could not fear, for siirel)- (iod a ii,itliw.i\ woiikl unfold 'I'liroiiyh tliis red sea, for t'ailhlul iiear'.s, ai nin c he ilid of old. tlir sfa ! •' Through this reil sea nur (iod hatii made un jjatlnva) safe to shore ; Oiir promised land stands lull in si^dit ; shout now as ne'er before." Hut •■rarcely can he < toss himsell'. or on hi-< good .\nd. as the tower < .iine ( rashini; down, the licll,, saint t dl, j in < lear aciord, Ucfore the sai riicuious lloiid u'erle.ii'rd the t hurch- I'ealed forth the ;;raiid old (Hrman Ininn — • .\|| yard wall. j ^ood souls jir.ii^e th.e Lord ! " JaMKS Rrs^Kl.l. J-uWKLl.. THE DYINQ WARRIOR. WorNDIJ) chieftain, lying ' In tiium|ih down the flood, l!y the D.inulie's leal\ side, | I'Voin th.ii da\ 's field of Mood, 'i'hiis faintly said, in dying, A "Oh ! bear, thoii foaming tide This gift to my lady bride." 'Twas then, in life's List iiuiver, lie flung the si ai f he wore Into the lb. lining ris-er. Whirl), ah too quickly, bore Tiiat pledge of one no more! With fond iin])atience burning. The chieft.iin's lady stood. To watch her love returning 9'T^WAS midnight dark, I The seaman's bark *■ Swift o'er the waters bore Hut, field, ala-, ! ill-fated, 'i'he l.idy saw. insti'ad Of the bark who-e speed she wailetl. Her hero's scarf, all red With the ilrops his heart had shed. When, through the night; He spied a light Shoot o'er the wave before him. "A sail : a sail '." he cries; •• She comes from the Indian shore. And to-night shall be our prize. With her freight of golden ore; Sail on ! sail on !" When morning shone. He saw the gold still clearer ; Hut, though so fast 'I"he waves he passed. That boat seemed never the nearer. Bright daylight came, And still the same Rich bark before hiir. floated ; One shriek — and all w.is over — Her life-pulse ceased to beat ; The gloonu' wa\es now cover That liridal llower no sweet. And ihe sc arf is her winding-sheet. Thomas Mookk. THE INDIAN BOAT. While on the prize i His wishful eyes urn, 1 Like an\- \oung lover's doted : " More sail ! more sail !" he cries, \\hile the waves o'ertoj) the mast; And his bounding galley flies. Like an arrow before the blast. Thus on, and on. Till day was gone. And the moon through heaven did hie her, He swejjt the main. Iiut all in vain, That boat seemed never the nigher. And many a ilay To night gave way. And inanv a morn succeeded : While still his flight. Tlirough dav and night. That restless mariner sjieeded. M/A'A'J/y;7:.S /.V /'//v'S/; *Jo:i "T Who kiiiiw-» — wlu) k 111 )ws what sci.s Ho IS now c.ircfriii^i o'er? Itchiiiil, thf til riial lin'c/o, Ami ih.it Mini kiiif; hark, I a- tore ! I'or, oh till r>k\ Aiitl i-urth Nlinll (lie, Aiul their death leave noiir to rue it, That tioai iiiii-,'hing, said, " Oh no ! I only meant I hi' loads ot' snow rpon the roofs. The harii is weak ; 1 ^;reatly tear tiie roof will break. So hand me up the spade, my dear, 111 inoimt theli.iii, the loof to (lear." " No !" .said the wife; "the hani is hi;;h, And if you slij), and fall, and die, How will my liviiij,' lie sei iired? — .Siephen, \oiir life is not injured. Hilt tie a rope your waist aroiiiul, And it will ho.d you safe and sound." " I will," said he. " Now for the rcjof — .Ml siiiiglv t'ed, and danger-proof I I'lxcelsiorl I'.xci'l --Hut no I riie rope is not se( iired below!" Said Rachel, "t'liinb, tiie end to tlirow .■\( TOSS the top, and I will go .'\nd tie that end around my waist." •' Well, every woman to her taste ; Vou always would be tightly l.ued. Rachel, when you became my bride, I tliuught the knot stciiiel\' tied ; but li-'st the bond should break in twain, I'll have it fasteneil once again." I'elow the arm-pits tied around. She takes her station on the ground, Wjiile on the roof, beyond the ridge, He shovels clear tiie lower edge. Hut, sad mis< hance ! the loosened snow Comes sliding down, to ])liinge below. .Xnd as he tumbles with the slide. Up Rachel goes on t'other sitle. Just half-way ilown the Justice hung; Just half-way up the woman swung. " Good land o' (loshen !" shouted she ; " Why, do you see it?" answered he. The couple, dangling in the breeze. Like turkeys, liiing outsitle to freeze, At their rope's eiul and wit's end, too, .Shout back and forth what best to do. Cried .^tepluii, "Take it coolly, wife; .Ml hive tluir lips .ind dowii> in life" (^(iioili ka< hel. •• What a pity 'lis To jokr ,it ^m li a tinii' a-, this ? A man whoic witc is being hung Should know enough to iiold his tongue." '• Now, Rachel, as 1 look below , I see a templing hc.i|( of si.ow. Siip|)ose, my de.ir, I Like my knife, ■\iid cut the rope to -.avf my lile?" Sheslioiiteii, "Don't! 'twould be my dcalli-^ I see some |)ointed stones beneath. A better way would be to ( .ill, With all our niighi, lor I'li.bc H.iU," " .\greed !" he roared. Kir-^t he, then she Ciave tongue; "(> I'liebe ! I'hebe ! /'//,'-<•. /y Hall!" in tones both line and coarse, I'jiougli to in.ikf a drover hoarse. Now riiebe, over at the faim, Was sitting, sewing, snug .iml w.iriii ; Hut hearing, as she thought, her name. Sprang ii|i, and to the rescue < ame ; Beheld the scene, and thus she thought: " If now a kitchen (hair were broiiglit. And I could re.u h tl.e lad\'s foot, I'll dr.iw her down^atd by the boot, Then cut the rope, and let him go; He cannot miss the pile of snow. ' He sees her moving towards his wife, Armed with a chair and ( .irving-knife, Aiul, ere he is auare, pen eives His head ascending to the eaves; ,\nd, guessing wliat the two are at, Screams from beneath the roof, '■ Stop that ! Vou m.tke me tall too far, by half I ' But I'hebe answers, with a laiigii, " I'lease tell a body by what right You've brought your wife to such a pliidit !" And then, with well dire< ted blows, She cuts the rope and down he goes. T'le wife iintietl, they walk around. When lo ! no Ste[)hen can be t'oimd. They c.dl in vain, run to and fro; They look around, above, below ; No trace or token can they see. And deeper grows the mysterv. Then R.ichel's he.irt within her sank; Hut, glancing at the snow\- bank, Slie caught a little gleam of hope — A gentle movement of the rope. Thev scrape awav a little snow ; What's this? a' hat: Ah I he's below. Then n])ward heaves the snowy pile, And forth he stalks in tragic style. Unhurt, and with a roguish smile ; And Rachel sees, with glad surprise, The missing found, the fallen rise. Hknkv Reeves. ; I ! A SMi A lull -•Av. sirJ r.eatinj Sleil A Q„ NA/^A'.r/'/r/uS /.V I'/iRSE. 2(»: A SMAl.l, bririk woman, <;aiii)ed witli many a liow ; ••Yes," so she says, "and \oungcr, loo, tlian some," Who bids me, husllinu. " Crodspeed," wlieii I go. And gives me. rustUng, "Welcome," when 1 come. MY LANDLADY. Wliere is lie?" " .\h. sir, he is dead--my hoy ! Full thirty \ears a,:^o — in 'sixt\--three ; He's ahv.iNs living in my head — my boy I He was lelt drowning; in tiie Southern Sea. riiere vvere two souU washed overboard, the\ said, And one the w.ives brought b.ick ; but lie wa.s left. Thev saw him placx- the lilVdmoy o'er his lu-ad ; The se I was running wiKlh ; — he was left. • A\, sir, 'tis colu — and tree/ing haril, they say: I'tl like to gi\e that hulking brute a hit — beating his hor.se ill such a shameful way I— __ '• He was a strong, siron- swimmer. Do you Step here, sir, till your hre s bla/ed up a bit. know .\ musky haunt of lavender and shells. i When the wiiul whislletl yesternight, 1 cried, Quaint-figured ("hinese monsters, toys, and .Xml prayed to ("loil — though 'tw.is so K)ng ago — travs — He did not struggle inui h belt "-e he tlied. r ,-*r. ' Ul^^ -V^%^ ^ Ai A life's collection — where each object tells Of fashions gone and half-forgotten wa)s : — A glossy screen.where wide-month dragons ramp ; A vexed inscription in a sampler-frame ; A shade of beads upon a red-capped lam]) ; A child's mug graven with a golden name ; A pictured ship, with full-blown canvas set ; A card, with seaweed twisted to a wreath, Cin ling a silky Curl as black as jet. With yellow writing faded underneath. Looking, I sink within the shroiuled chair. Ami note the objects, slowly one by one, And light at last upon a portrait there — Wide-collared, raven-haired. " Yes, 'tis mv son!" ■ 'Twas his third vo\age. That's the box he brought — Or would have brought, my poor deserted boy! .\iid these the words the agents sent — they thought 'I'hat money, perliaps, could make my loss a joy, ' Look, sir, I ve something here that I jjrize more, This is a fragment of the poor lad's coat — That other clutcheil him as the wave went o'er. And this stayed in his hand. That's what they wrote. ' Well, well, 'tis done. My story's shocking you; Orief is for them that have both time and wealth ; We can't mourn much, who have much work to do; ^'our fire is bright. Thank Ood, I have my health?" Austin Dobson, 2(UJ NARRATIVES /N VERSE. \S i \ KNIGHT TOGQENBURQ. (4 T/^ NIGHT, to love thee like a sister 1^ \'o\vs this heart to thee ; *■ ^ Ask no other, warmer feeling — That were pain to me. TraiKinil would I see thy coming, Tran(|iiil see thee go ; Wliat that starting tear would tell me, I must never know," He with silent anguish listens, Tliough liis heart-strings lileed ; Clas]is her in iiis last eiiihraces, Springs upon his steeil ; Summons every faitiitul \assal From his Aljiine home ; liinds thi' cross upon iiis Ijosom, Seeks the Holy Tomb. Thert .till many a deed ot" glory Wrouglit the hero's arm ; Foremost still his jjlumage floated Where the IbcMiien swarm ; Till tlie Moslem, terror-stricken, Quailed before his name ; — But the pang that wrings l;is bosom Lives at heart the same. One long \ear he bears his sorrow, Hut no more can bear ; Rest he seeks, but fuuling never, Leaves the army there; Sees a ship h\ Joppa's haven, Wiiich, with swelling ..ail, Wafts iiint where his lady's breathing Mingles with the gale. At her father's castle-portal Hark ! his knock is heard : See ! the gloomy gate uncloses With the thunder-word : " She thou seek':.t is veiled forever, Is the bride of heaven ; Yester-eve the vows were plighted — She to ("lod is given." Then ins old ancestral castle He forever flees ; Battle steed and trusty weapon Nevermore he sees. From the 'I'oggenburg descending I'orth imknown he glides; Fur the frame once sheathed in iroa , . Now the sackcloth hides. There beside that hallowed region He hath built his bower, Where from out the dusk\ linden'; Looked the convent-town r ; Waiting from the morning's glim- mer Till the day was clone, Traill |uil hope in every feature, Sat he there alone. (la/iiig ui)W'ard to the convent, 1 lour on hour he passed ; Watching still his lady's lattice 'Till it o]ied at last ; Till that form looked t'orth so lovely. Till the sweit faie smiled Down into the lonesome valley, i'eacelul, angel mild. Then he laid him down to slumber, Cheered by ]ieacel'iil dreams, Calmly waiting till the morning Showed again its beams. Thus for days he watched and waited, Thiis for \ears he lav, Happy if he saw the lattice ( )pen day by day — If that form looked forth so Invely, If the sweet face smikd Down into the lonesome valley, Peaceful, angel-mild 'There a corpse they found him sitting Once when day returneil. Still his pale and placid features To the lattice turned. F. VON SCHIIXER. '-joaAi—ow XAkKATIVnS AV l'/:RSE. •2.07 S PHILLIPS OF PELHAMVILLE. HORl" is the story I say, if you will Hear it, of l'hillij)s of J'elhainviik- : An engineer for many a day Over miles and miles of the double \va\-. Dav and night, in all kinds of weather, H'.' and the engine he drave together. I (HI fancy this Phillips as one in my mind With little of speech to waste on his kind, Always sharp and abrupt of tone, Wlu'tlier off iluty or standing on. Willi liiis firm belief in himself that he reckoned lli-> duty first ; all the rest was second. Sh(jrt is the story I say, if you will Hear it, of I'hillips of IVlhanivilk'. He was out that day, running sharp, for he knew lb' must siiunt ahead for a train overdue, The .Soutii l'l\|)ress coming on behind With the swing and rush of a mighty wind. No need to say in this verse of mine How accidents happen along the line. A rail lying wide to the gauge aliead, A signal clear when it shoukl be retl ; An axle breaking, the tire of a wherl Snapping off at a hidden llaw in tiie steel. Enougli._ 'riu-re were wagons piled up in the air, As if some giant had tossed tiiem tlure. Riils iiroken and bent like a willow wand, And sleepers torn up througli the ballast and sand. 'I'lie iiiss of the steam was heard, as it rushed riirough the safety-valves of the engine, crushed Deep into tlie sli)])e, like a monster driven To iiide itself from the e\ e of heaven. But where was Phillips? From underneath 'V\\t tender wheels, with their gri|) of death, They drew him, S( aided bv steam, and burned Hv the engine fires as it overturned. Thev laid him gently ui>on the slope, I'lien knelt beside him with little ol ho|ie. Though dving, he was the oidy one Of them all that knew what ouglit to be done; Kor his failing eye grew cpiick with a fear, As if of some danger approaching near. And it sought — not the wreck of his train that lay Over the six and the four-feet way — but down the track, for there himg on his mind The South Express < oming up behind. •And he half arose with a stifled groan. While his voice had the sanie old ring in its tone : "Signal the Soutii Exjiress!" he .said. Then fell back in the ar'ns of his stoker, dead. Short, as you sec, is this story of mine, And of one more hero of the line. For hero he was, though before his name Cloes forth no trumpet-l)last of fa.ne. Yet true to his duty, ;is steel to steel. Was Phillips the driver of IVlhamville. .■\l.K\ ANDKK AnDKKSON. THE FAMINE. FROM II I A W A 1 II \. I N the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests that watclied her. With the Famine and tiie I'ever. She was lying, the beloved, She the dying Minneiiaha. " Hark !" siie said, " I hear a rushing. Hear a roaring and a rusiiing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance !" "No, my child !" .said old Nokomis, "'Tis the night-wind in the jiine-trees !'' " Look !" site .said, " 1 see mv father Standing lonely at his doorway, Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the lan\l of the I )acotahs !" "N(j, my child !" said old Nokomis, "'Tis the smoke that wa\es anil beckons I" "Ah !" she said, " tlie eyes of Paiiguk (ilare upon me in the darkness. 1 can feel his icy lingers Clasping mine amid the darkness! Hiawatiia ! Hiawatha!" And the desijlate Hiawatiia, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish. Heard the voice of Minnehaha Calling to him in the darkness, " HiAW.vTHV ! Hiawatha !" Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-en< uinbe ed brandies, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empt\-iianded, iiea\y -hearted, Heard .Nokomis moaning, wailing; "Wahonowin ! W'ahonowin I Would tiiat 1 had |)erislied for you, Woiikl that I were dead as vou are! Wahonowin ! Wahonowin 1" And he rushed into the wigwam, Saw the old .Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely T.Iinnehaha Liing dead and cold before him, And his bursting heart within him i :■ PI .■ \ *1 1 ''IF' .'If' I m p1 1 ■ li 1 ( \ 5J(>« NARRATIVES /N I'LRSE. \ "Uttered sucli a cry of angiiisli, That the t'orest mnaiied and sliuddered, Tliat the very stars in lieaven Shook and treml)led with his anguish. Then he sat down still ami speechless, On the l)ed of Minnehaha, At the feet of I.aiif,diii u, Water, At liK)se williiii,' feet, thai never More would lightly rini to meet him, >*ever more would liglitly follow. With both hands his face he covered, Seven long days and nights he sat there, .As if in a swoon he sat there, Sp'echless, motionless, unconscious Of the da\ light or tiie d.irkness. Then they buried Minnehaha ; In the snow a grave the\' made her, In the forest ticep anil darksome, L'ndjineath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richi-st garments, Wrajijied her in her robes of ermine, Covered her with snow, like ei mine ; Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fne was lighted. On her grave lour ti.nrs was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the lUessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Fighting i.p the gloomy hemlocks; From his sleepless bed uprising, Irom die bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watched it at the doorway, That it might not be extingtiished. Might not leave her in the darkness. "Farewell!" said he, ''Minnehaha; Farewell, O my Laughing Water! All my heart is burietl with you, All my thoughts go onward with you ! Come not back again to labor. Come not back again to .suffer. Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be < ompleted. Soon \onr footstejis 1 shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed. To the Kingdom of I'onemah, To the Land of the Hcreatter!" H. W. l.D.vcrF.i.i.ow. CONDUCTOR BRADLEY. CONDUCTOR llradley 'alway.s may his name lie said with reverence I) as the swift doom j came, , Smitten to death, a crushed and mangled frame. Sank with the brake he grasjjed jim where he stood To do the utmost that a brave in.iii could. And die, if needful, as a triu- m.ui should. Men stooi>ed above him ; women dropped their tears On that iioor wreck beyond all hopes or fears, Lost in t'le strength and glory of his years. What heard they? Lo! the ghastly lijis of pain. Dead to all thought save dutv's, moved again : ■• Put out the signals for the other train !" No nobler utterance since the world began, From lips of saint or martyr ever ran, Flectric, through the sympathies of man. Ah, me ! how poor and noteless seem to this The sick bed drama of self-consciousness — Our sensual fears of pain and hopes of bliss ! Oh, grand, supreme endeavor ! Not in vain That last brave act of failing tongue and brain I Freighted with life, the downward-rushing train. Following the wrecked one as wave follows wave, Obeyed the warning which the deail lips gave. Others he saved, lumself he could not save ! Nay, the lost life was saved. He is not dead Who in his record still the earth shall tread With Ciod's clear aureole shining roimd his head. We bow as in the dust, with all our pride Of virtue dwarfed the nol'/e deed beside, Ciod give us grace to live as Bradley died ! J. G. Whittier. SHE had 1] Of A \nd wi Whol ■fl,,,re was naf So cliam e Vor a bli/./,arJ Nor anylbi] She had oftei And in si'l .\iul woiHlerf ( )r of ghol W'nen she wf I'hat angtl .\n.l tol.l he| I or her Vran And Amy s That I !<;■ With nothi Mv takii l-or 1 faint Would r And al tl^o Am read ■ ■ 1 am Old I'o acco \vx rush t( And a h What I'laii Ring A Nor ever i Than 1 ■Vhat nig;l And A l-\.r the t And SI The stai' Her n And she Who- She stn She 1 Oh, wh And T'nere- ller N.iugh Am Ouick "To Streii Sh But s SV jVA A' A'. 17/1 7iS /.V I liRSH. JOt> |ver 'O'iy. •'■>:;.(, ou- n)a\ ')ls -<' 'raiiie, ""''Vf ,„,,„ ''■'■"■ iiijii all ii„p,,,j 'e ghasily - dutv's, IS ; I Jl liii ! rain, e. ;ad. A GIRL HEROINE. SHE had lieard of heroines l.ir away, Ol" woiulerl'iil deeds that t;iris had done, And wished that she were as brave as llie\ W'lio such an amount ut" praise liad won. Th' re was naught she could do to gain renown, No chance for a coninionplice girl like her ; I'or a l)liz/,ard never hitl reached the town. Nor anything else liial maile a stir. Siio had often read of Joan of Arc, Ami in spirit followed the tlaring maid, And wondered if she was scared at the dark. Or of ghosts and goblins had been afraid Wiien she was a child. .\nd was it true That angels came to her in a trance, And told her exactly what to thj for iier Jionor, and the glor\' and good of I'lanix- ? .•\nd Amy sighed ; and she saiil : " "Pis well Tiiat I leati an easy and quiet life, W'ltli nothing that's likely to compel .My taking ])art in such active strife; f M 1 faint a' -ay at the sight ol" blood, Would run a nule to a\()id a cow, .\n(l at thought of terrors of fne and flood .\m ready to go in hysterics now. •• [ am only brave in ni\- tlreams, antl then To accomiilish my ])ur|)ose I never fail, li'it rusli to the charge witli valiant meiu .And a heart that scoffs at a coal -of mail. What plans 1 make! and wiial deeds 1 do ! King Arthur hi- ..elf had no gramler schemes, Nor ever more glorious triumphs knew Than 1 — in my rapturous girlish dreams.'' That night came a wild, fierf:e cry of *• Fire !" •And Amy sprang from her couch with a scream, Fur the flames about her were drawing nigher, .And seemeil at first like a horrid dream. The stairs were a'olaze ; antl below them stooil Her mother — the young babe in her arms — And she looked as oidy a mother could Whose heart was tortured with wi-ue alarms. -She strove to speak, but her lips were dumb ; Siie tried to move, but she could not stir ; <)ii, wiiv should horror lier strength benumb, .And at tliis moment so crip|)le her? There — -above — in an inner room — Her children slept, while the flames rose higher ; N.nigiit could avert their fearful doom : .And between her and them was this wall of fire ! ',>iuck as a flash did Amy speed To the bed where nestled each tiny elf; Strength was given for the hour of need. She had no time to think of herself, But seizing each, with a loving kiss She hushed their fears, and then hurled them so 14 f)\er the fierv red ab\s.-i I'hat tiiev were caught by the men below. I'heu .\my stood at the head of ilie >t.ur .Alone and pallid — but not with night ; .\nd she looked like an angel standing there, Crowned with a halo of dazzling light. She did not kno\\ that thev called her name. Nor he.ird them shrieking, •' Jtnn]i ! jiun|) this wa\' ! Her ga/e was fixed on the lurid fl.ime. .And she kne.\ 'twas fatal to long tlela\-. So o\er the chasm, w ith fl\ ing leap, Hid .Amy go into out>tret(iu'tl hands. That were eager the hungry tlames to kee|i l''njm leaving their mark on these ])reciou.s brantls, Plucked fron> the burning. .And oh, what bli.ss To gaze once more on her mother's fa % To be rewarded with kiss on kiss. When ( losely iield in her f(Uid embrace ! From the noisy pluidits she shnmk dismayed. With a feeling that her deserts were small — • 'Twas but an impulse that she obeyed ; Vet she was a heroine alter all, And had learned the lesson that from above Is strength imparted for all our need>. And that e\en a chdd with a heart of love May astonish the woild with its mighty deeds. I THE FAITHFUL LOVERS. 'I) been a\va\- f oni here three \ears — .ibout that—' And I relurnetl to t'md my Maiy true ; .Anil thought Fd (piestion her, nor doubted that It was unnecessarv so to do. 'TNvas by the ( hinmey corner we were sitting ; "Mary," said I, •■have you been always true?" '■ Frankv," s.iid she-— iu>t ])uising in her knit- ting-- " I don't think I've unt'aith.'ul been to you; But for the three years \yd>t I'll tell you what I've tlone : then say if I've bfen true or not. ■' When tirst \ou left, m\' grief w is mn ontroUaltle, Alone 1 mourned m\- miserable lot, And all who saw me thought me in( onsolable. Till Cai>tain Clifford came from .Aldershott; To flirt with him amused me while 'twas new; I don't coimt that unfaithfulness. Do \ou? " The next— oh ! let me see — was I'reddy Phipps, 1 met him at my imcle's, Christinas-tide ; And 'neath the mistletoe, where li])s met lips. He gave me his first kiss" — and ht-e she sighed ; ■' We stayed six weeks at imcle's— how time tlew! I don't cotmt that unfaithfulness. Do you? * 210 NARRATIl'HS IN VEKSE. " Lord Cecil I'ossmorc, only twenty-one, I.tnt mc his horse. (3h, how \vi lode and raced ! We scoured the downs, we rode to hounds — such fun ! And otten was Ids arm around my waist — That was to lift me up or down. Hut who Would count that unfaithfulness? Do you? " Do you know Rigt;y Vere? Ah, how he sings! We met — 'twas at a jiicnic. Ah, such weather ! He gave me, look, the first of these two rings. I When we were lost in Cliefden woods to \ gether. .Ml, what iuipiiy times we spent, we two! I don't count that unfaithfulness to you. ' I've got another ring from him. D'you set The plain gold circle that is shining hen ?'* 1 took her hand : " Oli, Mary ! can it he That you" — quoth she, ''That I am Mrs. Vere. I don't count that unfaithfulness, do you?" ' No," 1 replied, " for i am marrikd, too." PI 1 ' ^X^'W^m(f^^'^>''- ' P^^'- > . . ^^^^^^^0P^ ^ A - ^ 'u'X/^-^^^' ^*>Jl^^'.', /'• ' ^.' „^' '» " . ^-^'/V -t* ■^•:- 1 1 \ A ' ' ' i ,- -'tf-^ p. *^ :,..■•' ;''... 1 1 ■ ' ■ ■ :i '■■''■•' ■■-■■■A-'. V **■;.; » - ■" t\ ' ■if" ,'-. •■' r, '^ -.■•, ■/ \ . • ^ " V .. » L J^^ V^:^?^ ;^.^4..^:^; ;:|^^ • ■■■ 1^. -..-, '.''^ ... ^.--^'-^s L-"'.-^^^ '■-:r*'^" '-JL.^ **■ -^ , '■ ' ^ ' "-^-^-^ ■^*iS;'^*''.*a*.^ i^SH^'i^:^vlierc the village still >lc|it 'n(;ath the silent stars; .\(it I Miice they hear, to bid them cheer, Nut a house will loose its Dars. "Fh the village kirk, unblessed of man, IT u opens wide its door ; And. >helter found, they kneel around III jirayer on its unstained floor. Tluir iieaits they raise, in a hymn of praise, A i^lad, thanksgiving song ; What bishop or choir with a joy like theirs? What hallowing rite so strong? And the benediction lingers yet. Like tiie dew or tiie gracious rain ; For thf clouds that rise, and float to the skies, Must fall to the earth again. Wai PEK Baxendale. THK CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT BALAKLAVA. 1 rum Sei>tembcr, 1S54, to Iiiiie, 1S56, Balaklava, a small Greek li^!)in(;villai,'e in the Crimea, wa, the Itritish head- (|uarlprs (luring tlie < rimcan war. Here the famous charge of ihe Six Ilundred was made, OcIoIilt 25, ICS54, which has rendered the name of Halaklava glorioMS as that of Therino]pyhe. The ballad was written, as Tennyson him- self tells us, after reading the report in a morning journal, wheie only six hundred and seven sabres were inentioneit as haviiii; taken part in the nia^^nihcent diarge. Later, the soldiers sang this ballad, now of world-wiile fame, by their watch-tires in tiie Crimea. H .VLF a league, half a league, Haifa league onward. All in the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. Into the valley of death Rode the six hundred ; For up came an order which Some one had blundered. " Forward, the light brigade ! Take the guns !" Nolan said : Into t!rk journal an- nouncing tiie death r)f John lit/patrick, one of the Light Brigade, who died of starvation in Kngland. He liad re- ceived a pension of sixpence a day, which, however, was withdrawn several years a'_;o, aiul he endeavored to eke out a miserable existence by riding in circus pageants. ( ild age and disease had unfitted him for this or any other work ; the only refuge for the disabled soldier was the workhouse, from which he shrank in horror. The verdict of tlie coroner's jury was : ' I )ied of starvation, and the case is a disgrace to Ihe War Office." Sl'EF.D the news ; speed the news ! Speed the neus onwartl ! "Died of starvation," one Of the Six Hundred : One who his part had played Well in the Light Brigade, Rode with six hundred. Food to the right of him. Food to the left of him, Food all around, yet The veteran hungered ; He, who through shot and shell Fearlessly rode, and well. And when the word was " Charge," Shrank not nor lingered. I: ■ 1) Mil 21'. NANNAT/r/iS /.V I7:A'S/:. " i){{ to tlie workhouse, you ! ' Hack ill di>iiia\' lie drew — Feelint,' lie iievcr kiunv When camioii tlmnderetl. Ills not to |>l(.ail or siyh. His hut to starve and die, And to a jianiicr^'s j,'ra\e Sink witli a soul as brave As throiipli tlie valoofdeatli Rode tlie six Inindred. Flashed a i)roud spirit there. L'p tlironj,'h the man's despair, Shaming the servile there, Scaring tlie timid, while Sordiil souls wnndered ; Th**!! turned to tare his fate Calmly, with a soul as great As when throiij;h shot and shell He rode with six hnndred I With hij;h hope elate, Lauyhini; in lace ol t'.ite — Rode with SIX hundred. Hunger hi' mate by d.iy, Sunilay and working ilay. Winter ami summer da\ — Shame on the nation ! StrugL'.liug with might and main, Smit widi disease and pain. He. ill N'ietoria's reign, '■ Died ol starvati yn." Wliile yet the land with jiride Tells of tlie headlong ride Of the six lumd.ed ; While yet the welkin rings. While yet the laureate sings, ■• Some one has bliiiulered ;" Let us with b.ited breath Tell how one starved to death — Of the six hundred. Wh.it can that bosom hide? t)h the dread death he died ! Well may men wonder — One of the Light Brigade, One who that charge had made, Died of sheer hunger. RIVER AND TIDE. OX the b.ink i>{ the river was seated one ilav .All old man, and (lose by his side Was a cliild who had paused frum his laughing and play 'I'o ga/e at the stream, as it hurried away To the sea. with the ebb of the tide. •' What see you. my child, in the stream, as it Hows 'i'o the Ol e.iii. so dark and deep ? Are you watching how swift, yet how silent it goes ? Thus hurry our lives, till they sink in repose, .\nd are lost in a measureless sleep. " Now listen, my bo\ ! \"ou are \oung. I a'n olii, And yet like two rivers are we ; Though the flood-tide of youth from time's oce.iii in rolled. Vet it ebbs all too soon, and its waters grow i old As it creeps back again to the sea. " " Hut the river returns:" cried the lioy. while hi- eyes C'lleamed bright at the water below. "Ah! yes," said the old man ; ••but time, as it liies, Turns the tide of our life, anil it ne^ercaii rise." " Hut first," said the boy, " it nnist flow." .\:iA'A\l77l7iS /.y VhKSi:. 2ia Thr, vv.iU liiiig its tdiirsi- frmu llio liaiik of the stream, Ihcv imiscd, as tin y sat side !>)■ sidi' ; llatli read diffireiii talt-s in tliu rivtr's l>rij;lit ylcam — One liorne witli llif llow of a ^loriDUs dream, And one K"'"K '"" "'^'' ''"^" ''^^■• All I nothing' like tiic heavy step Hetrays tlie li».a\y lieart. Jt is a usual history 'I'iiat Indian ^iri eould tell ; Fate sets apart one tonnnoii donni I'or all who love too well. 1 lie '• iiiiylily I .lU " in< ntinni-il in lliis ]i;i lliciii ]Hiprii was Niai;:ira, and tlu- in< ident is ii autlieiiticaud fact. SI IK sat alone beside !ier hearth — • I'or many nii^hts alone; She slept not on the ])leasant euuch W'iiere fraL,'rant herbs were strown. At first she bonnd her r,i\en h.iir With feather and with shell ; Hut thenshe hoped ; at lenL;th,likeniL;ht. .\r(iuiid her neck it fell. rhe\- saw her wantlerinj; 'mid the woods, Lone, with the ( heerless dawn. And then thev said, '• Can this be her We railed, ■' The Startled Fawn ?'" Her heart was in her larue sad eyes, Half stmshine and lialf shade; And love, as love first sprint^s to life, ( >f everythin.Lj afraid. The red baf far more heavily Fell down to antumn earth, Than her li,L;ht feet, which seemed to move To music and to mirth. With the licht feet of early youth, What hopes and joys dejjart ! The ])roiKl— the shy — the sensitive — Life has not many such ; They dearly buy their hajipiness, I'y feeling it too much. A stranger to her ibrest home, That fair young stranger came; They raised for him the funeral song — For him the funeral flame. Love sprang from \n\\ — and her arms Aronnd his arms she threw; She told her father, " If he dies, \'oiir daughter dieth too." For her sweet sake tluy set him free — lie lingere iLs smile, ."viul troni the eye its ligiit. I'oor < iiild ! she was a child in years — So timid and so )oui)g ; Will what a fond and earnest faitli To desperate hope .>he (lung ' His eyes grew (nld— his voice grew strange — They oidy gn w more dear. She served him nteekly, an.xiously, With lo\e— halt' faith, halt (ear. And can a fond and liithfiil luari I!e worlhlrss in those eyes For \\i\ich it heals? — Ah ! woe to those A\'ho such a heart despise. Toor chilli ! wiiat lonely days she ])assed, With nothing to recall lint hitter taunts, and c.iriless words, And looks more (oKl tluui all. Al.is ! for love, that sits at home, Forsaken, and yet fond • The grief that sits uesidc die hearth, I.ile has no grief lieyond. He left her, htit she followed him — She thought he could not hear When she had left her home for him To look on her despair. Adown the strange and mighty stream She took her lonel\ way ! The .stars at night her pilots were, As was the sun hy da\ . Yet mournfully — how mournfully ; — The Indian looked hehind, AVhen the last sound of voice or step Died on the midnight wind. Yet still adown the gloomy stream She ]ilied her weary oar ; Her husband — he had let"t their home, And it was home no more. She fourd him — hut she found in vain — He spurned lier from his side ; He said, her hrow w.as all too dark, For her to he his hride. She grasped his hands — her own were cold — And silent turned away. As she had not a tear to shed, And not a word to say. And pale as death she reached her hoH, .\nd guiiled it along ; With liroken voice she strove to raise .\ melancholy song. None w.itc hed the lonely Indian girl- She pa.^sed unmarked ol all. Until they saw her slight ( anoe .■\p[)roach the mighty Kail ! rpright, within that slender hoat i'liex- s.iw the pak' girl stand. Her d.irk liair streaming tar hehind— I praised her desjierale hand The air is filled with shriek an^^ill^; liTios hifall'i- a si-iiliiiiiMil Kiiulrnl lo thai of ihi' ;;llli'il luillmr'., lar-f;iiiU(l |i(kmii i-ritillti|j •• 1 loitir, Swi'ct lliiiii.'." 'I'lio (iric is llif i'i without a rival. THh'-RL once was a king on his throne of gold seateil ; llis co'irtiers in smiles were all staniling around ; riicy '.earil him with news ol fresh victories greeted ; The skies with the joy of his i)eoiile resound ; Ami all thought this king was mo>t thoroughly blest, I ;ll sadly he sighed fortii his secret unrest : " How much more delight to my bosom 'twould bring, Tit feel myself hapiiy, than know myself king ! " "Ah t! while such [lOwer and such treasure possessing,' (.A courtier, astonished, stept forward and cried), •' (!oul(l fortune bestow in exchange for the bless- ing'?" And thus to the courtier the king straight replied : " Health, a cottage, few friends, and a heart all my own Were heaven in exchange for the cares of a throne ! " " Tlieii live if no longer to cmi)ire you <'ling, Seek these, and be happ\-,and let }>ic be the king ! " 'I'he king gave the courtier his throne and de- scended ; The longed for delights of retirement to ])rove, And now for the first time around him there blended The smiles of contentment, and friendship and love ; Hut the courtier soon came to the king in his cot ; •'Oh no!" said the king. "I'll no more change my lot ! Think not, that once freed from the diadem's sting, I'll give up my cottage and stoop to be king ! " John Howakd I'avne. UNCLR JO. III.WI^ in memory a little story. That iew indeed would rliMiie abotit but me; "Lis not of love, nor l.mw, nor yet oi glory, Although a little colored with the three — In very truth. I think as mm h. perch.ince. As most tales discndiodied from romaix e. Jo lived about the village, ami was neighbor To every one who had hard work to ne of the thousands that we meet — As ragj^ed as a lioy could be. With iiaif a ca|), with one good shoe : Just patches to keep out the wind — I know the wind blew keenly, too ; A newsboy, with a newsboy's lungs, A s(|uare Scotch face and honest brow, And eyes that liked to smile so well They had not yet forgotten how ; A newsboy, hawking his last sheets With loud persistence. Now and then Stopping to beat his s;in"ened hands, And trudging bravely on again. Dodging .ilmut among tlw'iiowd, Shoiiiing his •• JAtras" o'er and o'er, P.iusing by whiles to t heat the wind V\'ithin some alli'\', by some door. .At last he stopped- six | api rs lelt. Till kill hopelessly beneatii lim arm — To eye a fruiter's outspreail stun-, And prodiK ts Itum Miire toiiiiity l.iriu. lie stood and ga/cd with wisttiil fa< V. -Ml .1 child's longing in his e\i< ; Then started, as 1 toiuhed iiisarni, And turned in <|iii< k, nie( liai.ic w ise. Kaiscd ins imii <.ip with piiii.le hands, .Said, •• i'apcr, sir ? Sun, Star, Times !" And iiriished away a frec/cing tear That niarkid his* heikwitli frosty rimes. " I low many have you ? Neverniind — l)on't slop to count— I'll lake tluin all ; .^iid when yon pass my ofti( c Iiere With si(i( k on hand, gi\e me a r iimn." my liiihy vNJts Kiiuiid \Mirk (.Miutigh with Imok .iiul [n-ii, Hiit when the iiLiiitcl < lot k striK k fi\c I sl.irled with .i Middt-ii lliuu^hl, lor tlicrc hcsidc iii\ liat .iiid i luak l,ay thosf SIX |)a|iers I had IxMi^jht, " U hy, wherc's the hoy, ami whcrf's tlic '( lian^-c ' lie sliDiiid have brought an liniir a^o? All, ttidl ! all. widl! th.y'rt- all alike '. I was a I'lol to tempt him --(I ! '• Dishonest ! Well, 1 iiii;;lit have known ; And yt-t hi> tare seemed landid. loo. lie would have earned the diCfereiue If hi" had brought me what was ihie." just two da\s later, as I sat. Half do/iny in my offu e < hair, I heard a liiiiiil kiio< k, and ( .died. In inv briis(|iif tashion. '• Wiio''^ there?'' All nrehin cntfrcd. b.iieK seseii — riie same S( dIi h l.iie, the sanv blue eves — And stood li.ilt' iliiiibtin;,', .it tin- door, Aiiashed at my inibiddiii^' f^iiise. "Sir, if yon please, my brother Jim — The one \ on j^a\e thi' bill, noii know — III' lonldn'l bring the inonev . sir, lieianse his b,u k was hurled so. " He didn't nu'.m to kecji tin- ' ( han.i^e,' lie got riniiied ovrr np the street ; ( Mil' wheel went right a(■rus^ his b.i( k, .And t'other lore-wheel ni.i>hed his feet. " They stopped the horses just in time. And then tin y took him \\\< l"or ileatl ; And all that da\ and yesterday lie wasn't rightly in his head. " They tooK iiiin to the hospital — One of the newsboys knew 'twas Jim — And I went too, because, \oii see. We two are brothers, I and him. " He had that mone\- in his hand, .\nd never saw it any more. Indeed, he didn't mean to steal ! He never lost a ( ent before. " He was afraid that yon might think He meant to keep it an\- u.iy. This morning, when they brought him to. He cried because he (oukln't \m\. " He made me fetch his jacket here ; It's torn and dirtied pretty bad. It's oidy fit to sell for rags. Hut then you know it's all he had ! J " When he gets well— it wont l)c long— ' If you will (all the money lent, I He says he'll work hi-» lingers off lint wh.it he'll pay yon rvtry ( ent " Ami then he cist a rueful glam e .\t the soiled j.K ket, where it lay, " No, no, my boy '. lake bai k the coat. Voiir brother's b.idly hurt, you s.iy ? " Where did tlu'v t.ike Irin? Just lun out .\nd h.iil .1 r.ib. then wait ior me. Why, I would give ■ ihon>,ind i oats, .\nd iiouiuls, for sill h .i bo\ ,i> he !" A h.df hour .il'ler this we stood Together in the ( rowded wards, And the llur^e ( liecked the hasty steps That fell too loudly on the boards I thought him smiling in hl^ sleep. .\nd scan e believed lier when she s.iid. Smoothing away the tangled hair I'roin brow and i lieek. " The bov is de.id '." lUad? I le. id so soon ? I low lair he lookid, < )ne streak of sun^hiiu' on hi>, hair, I'oor lad I Well, it is warm in heaven ; .\o need of ••( liange" and i.iekels there. .\nd something rising in ww throat Made it so harl foi me to s|ie,ik, I luriu'd away, and li'ft .i te.ir I yinu upon his ^unl iirneil cheek. Hi:: : s Hi n i I.vckso.v. 5C()rT AND THi: \ E-TflRAN. A.\' old and crippled veteran to the War he- p.irtmeiit laine, lie sought the (."hief who led liim on in. my a field of fame — The l.'hief who shouted " h'orw.ird '." where'er his banner rose. And bore its sl.irs in triumph behind the Ihiiig foes. "Have yon forgotten, (leiiend," the battered soldier cried. " The days of eighteen hundred twelvi'. when I was at your side ? Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lnndy's Lane? 'Tis true. I'm old and pensioned, but I want to light .igain." " Have 1 forgotten?" said the Chief: '• inv br.ue old soUlier. no ! .And here's the hiuid 1 gave yon then, ;ind let it tell \ou so ; Itiit you have done your share, m\- friend ; vou're ul yoiniger men are in tlie field, and claiin to have a part ; * 'l"he\'ll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rcinllious town. And \\(ie, hencefortli. to any h.md that dares to piiil it down !" "' but, Ceneral !" — still persisting, the weejiiiig veteran cried, " I'm young enough to follow, so Icjng as \ ou're my i.',ui(le ; .\nd some you know, nnist lute tlie dust, and that, at least, can 1 ; So give the voung ones place to fight, but me a place to die ! " If thev should lire on Pickens, let the ( olonel in command Put me upt)n the ram])irt with the (lag-staff in my hand ; No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly. I'll hoUl the stars aiul stri[)e-- aloft, ,i id hold them till 1 die ! •" I'm ready, Cen ral ; so you let a i)Ost to me be given, Wliere Washington can look at me, as he looks down from liea\en. And Ra\- to Putnam at his side, or may be, (leiieral Wayne — " There stands old i5illy Jcjhnson, who fought at I undv's l.ane !' " And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors lly. When shell and ball are screeching, and burst- ing in the sky. If an\ shot should jiierce through me, and lay me on my fac:e. My sc ul would go to Washington's and not to An .old's place !" IJavari) Tavi.uk. BEN FISHER. BICN I''lSIIi:Rlia(l finished his hard day's Work, And he sat at his cottage door ; His gootl wife, Kate, sat by his side. And tiie moonlight danced on the lloor — The moonlight daiicetl on the cottage lloor, Her beams were clear and bright As when he and Kate, twelve years before. Talked love in her mellow light. Hen Fisher hail never a pijie of clay. And never a dram diank he ; So he loved at home with his wife to stay, And thev chatted right merrily ; Right merrily chatteil they on, the while Her babe slept on her i)reast. While a chubby rogue, with rosy smile. On his father's knee found rest. l?en told her how fast the potatoes giew, .Viid the corn in the lower field ; And the wheat on the hill was grown to seed, And promised a glorious \ ield ; — .\ glorious )iekl in the harvest time. And his orchard was doing fair; His sheej) and his stock were in their i)rime, His farm all in good repair. Kate saiil that her garden looked beautiUil, Her fowls and her calves were fat; 'i'hat the butter that Tommy that morning churned, Would buy him a Siiiula\' hat ; That Jenny, for Pa, a new shirt hatl made, And 'twas done too b\' the rule , That Neddy the garden could nicely spade; .\nd Ann was ahead at school. lieii slowly raised his toil-worn hand Through his locks of grayish brown ; " 1 tell you, Kate, what I think," said he, '■ We'r» the happiest folks in town." • I know," said Kate. " that we all work hard — 'Vork and health go together, I've found; I'or there's Mrs. Hell does not work at all. And she's sick th j whole year roiiiul. " They're worth their thousands, so people say, lint I ne'er saw them hapjiy \et ; 'TwouUl not be me that would take their gold, And live in a constant fret; Mv humble home has a light within, Mrs. bell's gold could not buy — Six healthy children, a merry heart. And a husband's love-lit eye." I fancied a tear was in I'en's eye — The moon shone brighter and clearer, I could not tell why the man should cry. Hut he hitched up to Kate still nearer ; He leaned his head on her shoulder there. And he took her hand in his — I guess — (though I looked at the moon just then), That he left on her lips a kiss. Francis Dana ('iAgk. NARKATlV/iS IN VJiRSJi. 21!) ay'suurk. ido, oor — IT. THE SEA-KING'S GRAVE. HKIH over tlie wild soa-bordcr, on the I'ur- flust downs to tlie West, Is the green j;r;ivo-ni(iiind of tlie Norse- man, with the New-tree throve on its crest. Aiiil 1 lieurd in the winds his story, as they leapt ii|> salt (Voiu the wave, And tore at the creaking branches that grow from the sea-king's gra\p ; Some son of the old-world \'ikini;s, the wild sea- wandering lords, Whosailed inasnakc-jjrowcd galley, with a terror of twenty sword>. I'roni the fiords of the snnle>s winter, they came on an icy blast, Tiil over the whole world's seaboard the shadow of Odin ])assed, Till they sped to the inlanti waters and tnitler the Southland skies, And stared on the ])nny ])rinces with their blue victorions eves. Anil they said he w as olil and royal, and a warrior .dl his days. Hut the king who had slain his brother lived yet in the island wa\s; And he < anio from a hundred battles, and died in his last wild quest. For he said, " I will have my vengeance, and then I will take my rest." He had i)assed on his homeward journey, and the king of the isles was dead ; He had dnmken the draft of triumph, and his cup was tne isle king's head ; .And he spoke of the song and feasting, and the gladness of things to be, .\iid three days over the waters they rowed on a waveless sea ; Till a small cloud rose to the shoreward, and a gust broke out of the cloud. .'\nd the spray beat over the rowers, and the nuir- mnr of winiis was loud With the voice of the far-off tluuidcrs, till the shuddering ."ir grew warm. And the tlay was as dark as at even, and the wild god rode on the storm. Mut the old man laugheil in the thtmder as he set his casipie on his brow, And he waveil his sword in the lightning and clung to the painted prow. And a shaft from the storm-god's c|iii\'er flashed out from the flame-flushed skies, Rang down on his war-worn harness and gleamed Id his fiery eyes, .And his mad and his (rested helmet, and his hair and his beard burneil red ; I And they said, "It is Udin call>;" and he fell, and they foimd him ilead. I .So here, in his war guise ainionti, they laid him down to his rest, ; In his casipie with the reindeer antlers, and the long grey beard on his breast; His bier was the spoil of the islands, with a sail for a shroud bene.ith. .\nd an oar of his blootl-retl galles', and his '> ttle- brand in the slualh ; .And they biirietl his bow beside him, and jilantei! the grove of yew, I'or the grave of a mighty archer, one tree lor each of his ( rew ; Where the llowerless clifl's are sheerest, where th« sea-birtls circle and swarm, .Vnd the rocks are at war with the waters, with tln'ir jagged grey teeth in the s* n.n ; And the huge .Atlantic bilious swee' in. and the mists enclo.-,e The hill with the gra^s-grown mound where the Norseman's yew-tree grows. RiNNKi.i, Rood. w THE HEATHEN CHINEE. •r.\i;!.i: MnuNrAiN, 1S70. I IK,' 1 1 I wish to remark — And my language is plain — That for ways that are dark, .Vnd for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar. Which the same 1 woidd rise to explain. Ah Sin was his name ; .And I shall not deny In regard to the same What that name might imply, • n\ I V m m i $. 220 .VARRATIVES JX VJiRSIL ■ ! ! ! » I! 'I'M I But his smile it was pensive and child-like, As 1 frecjuent remarked to Bill Nye. It was August the thinl, Aiul (luite solt was the skies; Which It might be inferred 'riial All Sin was likewise; Vet he played it that day iipun William And me in a way 1 desiiise. Which we had a small game, And Ah Sin took a hand: It was euchre. The same He did nut understand; But he sniileil as he sat by the table. With a smile that was ( hildlike and liland. Yet the cards they were stocked In a way that 1 grieve. .•\nd my feelings were shocked At the state of Nye's sleeve, Which was stuffed full of ace;; and bower;, And the same .''h intent to deceive. Hut the hands that were played Hy that heathen Chinee, And the jioints that he made Were (|nite I'rightftil to see — Till at last he put tlown a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me. Then I looked up at Nye, And he ga/.ed n]ion me; And he rose with a sigh, Ami said, "Can this be? AVe are ruineil by Chinese cheaj) labor," And he went for that heathen Chinee. In the scene tliat ensued I did not take a IkuhI, But the flour it was strewed Like the leaves on the strand With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game lie ''did not understand." In his sleeves, which were long. He had tv.enty-four ]iacks — Which was coming it strong. Yet I >tate but the f.icts; And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is freiiuent in tapers — that's wax. Which is why 1 remark. And my language is ])lain, That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain. The heai'ien Chinee is jieculiar, Which the same I am free to maintain. Bret Harte. LOVED ONE WAS NOT THERE. W\\ gathered round the festive board, The crackling fagot bi./.ed ; Uut few would taste the wine that poured. Or join the song we raised : For there was now a glass unfilled — A favored place to si)are; .\\\ eyes were dull, all hearts were chilled — The lo\ed one was not there. No hapjiy laugh was heard to ring. No form wonkl lead the dance; A smothered sorrow seemed to fling A gloom in every glance. The grave had closed upon a brow. The honest, bright, and fair; We missed our mate, we mourned the blow — - The loved (Jiie was not there. V.\.\/..\ ( 'UOK. W'^ THE GUARD'S STORY. were on picket, sir, he and 1, Under tiie blue cf a midnight sky In the wilderness, where the night bird's song (ii\es back an echo all night long. Where the silver stars as they come and pass Leave stars of dew uw the tangled grass, .^nd the rivers sing in the silent hours Their sweetest songs to the list'ning flowers. He'd a slender form and a girlish face, That seemed in the army out of jiUk e, Though he smiled as I told him so that day, — .\ye, smiled and flushed in a girlish way That 'mindetl me of a face 1 knew, In a di.stant village, 'neath the blue ; When our army marched, at the meadow bars. She met and kissed me 'neath the stars. Before us the ri\i.r silent ran, And we'd been placed to guard the ford ; A dangerous jilace, and we'd jiini]) aiul start Whenever a leaf by the wind was stirred. Heliind us the army lay encamjied, 1 heir camp-fires burned into the night, Like bonfires built iijion the hills. And set by demon hands alight. Somehow, whenever I looked that way, I seemed to see her face again. Kind o' hazy like, as you've seen a star A peepin' out through a misty rain ! And once, believe, as I thought of her, I thought aloud, and I ca.'led him Bess, When he started quick, and smiling, said, " You dream of some one at home, 1 guess." 'Twas just in the flush of the morning light. We stojiped for a chat at the end of our beat. w icn . \nd Ai 1 ol : \nd .\ \A ra To 1 W lien At s \\ ,!h 1 And 1 hev 1 And 1 ii.it \ Will T' a XA/t ; The world to-dav has harill\' time to wee|); The world to-da\ will hardly care to keep In heart her plain and unpretending brave; The desert winds, they whistle b\ and sweep About you ; browned and ru^.set grar^ses wave Along a thousand leagues that be one connnon grave. JOAi.iLI.N' MlI.I.KK. THE FiRlIKJE OP SIGH5. ON'IC more imfortiuiate, \Veary of breath, R ishly importunate, < bjne to her death ! 'lake her n|) tenderh', J,it't her with ( are : l'"asiiione(l so slenlerb — ■ ^'oung, and so fair ! Look at her ga.,. tents Clin;;ing like ^erement^, \\'hilst the w;i\e constantly Drip^ I'rom her clothing; 'lake her up 'istantly. Loving, iv.ii . ithing ! Touch her m.. scorntull)' I Think of her mournfullx , (lently and humaidv — Not of the stains of her; All that remains of her .\(iw is pure womanh'. Al.ike no deep si riitiny Into her nuitiin . Rash and tmdutiful ; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her ( )idy the beautit'ul. Still, for all slips of hers — One of I'',\e's fainil\ — Wipe those poor lip-, (jf hi-rs, Oozing so clammily. Loop \\\) her tresses Lscaped from the comb — Her lair aid)uru tresses — WhiKt wonderment guesses Where was her home? W^ho was her father? Who w,is her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? ( )r was there a dearer one Still, antl a nearer one \'et, than all other? !)• J, , w \ IP I 11 ■ r ti f\ Uf^ M 222 NARRATIVES IN VERSE. Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! O! it was ])itifiil ! Near a wliole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly l''eelinj;s had changed — Love, by harsh evidence. Thrown from its eminence; K\en (lod's providence Seeming estranged. W'nere the lamps (juiver So far in the ri\er, With many a light From window and casement, F'rom garret to basement, She stood, with ama/,en;ent, Houseless by night. 'I"he bk'ak wind of A'arch .Made iier tiemlile and shiver: Hut not the dark arch, Or the black llowing river; Mad fn . i life's history, (ilad to death's mystery, Su itt to be hurled .\n\ uhere, an\ where Out of ihe world ! In she ]ilunged boldly — .\'o matter how coldly The rough river ran — Over the brink of it ! Picture it — think of it ! Dissolute man ! F.ave in it, drink of it. Then if you can ! Take her uji tenderly — Lift her with care ! Fashioned so slenderly — Voung, and so fair ! Vac her limbs, frigidly, Stiffen too rigidly. Decently, kindly. Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, c lose them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy iniiiurity, As when witii the daring Last look of despairing, Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily. Spurred by contumely, Cold inhmnanity, P>urning insanit\' Into iier rest ! Cross her hands humbly, As if praying dumbly, (Jver her breast ! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, .And leaving, with meekness. Her sins to her Saviour ! Thomas Hoou. ARABELLA AND SALLY ANN. ARAl!i:i.l.A was a schoolgirl. So was Sally Ann. ■ Hasty pudding can't be thicker Than two schoolgirls can. These were thick as schoolgirls can be. Deathless love they swore, Vowed that naught on earth should ])an thein- One forever more. They grew up as schoolgirls will do. Went to jjarties, too, And as oft before has ha])pened, i-luitors ( ame to woo. But as fate or Uk k would have it. One misguided man Favored blue-eyetl Arabella More than Sally Ann. And, of course, it made no iliffereti.e That the laws are such That he could not wed two wcmen, 'I'hough they wished it much. So a coolness rose between them, And the cause — a man. Cold was Arabella --very ; Colder Sally Ann. Now they call each other " creature ; " What is still more sad — Bella, though she won the treasure. Wishes Sally had. Paul Carson. ly 'Tis a s( i; Tliat oi v When, i Had rui Awhile A wild For sh( Au'l S( And I And! Since And A wl FAMOUS BALLADS, LEGENDS AND NATIONAL AIRS. THE DAMSEL OF PERU. HERE olive leaves were twinkling 'r> every wind tliat blew, There sat bemath the l)leasant shade a damsel of Peru. Betwixt the slender boughs, as they opened to the air, Came glimpses of her ivory neck and of her glossy hair ; And sweetly rang her sil- ver voice, witiiin that shady nook, As from the shrubbs' glen is heard the sound of hidden brook. 'Tis a scng of love and valor, in the noble Span- ish tongue, Tliat once u])<)n the simny plains of old Castile was sung ; When, fro n their niduntain holds, on the Moor- ish rout below. Had rushed the Christians like a flood, and swept away the foe. Awhile that melody is still, and then breaks forth anew A wilder rhyme, a livelier note, of freedom and Peru. For she has bound the sword to a youthful lover's side, And sent him to the war the day she should have been his bride, And bade him bear a faithful heart to battle for the right, And held the fountains of her eyes till he was out of sight. Since the ])arting kiss was given, six weary months are fled. And yet the foe is in the land, and blood must yet be shed. A white hand parts the branches, a lovely fare Jooks forth, And bright dark eyes gaze steadfastly and sadly toward the north. Thou look'st in vain, sweet maiden, the sharpest sight would fail To spy a sign of human life abroad in .dl tlie vale ; For the noon is coming on, and the sunbeams fiercely beat, And the silent hills and forest-tojis seem reeling in the heat. That white hand is withdrawn, that fair sad face is gone, Hut the music of that silver voi( e is llowing sweetly on. Not as of late, in cheerful tones, but monrnl'uiiy' and IdW — A ballad of a teiuU r maid heart-l)roken long ago, Of him who died in bat 'e, the youthful and the brave, And her who died of sorrow, upon his early grave. Hut see, along that mountain's slope, a fiery horse- man ride ; Mark his torn ])linnc, his tarnished belt, thr sabre at his side. His spurs are buried rowel deep, he rides with loosened rein, There's blood upon his charger's flank and toan; upon the mane ; He speeds him towards the olive-grove, along that shaded hill : Cod shield the helpless maiden there, if he should mean her ill ! And suddenly that song has ceased, and suddenly I hear A shriek sent uji amid the shade, a shriek —but not of fear. For tender ac( ents follow, and tenderer pauses s] )eak The overflow of gladness, when words are all too weak : " 1 lay my good swonl at tiiy feet, for now Peru is free. And I am come to dwell beside the olive-grove with thee." \V. C. Bkvant. 223 It ::l' l.l 't(": i 1 1 1 m -'11 I M -224 /■■.LUOrs /:.ILLAJ)S AND SATIOXAI. AIRS. ji .. THE AFRICAN CHIEF. Tlic slorv of llif Aliiiaii Cliicl leluttHl ni tlii^ ballad is \\f\\ known. I lie chict' was a waii.oi uf majc>lic ^latuie, brollier of tlii; kin^; of llie Solinia nation. I lo had liuen takei in lialllc and was brcuj^lit in chains lor >alf to (he Kio I'onnas, wliere he vv.cs exhiljited in the markfl-iilate, Ills ankles siill adorned with the nia7.slve linj;-. of |;old which be vor_' when captmed. The relii.-.al of his captor to lUieii to hi^ oilers of ransom drove him inailanil he died a luanluc. CIIAINI'ID ill tlio i.,arkc-t-|'hu.f he stood, A man of ojaiu frame. Amid llie gatherino; multitude I'liat slinink to hear Ids name — All stern of look and strong of limb His dark i\e on the L;roiiml ; — Ami siK'ntly thc\- ,i;a/.ed on him, As on a lion IxiiiikI. A'ainh , but well, that chief had fought, 1 le was a ( aptive now , Yet jiride, that fortinie humbles not, Was written on his brow. The scars his tlark broad bosom wore, Showeil warrior true and brave ; A |irince among lijs tribe belore, lie conld not be a slave. Thru to his coiuiiieror he si)ake — '• My brother is a king ; L'ndo this necklace from my neck, And take tiiis bracelet ring. And send me where my brother reigns, And 1 will I'lU thy hands AVith store of ivory from the plains. And gold-dust from the .sands." " Not for th\- ivor\- nor thy gold Will 1 unbin;! thy chain ; That bloodv hand shall ne\er hold 'J"he battle-spear again. A price tiiy nation never gave Shall yet be paid for thee ; For thou shalt be the Christian's slave. In lands be\'ond the sea" Thi'ii wept the warrior cliiet, and bade To shred his locks awa\- ; And one by one, each heavv braid lielore the victor lay. Thick were the platted locks, and long, .\nd closel)' hidden there Shone many a wedge of gold amcjng Tlie ilark and crisjied hair. ' Look, feast thy greedy eye with gold Long kept for sorest r.»ed : Take it — thoti askest stniis tmtold, And say that I am freed. Take it — my wife, the long, long day, Wee])s 1)\' the cocoa-tree. And my yoimg chiUlren lease their pla\-, And ask in vain for me." " I take th\- golil — but 1 have made Thy fetters last and stiong. And ween that by the coco.i slunle Thv wile will wait t'lce Ujiig " Strong was the agony that shook The captive's frame to hear, And the proud meaning of his look Was changeil to mortal fear. His heart was broken- — t ra/.ed his brain: .At once his e\e grew wi.d; He struggled fieri ely with his chain. Whispered, and wejit. and smiled; Vet wore not long those fatal bands, .And once, at shut of ila\ , They drew him forth upon the sands, The foul hyena's ])rey. W. C. Bry.nnt. THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS. L.\^ 1" night, among his fellow roughs, lie jested, (|iiaffeil, and swore; k drunken private of the liiiffs, Who never looked before. To-tlay, beneath the foeman's iVown, He stands in l'".lgin's j)lace, Ambassador from iiritain's crown, .\nd type of all her race. Poor, reckless, ruele, low-born, untiiught, Bewildered, ami alone, A heart, with linglish instim t fraught, He yet can call his own. Ay, tear his body limb from limb, Bring cord or a.xe or flame. He only knows that not through him Shall Lngland come to shame. Far Kentish hoi)-fields round him seemed, Like dreams, to come and go ; Bright leagues of cherry-blossom gleamed, One sheet of living snow ; The smoke abo\e his father's door In gray soft edilyings hung ; Must he then watcli it rise no more, Doomed by himself so young? Yes, honor calls'. — with strength like steel He put the vision by ; I.et duskv Indians whine and kneel, .\n Lnglish lad must die. And thus, v, ith eyes that would not shrink, With knee to man unbent, Unfdtering on its dreadful brink. To his red grave he went. Vain mightiest fleets of iron framed, \'ain those all shattering guns. Unless proud I'.ngland kee]) imtamed The strong heart of her sons ; So let his name through Kurope ring — .\ man of mean estate. Who died, as firm as Sparta's king. Because his soul was great. Sir i'KANcis H. Doyle. /■'AMOL'S HALL. IDS AXP .\AT/(\\A/. A/A'S. 22d A MAID OP NORMANDY. Wl TFIIX a .sheltered mossy -lade, And 1 was all the world to her. 1 1 id m .1 inij,dity t'(jre>t\ shade, Scarce ever Iroiii my side she'd stir, There first it was 1 rhanced tu see Hut watciied me paint with childish glee— My little maid of Normandy. My little maid of Normandy. / was a painter, jioor, ol)scure; Alas I alas! ttiere came a day S/i' .vas a peasant, fair and ])ure; When all the sunshine died awayl And oh ! she was so dear to me — Thev buried her boide the sea — My little maid of Normandy. My little maid of Normandy. And time went on, and hour by hour, And day by day love gained in power. Till she was all the world to me — My little maid of Normandy. BORDER M.ARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale! Why the de'ii dinna ve march forward in 'o'der? March, march, Eskdal • and Liddesdal ■ I All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border ! lo I And now I roam the will world o'er, I lint memorv haunts me evermore I I One love alone for me can be — I My little maid of Normandy. {'iEOR(;e Wk.\tiieri.v. BALLAD. Many a banner spread Flutters abo\e your head. Many a crest that is famous in story I — Mount nnd make ready, then. Sons of the mountain glen. Fight for the queen and our old Scottish glory ! • :i ' ; t I 'M :1 , !Sl 226 FAMOUS BALLADS AND NATIONAL AIRS. ' ' <; . ii I Come from the hills where your hirscls are grazing; Come from tlie glen of tiie buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; Come with the buckler, the lance and the bow, Trumjiets are sounding ; War-steeds are bounding: Stand to your arms, and march in good or'ler, England shall many a day 'I'ell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Horder. Sir Walter Skjti-. s SIR HUMPHREY OUTHVVARI) with tlect of ice Sailed th' corsair 1. ath , Wild and ( . '>lev .blast, And the c 'i'l vas his breath. GILBERT. I'^astward from campoociio Sir Humphrey (iilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore. Then, alas! the land-wind failed. His lordly ships of ice Glistened in the sun ; On each side, like i)ennons wide, Flashing crystal streamlets run. His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain ; But where he passed there were cast Leaden shadows o'er the main. Alas ! the land-wind failed, -And ice-coll! grew the night • And iie\ er more, on sea or shore, Should Sir Humphrey see the light- He sat upon the deck. The Book was in his hand ; Do not fear ! Heaven is as near," He said, " by water as by land !" FAMOUS liALLADS AXD XAT/OXAL AIRS. 227 In the first watcli of the ni^^lit, Without a sijiiial's souiul, Out of the sea, mysteriously; The fleet of Death rose all around. ■j'he moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds; i.very mast, as it passed, Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, At midnight IiUk k and cold ! As of a rock was the shock ; Heavily the ground-swell rolled. Southward through day antl dark, They drift in close embrace. With mist and rain, to tiie S] anish M'.in ; \ et there seems no change of jtlace. Southward, forever south war Still brood upon tlie tide ; .•\iid his rocks yet keep their watch b\' the deej). To stay its waves of ])ride; Hut the snow-white sail that he gave to the gale When the heavens looketl dark, is gone ; As an angel's wing through an oiiening cloud Is seen, antl then withdrawn. The ])ilgrim exile — sainted name ! The Iiill, whose icy brow Rejoiced, when he came, in the morning's flame, In the morning's flame burns now. .\iul the moon's cokl light, as it lay that night On the hillside and the sea, Still lies where he laid his houseless head; l>ut the pilgrim, where is he? The Pilgrim Fathers are at rest ; When summer is throned on high. And the world's warm breast is in verdure dressed, Go, stand on the hill where they lie : The earliest ray of the golden day On the hallowed spot is cast ; And the evening sun, as he leaves the world. Looks kindly on that spot last. 'i'he jiilgrim spirit has not fled: it walks in noon's broad bght ; •And it watches tiie bed of the glorious , ead, With the holv stars by night: It watches the bed of tlie brave wh>/ '. e bled, And shall giiaril this ite-b(uiiid sli. Till the waves ol the bay where the ^l.l flower lay Shall foam and I'rte/e no more, John I'likro.M. THE CRAZED MAIDEN. LLT nie not have this gloomy view About my room, almut my bed ; I!ut morning roses, wet with ilew, To ( ool my burning brow instead; As flowers that once in l^den grew, , 'hem their fragrant s|)irits shed, A. d Cv ■ day their sweets renew, I ill I lading flowcr, am dead. O . t the herbs I loved to rear (i v-e to my sense their jerfumed breath ! L \ th -m be jjlaced abi tit ni\ bier, And grace the gloom\- house of death - I'" have my gra\e beneath a lidl. Where only Iaicn's silt sluill know, Where runs the pure pelliK id rill Upon it, gravelly bed below: There violets on the borders blow. And insects their soft bght display, Till, as the morning snmbiams glow, The cold phosphoric tires decay. That is the grave to Lucy shown ; 'I'he soil a pure and silver sand ; The green cohl moss above it grown, I'nplucked of all but maiden hand. In virgin earth, till then unlnrncd. There let ni\' maitlen form be laid ; Nor let my inouklering clay be spurned, Nor for new guest tliat bed be made. There will the lark, the lainb. in s| cut, In air, on earth, securely play ; And Lucy to my grave resoit, As innocent, but not so ga} . I will not have the churchyard ground With bones all black and ugly grown. To press my shivering body round. Or on my wasted limbs be thrown. ■With ribs and skulls I will not s'.eep. In clammy beds of cold blue clay. Through which the clammy earth-worms creep. And on tlie shrouded bosom jjrey. I will not have the bell ]ir(claini When those sad marriage rites begin. And boys, without regard or shame. Press the vile mouldering masses in. George Crabhe. V- ■\ V\ aC 228 FA.\/OCS /i. ILL ADS AXD XATfOXAL A IKS I THR MURDBRRD TRAVl-Ll-R. S HUP yiMr.i -jiMf, ill lli.- iikmiUi nl' M.iy, llir icm.iins nf a huiiiiiii IxmIv, partly dcvourpil liy wiM iiniiiiaN, weic f.iiiiiil in a wiiodjf tiiviiu', iipar a .-uliiarv road (la^>lln{ hrlwcfii llic iiiouiilains w,sl of tlic ,illaye of Sloi Kl■I■iil^;e, Mass. It was hil|i|")scd that tilt person i iiiiir to his dcalli liy violciico, Imt 11(1 tracer I'oulil lio disnivcrrd .iriridge led. Hilt tliere was wct'i'ini; lar away, And gentle eyes, lor hiin, With waicliing many an anxiims day, Were surrowlul and dim. at an inn in the village ol West Storkbridgo ; tlial lie had inquired tlie way to StocKbiidge ; and that, in paying the innlseoper for sonielliing he liad ordered, it appeared that he had a coiisiderahle sum of nioni v in his possession. Two ill-lroking nen were jiresent, niid went out al out the same time that the tiaveler procee» stoiieil, rniiioislcncd I') a tear. l:ut long they looked, and feared, and wept, Wiihin his distant home ; And dreamed, and started as tliey slejit, I'or joy tliat he was come. l.ting, l(Jiig tiiey looked— Imt nevi r spied liis welcome step again, Nor kiKW tlie leariid deatii he died lar down tiiat narrow glen. W. C. liKV.VNI. LE0NIDA5, SllOL'T fiT the nii^iity men Who liied along this shore, Who died within the inonntain's glen 1 I'or never nobler cliiettain's heail Was hud on valor's crimson bed. Nor evir pronder gore Sprang forth, than theirs who won the ilay I'pon thy strand, 'rherinop_\ he ! Shout for the mights- men Who on the I'ersiati tents, Like linns from their midnight dm Bounding i^n the slumbering detr. Rushed — a storm of sword and sjjcar; Like the rou-ed elenuiits, Let loose frcjui an immoral hand To chasten or to crush a land ! but there are none to hear — Greec e is a hopeless slave. Leonidas! no hand is near To lift thy fiery falchion now ; No warrior makes the warrior's vow rpon thy .sea-w.i^hed grave. The voice tluit should be raised by men Must now be given by wave and glen. And it is given ! The surge, The tree, the rock, the sand On freedom's kneeling ^pi^it urge, In soinuls that speak but to the free, The memory of thine and thee 1 The vision of thy band Still gleams within the glorious dell Where their gore hallowed as it fell 1 And is thy grandeur done? Mother of men like these! Has not thy outcry gone Where justice has an ear to hear? Be holy ! Ciod shall guide thy s])ear, Till in thy crimsoned seas Are i)lunged the chain and S( iniitar. Greece shall be a newd)orn star ! Gf.okce Crolv. THli WAY OF WOOING. AM.\1I)1;N sat at her window wide, I'retty enough for a I'rince's bride, V< t nobody came to claim her. She s.il like .i be.iiitUul pu ture there. With jiretiy bluelnl.s and rose s fair, .\nd jasmine-leave> to fr.iine iter. And why she sal there nobody knows; i!iit this she sang as .she plu< ked a ro-e, 'I lie leaves .iround her strewmg : " I'\e time to lose and power to ( hoo-e; ''lis not so mm h tlie gallant who woos, But tlie gallant's 7.',/r of wooing I" A lovir ( aine riding by awhile, A wealthy lover was he, whose smile Some maids would value gre.ill) — A lormal lo\er, who bowtd and bent, With many a high How n comjjlimc'nt, And cold demeanor si.itelv. " You've still," said ^he to her suitor stern, "The 'prentiee-work of \oui (nut to learn, If thus you cuiiie a cooing. Lve time to lose and power to choose; 'Tis not so much the g.illant who woos, As the gallaiu's Ti'./v of wooing 1" A second lo\'er came ambling by — A timid lad with a frightened eye And a color niantlii g highly. He muttered the errand on which he'd (dine, Then only c huckleil and bit his tongue. And simiiered, simjiered shyly. " No," said the maiden, " go \our way ; You dare but think what a man would say, \"ct dare to (dine a suing ! I've time to lose and ) ower to choose ; 'Tis not so mu( h the gallant who woos, .■\s the gallant's r.v/r of wooing! " A third rode \\\> at a startling p.ice — A suitor poor, with a homely face — No doubts a]ipeared to bind him. lie kissed her lips and lu pressed her waist, And off he rode with the maiden placed On a iiillioii safe behind him. And she heard the suitor bold confide This golden hint to the priest who tied The knot there's no undoing ; "With pretty xoung maidens who can ( hoose, 'Tis not so much the gallant who woos, As the gallant's r.'i/r of wooing !" U AN INOL\N STORY. KNOW where the timid fawn abides In the dciiths of the shady dell. Where the leaves are bro 1 and the thicket hides. With its many stems and its tangled sides, Fn^m the eye of the hunter well. I ^il 2M0 FAMOCS nAf.LADS AXD XAT/OXAr. J/A'S. tiil u " I know where tlie yoiinK May violet k'!"""'-*, In its lone ami lowly nook, Oil the mossy hank, where tlie Ian h- tree throws Its hroad dark lionghs, in soU'inn repose, Far over tlic silent iirook. " And that timid f.iwn starts not witli tear When I ste.d lu her seeret liower; And that vomij; Mav violft to me ii dear, Aiiil 1 visit the sili'iil streamlet near, To look on llie io\ei\ llower." 'Hui- Mai|noii sin^s as he lightly walks To liie iiinitinn-^roimd on tl.e iulU; 'Tis a sonji of his maid of tlie woods and rocks, Willi her hriplit lilai k eyes and loni; biat k lucks, And voice like the musu ot' rilN. Ill' j,'(ies lo the < hasc — but e\ il e\cs Are at watcii in the thicker shado; I''or she was lovely that siniied on hii ->i;4h>, And lie bore, from a hundred lovers, Ins |iri/e. The llower of the forest niaicN. The bouglis in tlie morning wind ai 'irrtd, And tlie woods their song renew, With the early carol of many a liird. And the (iui< keiied tune of the streamlet luard Where the iiazels trickle with dew ; And Mai|iion lias i)roniiseil liis dark li.iin ,' maid, Mre eve >iiall redden the sky, A gootl red deer from tile forest shade, That bounds Willi the herd through yroveand glade. At her cabin-door siiall lie. The ii'illow woods, in the setting sun, Rinu' shrill with the lirednrd's lay; And Ma(iuon's sylvan labors are done, AikI his slia'ts are sjieni, but the spoil the\ won He bears on his homeward waw He stops near iiis bower — his eye jien cives Strange traces along the ground — At once to the earth liis burden lie lna\ cs, He brei^ks tlirougli the \\\\ of boughs and leaves, And gains its door with a bound. But tlie vines are torn on its walls that leant. Anil all from the ynnng shrubs iheie By struggling hands have the leaves i)een rent, Antl there hangs on the sassafras, broken and bent, One tress of the well-known ha; But where is she who, at this calm imur. F^ver watched his coming to see ? She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower; He calls — l)ut he only hears on the flower The hum of the laden bee. It is not a time for idle grief, Nor a time for tears to flow ; The horror that freezes his limbs is brief — He grasps his war-axe and bow, and a sheaf Of darts made sharp for the foe. And he looks for the |)rint of the ruffian's feet, Wiiere he bore the maiden away , .Vnd he dart^ on the fatal pith nioie tieet Than the blast that hurries the vapor and slei i () er the wild November day. 'I'was early sumiiuT wlicn Maqiion's bride Was stolen aw.i\ from his door; Hut at length the lu.iples in ( rimsoii arc dyed, .■\nil the gr,i|ie is black on the (.dun side, — And she smihs at his hearth once more. But far in the pine-grove, ilark and (old. Where the yellow leaf falls not, Nor the autumn shines in scarlet and gold. TluTc lies ,1 hillo( k of fresh dark mould, In the deepest gloom of the spot. And the Indi.ni girls, that jkiss that w,i\ , Point out the r.ivisherS grave; " And how sonn to the bower she loved," tlu\ sav, " Returned the maid that was borne away i'rom .Mai|uon, the loud and the bra\c." W. C. I'.KNAM. MONTliREY. Wl were not man\ , we who stood Before the iron sleet that day ; \et many a gallant spirit would (live half his years if but he could lla\e with us been at Monterey, Now here, now there, the shot it haileil 111 deadly drifts of fier\ spray, \ut not a single soldier (piailed When wouniied (omrides round him waileii Their dying shout at Monterey. And on, still on, our column kept Throiigli walls of llame its wiiliering way; ^Vhere fell the dead, the living stept. Still charging on the guns which swejit The slippery streets of Monterey. The foe himself recoiled aghast. When, striking where he strongest lay, We swooped his flanking batteries past. And braving full their nuirderous blast. Stormed home the towers of Monterey. Our banners on those turrets wave. And there our evening bugles play ; Where orange-boughs above their grave, Keej) green the memory of the brave Who fought and fell at Monterey. We are not many, we who jiressed Beside the brave who fell that day ; But who of us has not confessed He'd rather share their warrior rest Than not have been at Monterev? Charles Fenno Hoffman. '" (wi. Mfi t >■<-•' I, /•AA/OCS liALL.lDS AM> .\ATIO.\AL A/K6. U'^. [lii'iiTia, llio iiaini' 111' the laiiiniH paiiiur, i> iironuuiiccd /i.it/i.r'.i.] \\\ liis cvenini,' lire tlu- :irti-t Poiulerfd (I'lT his sf( ret sliainc ; llafflid. weary, and disluarttm d, Still he nuis'jd, and drcanitd of fame. 'Twas an ima.uc of tiio \'irL;in Tliat liad tasked his utnio>t skill ; ]'>ut alas ! his lair ideal \'anished aiul escaped him still. From a distant Ivistern island Had the ]irecioiis wood been brought; Day and id,i,du t'^e anxious master At his toil UPtiriiij^ wrought; Till, disconrj^ed and despomliiig, Sat he ROW in shadows dtep, And the day s humiliation Found oblivion in sletj . J31 II W i I ' m ''\ f! \ W ) . WW llf'ii 2;52 FAMOUS BALLADS AXD XATIOXAL AIRS. riieii a voice cried, ''Rise, O lun-terl Kroni the hurnmg brand ol'oak Siiajjc liie tiioiight tiiat stirs witliiii thee !" And the startled artist wolve — Woke, and from the smoking embers Seized and quenched tiie glowing wood; And liierefrom lie car\eti an imaL'v', And JK" saw that it was :,d. O thou sculptor, ])ainter. poet ! Take this lesson to th\ heart : That is liest whicii lietli nearest ; Sha[)e from tliat tiiy work of art. H. W. l.o.Ni;; II. LOW. w BOADICEA. 111\.\ tile l!rilis!\ warrior ([ueen, 1 Heeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien. Counsel of her country's go. Is, Sage beiieatli tiie siire.uiing oak Sat the Druid, lioary chief; Mverv burni.ig word lie spoke I'ull of rage and full of r.rief : Princess! if our aged eves Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties .Ml the terrors of our t(jngues. Rome shall ])erish — write tliat word In the blood that she has spilt ; Perish, hopeless and abhorretl, Dee]) in rui-i as in guilt. Rome, for empire fir renowned, 'i'ramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — Hark ! the (laul is at her gates 1 Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a sokiier's n.mi; ; Sounds, not arms, shall win the ])ri/.e, Harmony tlie path to fime. Then the progeny that springs From the f,)r(sts of imr l.nul, Armed with thunder, clad with wings. Shall a \\ ider world i ommaiul. Regions C;esar never knew Thy posterity shall swav ; Where his eagles ne\e; flew, None invincible as thev. Such the b.ird's prophetic worils, Pregnant with celestial fire. Bending as he swept the cliords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride. Felt them in her bo^- i i l;1ow. T Rushed to battle, fought, and died ; Dying, hurled them at the foe. Riiflians, jiitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeaiK e due; I'lmpire is on us bestowed, Shame and ruin wait for you. WlI.I.IAM CoWIMR PERICLES AND ASPASIA. HIS was the ruler of the land When Athens was the land of fiuie; This was the light that 1-d the band Wiien each was like a living flame ; The centre of earth's noblest ring, Of more tha;i men the more than king. Vet not by fetter, nor by sjiear, His .sovereignty was held or won : Feared —but alone as freemen fear, i.ovetl — but as Ireemen love alone, He waived the sceptre o'er his k nd r>y nature's first great title, nnn tell, 'Twill soothing be if I let you see How extremely nice you'll smell.' 'M 1 t I I- I ' ti I m\ ; ? I ! ■! I ! u f 1 1*^ f I II 234 FAMOILS BALLADS AND NATIONAL AIRS. *' And he stirred it round and round and round, And he sniffed at the foaniinj,' froth; When I nps witii his lieels, and smothers his S(]neals In the scum of tiie i)i;iling broth. ■' And I eat that cook in a week f)r less, Anil — -as I eating he The last of his ( iiops, wiiy I almost droi)S, for a wessel in sight 1 see. " Anil I never larf, and I never smile, And I never lark nor play, Hut I sit and croak, and a single joke I havi?, which is tu say, " Oh, I ;im a cook and a captain hold, And tlie mate of the Nanc) brig. And a bo'sun tight, and a mi(ishi|imite, And the crew of the captain's gig !" W . .S. ( IlI.lil'.RT. THE INDIAN GIRL'S LAMENT. A\ Ir.dian girl was silting where Her lo\er, slain in battle, slept; lliT maiden veil, her own black hair, Came iluwii o'er eyes th it wejit ; Auvl v. Hilly, in her woodl.ind tongue, 'I'iiis sad and simjile l.iy f.':ie sung : " r\e pulle- aijove the spurious hoofs. This white extremity was She only came when on the cliffs The evening moonlight lay. And no man knt-w the secret haunts In which blie walked by day. WJiite were her feet, her forehead showed A sj)ot of silvery white, ■divided, upon the sides of Ihe foot, by the (general color of the Ifg, which fxteiuls down near to the hoofs, leaving a wliile triangle in front, of which the point was elevated i.ither higher than the spurious hoofs. T 'r was a liundred years ago, ' '-Vhen, by tlie woodland ways, -■• The traveller saw the wild deer drink, Or crop the birchen sprays. Eeneath a liill, whose rocky side O'erbrowed a brassy mead, And fenced a cottage from the wind, A deer was wont to feed. That seemed to glimmer like a star Jn autumn's hazy niglit. And here, when sang the whijipoorwill, She crojipetl tlie sprotiting leaves, And here her rustling steps were iieard On still October eves. litit wlien tlie broad midsummer moon Rose o'er tliat grassy lawn, Beside the silver-footed deer There gazed a spotted fawn. The cottage dame forbade her son To aim the rifle here ; ;J i'! 'I'll III J I :\^ ; ' i ill i 'n 2;i(j FAMOUS BALLADS AND NATJONAL AIRS. " It was a sin," slie said, " to liann Or Jriglu that friendly deer. "This ''[lOt lias been my pleasant home Ten peavelul years and more; And ever, whcii lin, moonlight shines, She feeds liefore our tioor. " 'l"!ie reil men say that here she walked A thousand moons ago ; Tiiey never raise tiie war-whoop here, And never twang the bow. " I love to watch her as she feeds, And think tliat all is well Wiiiie such a gentle ( reature haunts Th.e place in wliiih we dwell." Tile youth obeyed, and souf^ht for game In forests lar away, Where, dei-j) in silence and in moss, Tlie ancient woodland ia\ . But once, in autumn's golden 'ime. He ranged the wild in vain. Xor roused the jjheasant nor tlie deer, And wandered home again. Tile < rescent moon and crimson eve Shone witli a mingling light ; The deer, upon the grassy mead, Was feeding full in sight. lie raisc'l the rille to his eye. And from llie < liffs around .A sudden echo, shrill and sharp, dave back its deadly sound. .\way into the neighboring wootl The startled creature Hew. And crimson drops at morning lay Amitl the glimmering dew. Next evening shone the waxing moon .\s sweetly as before ; The deer ujion the grassy mead Was seen again no iiKjre. But ere the cresc ent moon was old, By night the red men caine. And burnt the cottage to the ground, And slew the youth and danie. Now woods have overgrown the mead. And hid the cliffs from sight : There shrieks the hovering hawk at noon, Ar.l 'irowds the fox at night. ^\'. C. liKVANT. O MOTHRR OF A MIGHTY RACE. ( ■^^ i<. ) ! ! 1" 's. of a miglitv r; > e, i ''e' ',(vdy ii tiy yomhful grace ! ! '' • oilier dames, thv ;anghty peers, Vd'uiic and hate thy b''-onnng years ; \\ ''t> "/' rds of shame AuL. taiiiiU of" scorn they join thy name. For on thy cheeks the glow is spread That tints thy morning hills with red; Thy step — the wild deer's rustling feet Within thy woods are not more fleet; Tliy hopeful eye Is bright as thine own sunny sky. Ay, let them rail — those haughty ones, While safe thou dwellest witli ti.y sons [ They do not know how loved thou art. How many a Ibnd and fearless heart Woukl rise to throw Its life between thee and the foe. They know not, in their hate and pride. What virtues with thy children bide — How true, how good, thy gr; ■^■fnl maids Make bright, like (lowers, tlie valley shades; What generous men Sjiring, like thine oaks, by hill and glen ; What cordial welcomes greet she ruest By thy lone rivers of the west; IIiiw i'aith is kept, and trulli i- -vered, And man is loved, and Ciov'. ; feared, In woodlaiu! houies. Ami where the o.! iir.d breail. Bower, ' v boui .s. Stops, and i all;. i^ his ) ilil-.d hounds. () fair young mother ! on thy brow Shall sit a nobler grace than now. 1 Vep in the brightness of thy skies 'i e thronging years in glor\' rise, And, as they fleet. Drop s-ength and riches at thy feet. Thine eye, with every coming hour. Shall brighten, and thy form shall tower; And when thy sisters, elder born, Would braiul thy name with words ot scorn, Before thine eye I'lion their lii)S the taunt shall die. W. C. Bkvant. "ONCE ON A TIME." A1''A1RV woke (jn.e winter night Anil looked about with glance-; l)right. " I think I will arise," she said. " .\nd leave my comrades in their bed, And I will go abroad and see How mortals fare." So. full of glee .•\t such wild daring, forth she went. On bold investigation bent. Tlie air was chill, the moon shone bright As ever on a summer night ; The ground was covered deep with snow, And trees stood leafless, row on row. The fai And sai In their Than I \ rt on And in Mil h lij As gra<- Sui h Such g And As ne II FAMOUS BALLADS AXD NATIONAL AIRS. 237 The fairy shivered in tiie wind And said, " Tiie friends I left behind 111 their deep slumber happier are 'Ihan I who rashly roam so far." Vrt on she went and sought the town, And in amaze went up and down. SiH h lights, snrh nnisic and goixl cheer, As grace no other time of year, SiK li happy faces everywhere. Such glad release from fret and care, .\nd homes so garlanded with green. As ne'er before the elf had seen ! " I thought the world was dull and drear In winter-time," said slie. "Oh, dear! I wish my comrades only knew How bright it is, how fresh and new, In its white dress; how every street is all alive with l)onnding feet ; How jieojile laugh and sing and play — It surely is some festal day!" Tiirougn street and house and church and store She flitted, wondering more and more At all she saw and all she heanl. Hoping tor some enlightening word, When on a banner carried by She saw these words njilifted high — '• Reioi( e, (), Karth ! be glad and gay; It is the blessed Christmas Day !" Away she sped o'er town anil hill And field and wood and frozen rill, Unto a cavern warm and deep. And woke her comrades from their sleep — " Arise!" she cried ; " Oh, (ome away ! Tiie world is keeping Christmas Day !" Ami, ever since, when birth-bells ( hinie. The fairies help keep Christmas time. 1. II. MAN C.REV. THE PHANTOM CITY. It was somewliere on the hanks df llu- mmaiitii' and |iic- tiiresi(ue I'cndb^cnt, probably at ihc bubaii vilhifjo where Danyor now stanicnihe(^a " was located by the early Freiuh lishernien and ex]>!oiers of Cape Hreloii, who told bi^ stories of its weaUh and inagii'li- cence. The windiiifj stream bore nuiny an adventurer in search of this .Norlhcrn I'.ldorado; and in 1604 ('hani|ilain, the French voya};er, s;uled up the river on the same eirand. Hut he found no eviilence of civili/alion save a cross, very old and mos-.y, that marked the biuial-,)lai e ^f a nameless !r V'der, and he wisely included that iiio,e who toM of the city iiad never seen it — that it was but a shadow and a dream. M IDSl'MMliK'S ( rimsoii moon, .\bcive till' bills like some iiighl-o|)eniiig rose rplilied, ptjurs its beaut}' down tl'.e vale Where broatl I'enob^cot (lows. And I remember nov,' That this is hauiUeil ground. In ages past Here stood the storieu Norembega's ^valls, Magnificent and v^<\.. The streets were ivcry pavrd. The stately walls were l)nil. of gi.lder. ore. Its domes outshone the siiii' t. ,md .uii boughs Hesperian fruitage bore. And up this winding ih -d Has v.andered many a sea-tossed daring bark. Wh'lf eager eyes have sronied the rugged sh ire, Or reed the wildwood dark. 1' .vatched in vain ; afar Tliey saw the spires gleam go'tien on the sky, ■{"he distant drum-ben heard, or bugle-note 'iVound wildly, fitfiill\-. Banners of stiange device lieckoned from distant heights ; yet as the stream Narrowed among the hills, the city fled — A mystery — or a dream. I RANCEs r. Mace, HER I A5T MOMENT. HANGS the picti.re, bold and striking, On the Academic wall. Claiming notice, if not liking, With a strong, resistless call. Some approve, while some denounce it, But the ])raise outweighs by far, And the critic- all jironounce it Greatest work of Alan Barr. m' r^i ilwi < f irw-ifiiSiiranyiMMi^'''^^^ , 238 FAMOi'S BALLADS AXD NATIONAL AIRS. ■' \ . I* ilr Pictured on a summer morninj,^ There you see the Falls of Lynn, Ahnost heat the souiul of warning In tlie foaming torrent's din, As you note tlie ground is crumbling 'Neath tiie fo(jtstep of tiie girl, Ga/ing down into tlie tumbling Waters in their eddying whirl. Of no dangers apprehensive, Poising there in lightsome grace, Radiant happiness, though pensive, Shines fr(jm out that happy face. "Her last Moment," such the title Of that vivid artist-dream, Tel'ing in a curt recital. Of a tragedy supreme. " Hush I a truce to jiraise or stricture." " See ! the artist and his wile !" '■ Is the lady in tlie pi<:ture. Then, her portrait, drawn from lilc ?" " Nay ! less iovel\ ," is the murmur, As, beside his stately bride. And with li])S compressed the iirmer, Alan breasts the human tide. At the throng tlv lady glances, To her husband saying loud — " Strange this oddest of )-our fancies lias such jiower \.o charm the crowd ! \'et 1 hardly deem it equal In true feeling to }<)ur last " Alui r.arr heard not the sfijuel. For his tlionghts were in the ]«st. Oh ! the glory of lliat sununer Only poet's tongue coidil tell! And the city-bred new-comer Yielded to its magic spell. Busy nature's mar\els daily Ceaseless wonder wrought in her. While her artist kinsm;,ii gail_\' Acted as interpreter. So began the old, okl story, As through shady lanes they strolled Or drank in the sunset glory. Hues of blue, .nnd rose, and gold. " It was but his bounden duty ; Courtesy to his mcjther's guest," Alan argued, when her beauty Caused a thrill within his breast. Childlike beauty, childlike sweetness, Marked the iace of Rose Adair, "V'et in full and rich completeness, Woman's soul was pictured there. Quick responsive to each feeling. Sharing nature's varying mood, Frank, transparent, yet revealing Dei)ths not straightway understood. So, within the careless present, .Man revelled, wilful-blind, Diving, as a pastime pleasant, For the treasures of her mind. Rose, meanwhile, in him but seeing N'oble nature, good and wise; Talented and kingly being. Loomed the painter in her eyes. Yet, when jest with earnest blending, Alan scoffed at higher themes. Saying ; " What more blest than si^ending, ("lolden days in golden dreams?" Flamed her eyes in steel-blue splendor, Though she colored 'neath his gaze. " Nay," she siid in accents tender, "Golden i/ecds make golden days ! " Life means not a mere existence Passed in ease and dream\ sloth." Urging still with soft i.ersistence, 'i'asks upon the idler, 1 )th To resign his nuich-loved leisure. Vet he roused at her behest. Seeking so to give her jjleasiire. Sketched the spot she loved the best. Conscience-pangs thus idly stilling, Acting an unworthy part. Pledged unto another, trilling With a jiure and trusting heart. With a wordless wooing winning Love he was not free to < laim, 'Gainst all truth and honor sinning. Sin the worltl is slow to blame. Rose, hidf thoughtful, happy wholly, Gazed into the F'alls of L\nn, As he sat and painted slowl\ , While the conllict raged within ; Conscience proved at length the stronger — " Yes, to-morrow we nnist part ; She shall be deceived no longer, Oh ! but it will break her heart I" Then, with softened s;l,ince and tentler. Turned he to swtvl Rose .\dan , Just to see the tixi''"^ slender Flutter fron\ his sight — oh, where? Far below, the swirling water Seizing on its dainty prey. Tossed and bufletetl and caught her. In a fierce tumultuous play. Though so cruelly is battered Life from out that shapely form, Yet the gentle heart, unshattered, Havened is from earthly storm. Now no polished phrases cruel '1 ell her of a hopeless loss, Tell her she has changed her jewel For a thing of worthless dross. No i:v Al l".n Ye So Sii 11 N S" j-riirffiiii'.'Si.-": : .-jrtru FAMOUS BALLADS AND NATIOXAL AIRS. 23J> IndinL', s Not for her to pine and languish Till long years the pain might hill ; lOvtn spared the parting anguish — C)h! liut God was merciful ! Almost reeled the painter's reason, 'Neath the sudden blow, whose force lliided that idyllic season With a weight of dull remorse. Yet with manhood's sirength reviving Her last counsel he obeys, Solace seeks in fruitful striving : " (iolden deeds make golden days." Still his troth-plight is unbroken, And he weds where faith is due — Henceforth (though to woman sjjoken !) Alan's every word is true. Always with him, fading never, Is the haunting fate of Rose, Till the s( ene, with slight endeavor, \'ivid on the canvas ^lows. Now, in beauty and completeness, Hangs the graceful i icture there, Alan owns, with bitter sweetness. Fame — the gift of Rose Adair. MAi<(;AKIl' C'ravkn, EDWARD GRAY. Wl',!'] T ICmma Moreland of yonder town Met we walking on yonder way, •• And have you lost your heart?" sb.esaid : '■ And are you married yet, Ildward (Iray ?' Sweet Knnna Moreland spoke to me : liitterly weeping I turned away; ■ Sweet lunma Moreland, love no more Can touch the heart of Edward (iray. ' Ellen Adair she loved me well, .\gainst her Ailher's and motlier's will ; To-day I sat for an hour and wept, liy ICllen's grave, on the windy hill. ' Shy she was, and I thought her cold ; 'I'liought her proud, and fled o\er the sea filled 1 was witli folly and spite. When Ellen Adair was dying f(jr me. ' ( 'ruel, cruel the words I said ! Cruelly came they back to-day : 'You're too slight and fickle,' I said, ' To trouble the heart of lulward (J ray,' ' There I put my face in the grass — Whispered, ' Listen to my despair: I repent me of all I did : Speak a little, Ellen Adair !' ' Then I took a pencil, and wrote On the mo.ssy stone, as 1 lay, ' Here lies the body of Ellen Adair; And here the heart of Edward Gray!' " Love may come, and love may go. And fly, like a bird, from tree to tree : But 1 will love no mcjre, no more. Till Ellen Adair comes back to me. " Bitterly wept [ over the stone : bitterly weeping 1 turned away: There lies the body ni illlcn Adair! And there the heart of Ldward Gray I " A LI RED TeNNNSo.N. MY MARYLAND. THE despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His torch is at thy temple iloor, Marylantl ! Avenge the jiatriotic gore That fle( kcd the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle queen of }(ire, Maryland, my Maryland I Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland ! My Mother State, to thee 1 kneel, Maryland ! Eor life or tlcath, for woe or weal, Thy ])eerless chivalr\' reveal. And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland ! Thou wilt not cower in t!ic (hi-t, Maryland ! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland ! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Kenieir,bur Howard's warlike thrust, And all th\- slumberers with the just, Maryland, my Maryland I Come ! 'tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland ! Come with thy pano[ilied array, Maryland ! With Ringgold's s]>irit tor the fray. With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing ^lay, Maryland, my Maryland ! Dear Mother burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland 1 Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland ! She meets her sisters on the i)lain, " .S"/V semper .' " 'tis the ] roud refrain That baffles minions back amain, Maryland ! Arise in majesty again, Maryland, my Maryland ! Come ! for thy shield is bright and strong, Maryland ! Come 1 for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Maryland ! Wa f :ii ■"^^^^>^-mMs>. .-«6ifflfe 24U FAMOUS BALLADS AM) NATIONAL AIRS. P i :'''^ I ("ome to thine own heroic, throng Stalking uith lil)fity along. And chant thy duiiniless slogan-song, Mar>land, my Maryland! I see the hliisli iipDn ti\y cheek, Maryiaml ! But thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland ! Hut lo ! there surges forth a shriek, l''roui hill to hill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to t'hesapeake, Mar\ huul, my .Mar\ laud ! 'I'liDU wilt not \i(.'ld the \'andal tdU, Maryland I 'i'lmu wilt not croik to his ( oiilri)], Maryland ! Ik'ttcr the fire u])i)n the roll. Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Thau cni( ifixiou of the soul. Marvland, m\- Ma:-yland | I hear the distaiu ihunderdnun ! .Maryland ! The '•()ld Lille's" bugle, i;le aud drinn, Maryland ! She is not dead, :ior deaf, nor duudi ; Ilu/./a! she s|)urns the N'orther i scum — She breathes! She burns! Sl,e'll come ! She'll come Mar\lan( m\- Mar\land ! IxMi-.- R THE Pl.AC«^ WHBRE MAN SHOl 1.1) DIE. H( >\\ bttle recks it where mc ii die. When ouce the moaieiil's p.ist In whiili the dim and gla/.iiig eye Has lookeil on earih its last ; Whether beneath the sculjitured urn The coffined form shall rest, Or, in its nakedness, return Back to its UKjther'-- breast. Deal 1 is a ( nuunon Irieiul or toe. As different men may hold. And at its summons each must go, The timid and the bold ; lUit when the sjiirii, free .md warm, Deserts it, as it must. What matter where the hi«-less form IJissolves again to dust - The soldier falls 'mid < orp^es piled l"j>on the battle-plain. Where reinless war-steeds galloi) wild \bove the gory slain ; feat though his corjise lie grim tw see. Hoof-tiampled on tiiesod, ^\"hat recks it wtieit the si)irit tree Has soared aloft to God ! The coward's dying eye may close Upon his down\- bed. And softest hands his limbs compose, Or garments o'er him s|)read ; But ye who shim the iiloodv frav Where fall the mangled brave, Go strip his col'finlid away, .\nd see him in his grave ! 'Twere sweet indeed to close our eye.'; With those we cherish near. And, wafted ujivvard by their sighs. Soar to some calmer sphere ; ]5ut whether on the sc.iffold high, (Jr ill the battle's van, The fittest place where man can die Is where he dies for man. Mil H.\i;i. J. li.VKKV, THE DEATH OF AMATAR. t: IKllM rillC S^ANI^I1. IS not with L:ilded sabres That gleam in b.ddricks blue, \or nodding plumes in cap^ of J'Vv,, Of gay and gaudy hue — liut, habitetl in mourning weeds, ("ome marching from afar. IJy four and four, the valiant men Who fought with .Miatar. All luournl'ully and slowly The afllicted warriors come, To the deep wail of the trumpet, .\iid beat of muflled ilrum. The banner of the I'heiiix, The llag that loved the sky. Thai scarce the wind dared wanton with, It llew so proud and high — Now leaves its place in battle-fuld, .And sweeps the ground in grief, The be.irer drags its glorious folds liehind the fallen chief. iirave Aliatar led forward .\ hundred Moors to ,go To where his brother held Motril .'\gaiiist the leaguerin^ toe On horseback went the gallant Moor, Thai gallant band to lead ; And iio\s his bier is at the g..te. From whence he jiricked his steed, The knights of the Grand Master In crowded ambush lay ; TVtey rushed upon him where the reeds Were thi« '< beside the way ; They smote ihe valiant .Miatar, They Mnote the warrior dead. And bn^vn, but "tot beaten, were The i.albnt nnks he led. lit !i;i > if! rose, eyei lie 'AKKV. 'CZ. 16 211 m i' !■ 1,1. ' f! II* I : 11 I Hi, 242 FAMOUS BALLADS AND .VAT/O.VAL A/RS I Hijijt^ f. ■: : • i Oh I what was Zaula's sorrow, How passionatt' lier criis! Her lovt-r's woumls stitMuieil not more free Than that poor luaitlen's eyes. Say, Love — for didst tliuu see her tears? Oh, no ! he drew niorc tiglit Tlie bliiulinu' Tillet o'er liis litis To spare liis e\es tlie si^dit. Nor Zayda weeps him onl)'. But all that dwell I)ctween The great Alhamhra's palace walls And springs of Albaicin. The ladies weep the flower ol knights, 'i"he br.ive the bravest here ; The people weep a champion, Tlie Akaydes a noble peer, While mournfully and slowly Tlie afflicted warriors come. To the deep wail of the tnmipet, And beat of nmffled drum. \V. C. likVA.NT. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP. WRITTKN AT NORl'DI.K IN VIKCINIA. "Tlieytollof a young man who lost his iiiiiid upon the death of a girl he lovt-d, and who, suddenly di>ai)[ii'aring Irom his friends, was np"er afterwards heard of. .\s lie li.id fre- ([uently ^-aid in his ravings that the girl was not dead, but gone to tlie llismal Swanip, it is suppi'sed lie liail wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses." The (Ireat Dismal Swamp is ten or twelve miles distant from Norfolk, and the lake in the middle of it (about sevin miles long) is called Drummond's Pond. ide her a grave too cu' 1 and damp soul so warm and true ; And she's gone to the lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. 4 4'T^HHY mac I For a s( And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear; Long and loving our life shall be, And I'll hide the maid in a cypre.ss tree. When the footstep of death is rear I" .Vway to the Dismal Swamj) he speeds, — His pat'i was rugged and sore, Through tangletl junijier, beds of reeds. Through many a fen wliere the ser]) ni feeds, .\nd man never trod before ! And when on earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eyelitls knew. He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear, and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew! And near him the she-wolf stirred the Irake, And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, O, when shall I see the tiusky lake. And the white canoe of my dear?" He saw the lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface jilayed, — Welcome," he said, " my dear one's light !" And the dim shore echoed for manv a night The name of the death-cold maid ! FAMOUS HALLADS AND NATIONAL AIRS. 243 1 ill he hollowed a boat of the birchtn bark, Which carried him off from shore; lar he followed the meteor spark, '|"hc wind was iiij,'h and the clouds were dark, And the boat returned no more. I'.ut olt, from the Indian hunter's ramp, This lover and maid so true Are seen, at tiie hour of midnight dam]), 'I'.j cross the lake bv a firefly lamj), And paddle their white canoe ! riioMAs Moore. THE STAR-SPANOLEI) FiANNER. OS.W , ( .111 \(iu see, bv the dawn's earl\ light, What so proudly we hailed in the twili^iit's last gleaming ? Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er die ramparts we watched were so gallantly stre. lining ; And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. 0, sav, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the bravi'? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deei), Where the foe's haughty host in dn id silence reposes, What is that which the bree/e, t)'jr the towering steej), As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Xow it catches the gleam of the morning's first 1 leam , 111 full glory reflected now shiius on the stream. "I'is die star-spangled banner! O, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that bantl who so vaunlingly swore That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion A home aiul a country should leave us no more ! Their blood has washed out their foul footstejjs' pollution. Xo refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of death and the gloom of the grave. And the star-spangled banner in triumi)h shall wave < )'er the land of the free and the home of the brave ! * O, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand lietween their loved homes and the war's deso- lation ; Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-res- cued land Praise th" power that has made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, fc uur cause it is just, And this be our motto, '* In (lod is our trust." And the star-spangled lianner in triumph shall wave U'er the land of the free and the home of the frive. FkA-NCtb S. Ktv. HYMN FOR ENGLAND'S JUBILEE. JULY, 1897. GOlJ of our fathers, known of old — l-(ird of our far flung battle line, IJeneath whose awlul Hand we hukl i)omini(jn over p.dm and pine — Lord (Jod of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! The tuiiiiilt and the shouting dies — The captains and the kings depart. Still stands Thine ancient S.icrifue, An hiiinbl • and a i oiitrite heart. Lord Ood of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest ue forget! Far-called our navies melt away — ■ On dime and headland sinks the fire ; Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nati(Mis, spare us \et. Lest we forget — lest ue f >rget ! If, tlrimk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awL' — Such bcjastiiig as the (ieiitiles use ( )r lesser breeds without the Law — Lord (lod of Hosts, be with us yet. Lest we forget — lest we forget ! For heathen heart that i)tits her trust In reeking tube and iron shard — .Vll valiant dust that builds on dust. And guarding calls not Thee to guard — For frantic boast aiul foolisii wivrd. Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord! Amen. RlDVAKl) Kll'I.INi;. ! T THE HAPPIE'^T LAND. I KdM TlIF, ( KMAN. HI'.RE sat one da\ in (|uiet. I'y an alehouse on the Rhine, Four hale and hearty fellows, And drank the precious wine. The landlord's daughter filled their cups. Around the rustic board ; Then sat they all so calm and still, And spake not one rude word. But when the maid dejinrted, A Swabian raised his hand. And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, " Long live the Swabian land ! f i ,.«*,. r^:^. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // jM^ ^% V^V-3 1.0 I.I ■^ IIS itf llliio 1-25 i 1.4 6" 1.8 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14580 (716) 872-4503 m \ ^^ :\ \ % O^ >*. % V ^ . eartli. | III liohemia it lies. " There the tailor hlows the llnte. And the cohliler hlows the horn. And the miner Mows the hiij^le. Over mountain gorge and houiii. " ,\nil then the l.indlord's daughier I'j) to he.iven niised her hand, And said, \e may no more content!, — There lie^ the h.ipi)iest land : " II. \V. I.oN'.i r.i.i.ou. THE FAIR HELEN. The K'j^cnd up m wliidi tin-, ballad i» fiiuiidcd is liiiolly lliis : IIpUi) Irviiij;, d,iiiL;liUT nf llie I.air(li>f Kircnniudl in 1 )iiiiifri>liire, (cliiirali-d lor lur IhmuIv, was iM-lcivfci hytwo ijiiitlfimMi. I'lie favored lover w. is .Ad.mi llfinin^, irf Kirk- |i.llrick ; llie other i^ supposed to have lieeii a I!i \\. of Krai Kit ll)ii^e. The hitler's siiil w.is l.ivored l>y llie friends ol the lady; eonsei|ilently, the Invert were coinpelhcl to meet in .sedet, and liy ni^'ht in ihe Kirconnell timn hyard, a pic- liiresi|ue spot alin'i>t surrounded hy the river Kirtle. I)iiriii(^ one of the..; iiu'elinn> ihe de>;.i>ed Miiior suddenly appeared on the (>p|)o^ile hanV of the stream and tired a e.irhiin- at lii.> riv.d. lint I lel-.ii, throwin;; lir^elf before her lover, rei rived the Imllel intend' d for liiin, and died in I is arms, lleminj; foii;;ht the murderer an 1 cut him to pieces. < liher accounti s'.ate that I'lemin^ |iusued liis foe to Spain, aiid slew liiin in the .-treets of M.idrid. l ne lii>t jart of the ballad — s..>- pi'cted to be TiMileni — con>i>ts of an addres.. lo Ihe lady, either bv I'leniiiij,' or his rival; the second part — by far the more beautil'u! — forms the lament of Kleiniin; over Helen's t;ra\e. I ord .M.icaniay lonsideied thii the linest ba'lad in till' Ijiijli^h l.uinua^e. I'AKl I. o ."iWi;!-: ri-'.S r sweet, and tiirest fair, ( )(" liirih andwi'ith beyond compare. I'hou art the c.niser ol my ( are, ."since first 1 loved lliee. \'et Ciod hath given to iiic a mind. The wliich to thee siiall prove as kind As any one that thou shalt luid, Uf high or low degree The shallowe-t water makes mrd-t din. The deadliest pool, the deepest lin ; The richest mm least trnlli within. Though he preferred lie. Net, nevertlieless, I am roii'.ei.t. .\iid never a whit my love repent, Hut th.ink the time w.is a'wei 1 spent. I hough 1 disdained he O! Helen sweet, and m.iist (oinplete, M\' ( aplive spirit's at th\- leet ! 1 hink'st thou .still fit thus tor lo tuat Thy captive criielh ? () ! Helen brave '. but this I ( r.ive. (Jf thy ))Oor slave some pity have, .\nd (lo him save that's iie.ir his L;ra\e, And dies lor love of thee. I'AKI II. 1 \vi>h 1 were where I hden lies. .Night and day on me she < ries, () that 1 were where Helen l.es, ( >ii fair Kir( onnell l.ee I Curst be the heart tint tlit the h.ind thai fired the shot W'luui in my ;irms burd Helen dro| t. .And dietl to sik cor me I () think na ye my heart was sair. When nil love dropt down and spak iiae in.i.r! There did swoon wi' meikle c.ire. On fair Kirconnell l.ee. .\s I went down the water si Helen f.iir, beyond (oiiipire! I'll make a garland of tliy hair, Shall bind m\ heart for everm.tir, I'ntil the day 1 die. () tint 1 were where Helen lies' .Niyht and dav on me she cries; Out of mv bed slii' bids me ris .S.ivs, ••Haste aiul come to nie I " — Helen fair I O Helen chas'e '. If 1 were with thee, 1 were blist. \\here thmi lies hiw. and lakes thy rest, ( In fair Kirconnell l.ee. 1 wish inv grave were L;rowinL; ureeti. ,\ winding shett dr.iwn ower my I'cn, .And I ill Helen's arms lying, On fair Kirconnell l.ee. I wi>!i 1 were where Ibleii lies! Night and day on me she i ries ; And 1 am weary of the skies, I'or her sake that died for me. ■Iv, ■ai HOPE AND MEMORY: OR BRIGHT GLIMPSES OF THE PAST AND FUTURE, iiac iij.i r.' A RETROSPECT. I'.S, I behoUl again tlic placf, The ^^'at of joy, tlu- soiin o of pain; It brings in view tlu' lorin and lace riiat I must iu'\ ir st-e again. The night-bird's song that sweetly lloats ( )n tiiis sdI'i gloom — tliis b.dniy air, {'.rings to the mind !>■ r >\\eetir notes I'hat I again must never be.ir. I.o! yonder sliin' s tliat window'- li lit, My guide, niy token, 1 eret():ore; And now again ii siilns a-: bright, When those dear eyes < an ^hine no more. Tiie.i hurry t'rom ilii^ i.;a ii.i^t the mountain \ale, And sink like s|iirits dnwii the ke ; A\'hy comes thy voic e, thou lonely auc, Alom,' the wikl iiarji's wailing strings? Have not our hours of meeting gone. , Like lading tlreauiN on phantom wings? Are not the grasses rouiul thy gra\ e Yet springing green and tresii to \iew? Vnii does the gleam on ocean's wa\e Tide gladness now to me aiul \(u? 11. (,'. KiNDALL THE PLEASl RES OF MEMORY. CHILDHOOD'S loved group revisits every scene. 1 he tangled wood-walk and the tinted green I Liihilgent numorv wakes, and lo, they live! Ciloiiied with far softer hues than light can give. 'J'liciii first, hesi. friend that Heavn assigns helow, 'Jo soothe and sweeten all tlie cares we know ; Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm, When nature lades and life forgets to ciiarm j Tiiee would the Muse invoke 1 to thee belong The sage's precejjt and the jioet's song. What softened views thy magic glass reveals. When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight steals ! As when in ocean sinks tlie orb of day. Long on the wave reflei tetl lustres i>lay; Thy temjiered gleams of hapi)iness resigned, Glance on the tlarkened mirrcjr of the mind. The school's lone pore h, with reverend mosses gray, Jiist iclN the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell thai rang at ])eep of dawn, (^Viickeniug my truant feet across the lawn: L'nheard the shout that rent the noontide air Wh?n the slow dial g.ive a pause to care. I'ji springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Some little friendshin formed and cherisl.ed here ; ;^nd not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems Wiih golden visions and romantic dreams. Down by yon hazel cojise, at evening bla/ed The gipsy's fagot — there we stood and gazed ; r.azed on her sunburnt fare with silent awe, Her tattered mantle and her hood of straw ; Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er; 'l"he drowsy brood that on her back she bore. Imps in the barn with mousing owlets breil, From rilled roost a. nightly revel fed ; Whose tiark eyes flashed through loi ks of blackest siiade, When in the bree/e the distant watch-dog bayc!: And heroes fletl the sibyl's muttered call. Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard wall. As o'er my jialm the siKer piece she drew, .And traced tiie line of life with searching virw, How thmlibed my fluttering jjulse with hojies aiaj fears, To learn the color of my fiiture years 1 Ah. then, what honest triumph flushed ni\ breast : Tnis truth once known— to bless is l(j he ble-t ' We led the beniling beggar on his wa\- — Kare were his feet, his tresses sil\(r-gra\ — Soothed the keen Jiangs his aged spirit felt. .And on his tale with unite attention dwelt ; As in his scrip we drojit our little store, .And sigheil to think that little was no more. He breathed his jiraver, " J.ong nia\- such goodiU'ss live:" 'Twas all he gave — 'twas all he had to give. Hail, memory, hail ! in thy exhanstless mine From age to age unntmd)ered treasures shine I Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, -Ami pla( e and time are subject to th\' swav ! Thy ]i1easures most we feel \\hen most alone: The only pleasures we can call our own. Lighter than air, hope's simnner-visions ilie, If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky ; If but a beam of sober reason play, I,o, faiu:y's fairy frost work imlts away ! lint can the wiles of art, the gras]) of jiower, Snatch the rich relics of a well-siient hour? These, when the trembling sjiirit wings her flight, four round her ]iath a stream of living light ; And gild tluj>-.' piue and perfec i realms of rest, Where virtue triumi)hs, and her sons are blest ! Samiki, RociEKS. WATCH AND WAIT. Till'; red-breast sings with a plaintive note. The cattle are housed in st.iil, m\ cie.ir, The dead leaves llc;at at the rim of the nmat, Under the moss grown wall, my dear ; But your e\es are haiijiy with dreams of sjiriug. .As you sit by the liearth to-night. And your opal ring, like a living thing, Mashes with fitiul light ! The dainty blossoms are gone indeed To their home in the ciarkncss dceji, my cl.ar, But the ho|)eiul seed for the whole world's neetl Is laid in the earth to sleej), my dear ! te ; y ■ !)■ DREAMING OF THE FUTURE. 241 //()/'/: AND M/iMORY. Ami \ou gaze (iecji, deep, in thr heart df tin- glow, On tlic llickc-ring, dancing (lame, Ami your lihishesshow what your lips hreatlu' low, As yon wliisper tlie one loved name. Though the dwindling day to the d.irk dei line, And the ye.ir ho tain to depart, n)\ dear, Swiet visions shine like gems of the mine In the hn>h of your fai;hliil licart, niv dear! Wat( li \et awhile, and wait — who knows \Vhat fate ma\' h.ive stored for xoti? When winter goes, and the leaves niulose, And lie.uitilnl dreams come true! M. C. GlLI.lNGTON. Primeval hope, tlie Aonian muses say, Wlien man and nature mourned their lirst det.K ; When every form of death, and every woe, Shot from malign. mt stars to earth helow ; When murder b.inil his arm, and ram] arit Wiir \'oked the red dragons of his iron car ; When |)i'ace and mercy, banished from the i)l.;ui. Sprang on the viewless winds to heaven agaui ; All, all forsook the Irieiidless, guilty mind, l!ut hope, the charmer, lingered still hehind. Thus, while I'.lijah's buri'ing wheels i)re| are I'Vom Carmers heights to sweep the tields of an, 'i'lie propiu-t's mantle, ere his (light began, I'ropt on the world — a sacred gift to man THE PLEASURES OF HOPE. I'ew pocin^ have allordfil so imicli i()ii from her lieif^ht sur- veyed, U ,ie (i'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid— '■ I )h ! Heaven !" he cried, •• my l>le dini^ rountrv save ! Is there no haiul on high to shield ihe hrave? \rt, thougli destruction sweep iho^e lovely plains. KiM', fellow-men I our ( ouiitry yet remains ! I'.v that dread name, we wave the sword on hi^h I And swear for her to live ' — with her to hc saitl; Never can they be loryotleii, l)ee|i are tliey in inem'ry graven — " ll.illiiwcd lie thy name, O lather ! iailur ! tlioii wiio art in he.uen." Years h.ixe jias^eil, and that dear mother l.nng lias m-iiiliiercil 'ne.itli the sod, And I trust her sainted spirit Revels ill the Iioiir' ot ( iod : Hilt that scene at Mimiiur twilight Never has Iroin memory fleil. And it comes in all it^ freshness When 1 see my trundle bed. This she taught me. then she told me ( >r its import, gnat and deep — Alter «hi( h I le.inud to niter. " Now I l.iv me down to sleep:" Then it was with h.mds u|ilit'te(l, And in ai < ents soli anil mild. That m\ mother a>ked — " Our I'athcr ! I'atlier ! (Ill tlioii Mess m\ i hild I" F^I:/V\I:MIJRANCK, T IK M a.^oii I oiue^ when first we met. lint \ou return no more ; W'liv cannot I ihr d.ivs Ibrget, \Vlii( h time (>! had sunk to slumber in the cradle oi the west. It alwavs seemeil that even, with its darkness an' its dew, Hroug'nt forth a host of ])iginies, ,in' these liilK troubles grew Till, like (uilliver, they bound me, an' wli< n hii|ii- had nearly gone, I felt a peai e come stealing through thr g.itewa\ of the dawn. I've liin awake so troubled, an' a-iossin' tiiroiiijli the night, .\dii)i.in' I'd be guided iu tln' paths o' truth an' right, .\-wrestiin' with m\' i oiiscieiii e o\er souieihin I had done, Or e!>e a-pl.innin' duties with the risin' o' ih • sun ; An' I've conjured iiji the sorrows that it sieineci were sure to fill Upon me an' to wraji me in a sort o' sombre pall: Iiut the ills have alwa\'^ \:iidshed when the morn- ing cried, llegone ! .Vn'adre.im o' peace came ste.ilin' through thegaie- wav of the dawn. An'. so 1 say to sinners, an' to saint -wlio strive as well. The cares that came ujion you when the shade- o' sorrow fell Will vanish with the vision of a soul-eiilighteiud day. An' (Iod w ill w ipe the tear-drops t'rom your >wolliri eves aw.iy. The host of little worries that beset you througii the night Shall flee in stealth, an', banished, shall be frown- ing in their flight. An' the rest will be the sweeter for the ills you'\e undergone When that holy jieai e comes stealing through the gateway of the dawn. R F. Grkkne. HOPE AND MEMORY. 261 MEMORIES. AliKAUTIKULaml ha|)|.y ^irl, Willi s(f|>;is li-,'!)! as dimmer air, I'lyos ;;la\vcil l)y many :i c.ir'lcss (Uil ( )!' iiiicoiiriiicil and IJowiii^ li.iir; A seeniinj^ < iiild in tvcrythini,'. Save tlu)UL;litlul brow and ripening' cliarms, As nature wears tlie smile nf spring,' Wjien sinking into summers arms, A mind rcjoic in,u in tlie li,L;lit \Vhich melted tliriini;li its gracel'ul bower, l.caf alter leaf, dew-moist aiui briglit. And stainless in its holy white, Unfolding like a morning flower; A heart, whi( h, like a finc-toned lute, W i h evcr\ breath of feeling woke, And, even when the tongue w.is mute, From eye and lip in music spoke. How thrills (m( e more the k'ligtliening chain Of memory, at llie thought of thee ! Old hopes which long in dust lia\e lain. Old lireains, ( omc thronging bai k again. And bo\liood li\i'sag,iin in me ; I feel its glow upon ni\ « heek, Its fulness of the lie.irt is mine. As when 1 leaneso\er- Mown. Ah ! memoriis of swet t ^UIu- iner e\e^. I M moonlit w.ive and w il- lowy \\i\\, ( If stars and bowers, .uul dewy leaves, Anil smiles and tones more dear than iliey I I'je tills, thy ipnet i'\e hath smiled My jiieture of th\- youth to see, When, h.dl' a woman, half a (hild, Thy ver\ artlessness beguiled. And folly's self seemed wise in thee ; I too (an sinil , \\ hen o'er that hour The lights of memorv b.u k- ward stream, Yet feel the while that manhood's ])Ower Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. Years have pass.'d on, and left their trace Of gr.uer tare and deeper thought; And unto me the ( aim. cold face Of manhood, and to thee the grace Of woman's jiensive beaiit\' brought. More wide, jierchance, for blame than jiraise. The schoolboy's humble name has flown : i'i I, !. i;- '! i IP i ■ . 1 i I 11 M dL ' 2.V2 //('/7: A.\7) J//..I/('A'): Thine, in the ^rccn and i|iiit't ways Of iinohtiiisuc ^uudnchii known. Ami widiT \tt in liii)Uj;iit and tltcd l)i\frm' (iiii- iiatli«ii)h, ont' in south , 'I'iiine ihc ( icncvan's ^t(rnl•^t treed, While .inswers in my spirii'M i.eid I'lie herhy dalesman's simple trtnh. For thee, the priestly rile ami piayer, And Imiy da\', ami solemn p'-alm ; lor me, tiie silent r; Arreni e where My liretliren ^jatlier, slow ami calm. Vet hatli tliy spirit left on me An impress time has worn not out, And sdinelhiiif,' ot inyself in thee, A shadow from tlie p.ist, 1 see, Lingering, e\en yei, tiiy way ahoni ; Not wholly ran the heart nnlearn That lesson of it-, better hours. Not yet has time's dull lonistep worn To eonnnon dust tli.it path of llowers Thus, while at times hetore our eyes The shadows melt, ami f.dl apart. And. smiling through tiieni, mund us lies The w.irin light of cjiir morning skies — 'I'lie Indian sumim r ol the he.iit ! — In secret symjiathies of mind. In founts of |i elmg w liii h ret.iin Tluir pure, Iresh (low, we yet ma\ find Our early tlreams not whcilly vain ! I. (;. WlllTTIKK. o And THO UNHAPPY PAST. M1;M()1\\' ! thou fond de( civer, Still impiirtiiiKite and \ain ! To former jo\ s re( iirring' ever, turning all llie p.ist lo pain : Hence, intruder most tlistressiiig ! Seek the hapi)y and the free : The wretcli who wants cadi other blessing liver wants a friend in thee. Ol.IVI U CiuIDSMlTII. HEAVENWARD. WOULD yon be young again? So would not 1 — ( )ne tear to memory given, ( >nward I'd hie. Life's dark flood lorded o'er. All hut at rest on shore, Say. would you ])lunge once more, With home so nigh ? If you might, would \on now Retrace your way ? Wander through thorny wilds. Faint and astray? .Night's gloomy waters tied, .Murning .dl heamiiig red, Hope's smiles ,ironnd us slied, Heavenw.irtI — away. Where are tliev gone, ol \ ore .\ly best delight ? Hear .ind more dear, though nuw Hidden from sight. Where they rejoice to I e, 'I'here IS the land tor me ; Fly, time — fly speedily. Come, life and light. Laky Naii^nk NEVER DliSPAIR. Nl AliR gi\e up ! It iswistrand better .Always ttj hope, than om e to despair ; Fling off the htid of dniibl'-. (.inkering fetter, .\n(l break the dark spill of t\raniiital (.iie: Never give up or the burden may sink ) oii- l'ro\ idence kindly has mingleil the cup; And in all trials and irniibles, bethink \ou The wall liword of life must be - never gi\e ii| . M. I . I'ri'HEk. IN MEMORIAM. TIlOl' wert the first of all 1 knew To pass untn the dead, And I'aradise hath seemed more true, And come dow n (loser to m\ \ iew, Since there thy j.reseiK e fled. The whispers of tliv gentle soul :\t silent lonely hlMirS, Like some sweel saint bell's distant toll Come o'er the waters, as tluy roll Betwixt thy world and ours. Oh I still my spirit clings to thee, .■\nd feels thee at my side ; Like a green ivy, when the tree, Its shoots had clasjied so lovingly, W'ithin its arms hatli died ; And ever rt)und that lifeless thing Where fust their (lusters grew, Close as while yet it lived tin y cling. And shrine it in a second spring Of lustre dark and new. T. Whvteheai). s SUN OF THE SOUL. IN of the soul ! whose cheerful ray Darts o'er this gloom of life a smile; Sweet hope, yet further gild my way. Vet light my wear\' steps awhile, Till thy fair lamp dissolve in endless day J. Lan<;hornf.. //(»/•/ ./W .'ifH.^rOKY. li.')5 G RDliN ILOWIiKS. IN W.V, latiiriu-r. ruinlh' (Iru.iiniii:; I >'fr till' f^r.ivi' ul liiirii'il yiars, Wlir • the colli jialc Ni,ir> art- gUatuiiij; Far alon>{ t'lis \alt ul trars ; — Swfi'tost s|iriii^ frnm lliiiiii;l>t> nf sadness I'.iU'ii lluwci-. that iif'tT (Ifi.iv. Ilcri', III iiiiith and .in^niili lihtidc I, Jons arc li ini iliat < atiimi < ny, ^^A.,\;rf:-'^'-:^ Kond ontlnisiast, wildly .ua/iiij; KrDiii the towers o\ tiiildliood's iionn'. (.)ii the visioncd Iteatoii's bla/.in^' Hriglit o'tT ocean's smi-flushed I'o.iiii ; — Hope's false mirage ludes the morrow, Meinorv gilds the days gone by ; ("live not thy young lite to sorrow, '^rn^t not jo\s tiiat liloo'n to die. Fiercest tlirobs the idilsc ot' gladne s, Heralding a darker day ; landing — not till life is ended — In t'le p unless, endless j.iy, II. N. ()\KNH.\.M. w THl£ VISIONARY. II FN midnight o'er the moonless skies I ler pall ol' transient death has spre.id, When mortals sleep, when >pei tres rise, And nought is wakeful hut the dead 1 No bloodless sh.ipe my way pursues, No sheeted ghost my couch annoys, k I : I ii \\ . ! '' If iii ll '' ■■ 1 i| H I St 1 i 1 in < Jj 1 r I I If >' ^l^ 904 //Orf. AXD MhMORY. Visions more sad my fancy views, Visions ol lon^' ili'|iarteii joys ! The sliade ol youthful liope is thtre, Tliat linj,'i'recl lon^;, and latest died ; Ainhition all dissolvi-d to air, With |ilKuitont honors at her side. What empty shadows glimmer nigh ! They ont e were friendship, truth, and \u\<:\ Oh, die to th(>iij;ht, to memory die. Since lifeless to my heart ye prove I W. v.. SHENt ».(< SAD RECOLLE-CTIONS. C( )1.I) in theei'fth — and the deep snow ])tled No later light has lightened up my heaven, aliove llice. No seiond morn lias ever shone lor me ; I'ar, far removed, '-old in tlie dreary grave! All my lifi-'s bliss fmni thy dear liti' was given, \\a\\: 1 forgot, my only love, to love thee, j All my life's Miss is in the grave with tine. Severed at last liv time's all-severing wave ? i, . ■ .1 ,. , , , , , Hut «lien the days of golden dreams Ilk! jit- Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover ished, Over the monntains, on that northern shore. And iven des|iair was ] owerless to destroy ; Resting their wings where heath i'ud lernlcaves 'I'hen did 1 Karn how existence (i)uld lie 1 her- cover islieil. Thy noble heart for ever, evermore? , Strengthened and .'cd without the aid of y>\. \J^ f:M'ML Cold in the earth--an(l fifteen wild Decembers, From those brown hills, have melted into spring; Faithful, indeed, i'' the spirit that remembers After such years of change and suffering! Sweet love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, While the world's tide is bearing me along, Other desires and other hopes beset me, 1 lopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong ! LIGHT IN DARKNESS. FATIOl'Kl) with li:e, yet loath to part. On hope the wretch relies; And every blow that sinks the heart Bids the deluder rise. Hope, like the taper's gleamy light. Adorns the wretch's way ; And still, as darker grows the night. Emits a brighter ray. Oliveu Oolds.mith. Then did I check the tears of useless passion — Weaned my youngsoul Iroin yearning after thine; Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten Down to that tomb, already more than mine. And even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rajitiirous pain; Once drinking deej) of that divinest anguish. How toiild I seek the empty world again? K.Mii.v Mkunii-;. HOPE AND WISDOM. YOr TH is the virgin nurse of tender hope. Aiid lifts her up and shows a far-off scene ; When care with heavy tread would interlope, They call the l)o\s to shout her from the green. Kre long another comes, before w hose eyes Nurseling and nur.-e alike stand mute and (piail :. Wisdom : to her hope not one word n plies, And youth lets drop the dear romantic tale. W. S. Landok. PATRIOTS AND HEROES: C()MMKM()KATIN(; llll.IK NOBLE SACRIFICES AND VALIANT DEEDS. Well, lie kopt liki.' that for soiiu- days, sir ; he w.is ' Hut the I'rii'iuls o( tho patients were watcIiiiiK' to a!w;iys a-wat» hiiij,' tliat place, When he riislud into me one evening, witli a look of alarm on his lace. " It's on lire !" he sh(»iite(l ; " oh, father, the nos- lital's all in a hla/e !" And he looked at me with such eyes, sir, tiiai J shrank from his terrified gaze. "Oh, father!" he cried in his terror, and he seem-'d nigh ready to drop, "How can they get at poor'iommy' he's right at tlie very tip-top, It'll hum him right ii[) to a cinder if he is bilged to stay ; I'll rnn out and tell tliem to fetcli him," and he instantly ilartcd away. I told him to stop, but he did'nt ; so I followed him, sir, like m.-id. Hut he went on ahead like an engine, and the crush was fearfully bad ; Tile hospital, sir, was a-burning, and the flames getting fiercer and higher, While the firemen were working their hardest to get some control o' the fire. They were fetching the patients out too, sir, as quickly as ever they coiiid, And the fire-escape men were all busy and doing a great deal of good ; cc see that they all were got out, And above all liic roar of the llames, sii, we pre- sently heard a shout : "Tiiere'sabovat the toj) forgotten," and I iho'ight c' .iiy Will's little cl lUin And my eyes grew heavy and dim, sir, frr the great salt tears would ( oine. T'he firemen seemed well nigh distracted, — iho escape was on fire at tiie top; Ami tliey said it was death to ascend it, for the Lulder would < ertainly drop. Hut a la jii^t ilu-ii, >ir .i> 1 What li.iil tins vdiiiij; mail doiu" to iiieril mniiur. i,L'\cr sii.iU hear jj^.iin ; l.ilitv ? I'lic iiii>su>n whose traj;i< Insuc lithd ii,;ii Ami the rrowd ;;i>i as mail is halters, aiul •^ll(lmell out nf ih<' ohlivioii ol other iiiinor Hiitisli oil,. ■ is. uitli ini.nht ami mam. in its iiK eition w.is iree trom peril or dariii;;, and Hut the lads j;ot tluw.. sale to the ground, >u, ami ii- .'liject Mu\ iiin|o>es weic utterly intam.nv liotli ol 'fin laiir.eil a\\.i\ ; Had he >U( ( ei'ded by the desecration ot' tlic j;,,n. lu! altir th.it dreadlni exeiuimii:. 't.\a> nu uon- or,d)k' i:>es (jI passes and liases ol iriiee. hi.s name d, r at all, l>av. uoiilil ha\e hern held in exerlastiiii; exeiri'ioi;. .NKKKST ol' AXnKi; What do vol! think of liim, now. -ir? a likolvlad, sir. ell ! '['here's not manv \onnustrrs ,i-j,'oiii,;_' as eonld .ut in that sort of a wav : I'or he ri.-ked his own life fur his j'la' mate, and lie's r'ad\ to do it still. So I ho|i • i' ■ re's no harm in m\ savin:; I'm pio :d of iiu' I ireman \N ill liiiiv 1'. Nil iioi.i.s. ANDRI; AM) HAI.K. ANliKI'",'s storv is till, one overm.isterinj: rimaiue of the Revolution. .\merican ami laiylish literature are hill of eio- ([iieiH e ano ]iootrv in tnlmie to Ids memory an 1 svmpathy for his fite. .\tter a lapse of a Imndred years there is no abatement of absorhmi,' interest. ' In his lailure. the inf.int reimblic esraped tlie lla^'- uer with which he was leeling for its heart, and '.he crime w,is drowned in tears tor his niitimelv i i d His voiith and beauty, his skill wilh jieii ai.d ]iencil. his effervesi iiig si iiiis and nia_micii< d.s- ]iosiiion, the briuhtness of his life, the calm cour- age in the gloom of his death, his earlv love and disapiiointment. and the image of liis lost lloiioia hid ill his mouth when raptured in Canada, uiih I th'^ exclamation, " 'I hat saved. 1 care not for ilie ' joss of all the rest." and nestling in his bosom when he was s'ain. surrounded him with a halo ol poetrv an'ed in tlie patriot ( ause at the beginning of till- ((jiilesl, and secnred the love anil confidence (.(■ ,il! ,il>LMit him. When none else would go on a 111.1,1 imp; rtaiit and perilous mi--sion, he vohin- ti'cii d, and was captured liy the lirilish. Willie Andre received ever\ kindness, loiirlesy ,iiul .iltentiun, and was led from Wasiiiiigton's t.iMf, Hale was thrust into a noisome dungeon in tiie sug.u-hoiisc. While Andre was tried li\ a liii.ud of <>ftiter. and a->ked liiui whit lie had to s.iy. ■'All I h.ive to s.iy." w.is 11. lie's reply, ''is tii.it I regret 1 li,i\e Imt one Ife 1,1 lii^r lor mv comitrv . " I lis death u.i> ( iinn-.ded fii month,, luT.mse ('unningh. un s.iid he did not w.nit the rebels to know the\ had a man u ho < oidd die --o 111 .ivel\. .\m 1 \et, while Andre resis in that grandest of iiiaiboleums, where the proudest of ii.itions j;.inicr> 1 !,' iiiiiains and perpetuates ;he memories ot its iiui-i eminent and honored, the n.um' and deeds 111 N'uhan ll.de h.ive p.i-.-^rd into obliuiui, and oi'.lv a simple tomb in a \ illage chnrc h\ai(l niark^ ins ri.s!ing-])lai-e. I'iie dying dci larations oi An Ire and Hale express the animatin'.: spirit of t'lrir s-.veral armies, ami tiMch why, with all tlu'ir jKiuer, i'viigland coiiM not coiuiuer America. " I cil'i upon voii to witness that 1 die like a brave man," said .\ndre, and he sjioke from ISritish and Hessian surroundings, seeking onl\ glorv and pay. •' I regret that [ h.ive oalv one life to lose for my ciiaiilry," s.iid Il.ile; and with him and his com- rades self was forgotten in that absorbing, jiassion^ ate jiatriotisni which jdedges t'ortune, honor and life to the sacred cause. CllAlNl i-.v M. Olli w. I A.NDRE'S REQUEST TO VVASHINCiTON. T is not the le.ir of deatli 'I'hat damps mv brow. It is not for another breath I ask thee now ; I can die with a lip unstirretl Ard a tpiiet heart- Let but this prayer be heard i",re 1 tiei)art. I can give up my mother's look — My sister's kiss ; I can think of love— yet broo'' A ueath like this ! 17 A I I can give ii|i the young fame ' I i)urned to win - All — but the s]K)tle>s name 1 glory in. 'i'hine is the |)o\\cr to givi , j 'I'hine to den\ , Joy ;.;r the hour 1 li\e — I dimness to die. Hy all the brave should cherbh, 1 liy I'.'.y dying breaih. I I ask th.ii 1 n.a\- perish l!y a soldier'^ death 1 \ r. Wii Hi. i l)VI.N(i I OR I.IUIIRTV. S by the slu.ie. .it bie.ik of f him who ;hus for freedom fell ; 'I'he words he wrote, ire e\euinu eanii-. Were c o\-ered bv the mounding si.i ; So |>ass .iwav llie c.iuse .m.l nami- ( )f him vvlio dies lor libert v ! I'll. iM \s .MdiiKK. THn LONE (jRA\ E ON 1111"; MOl NTAIN 0\ till . rest of the lulls 1 l..und it. I'or tiie gr.ive oi a host there was room I'or the jisramidsof .i'.gyiitns .\re as naughi to this lo:t\- tomb. There he lies liU the trump shall lall him, In liis gr.ive on the Iiilb, all alone ; lust .1 soldier's grave, so they told me, I'ut vet one th.it .i king might own. There he fell, there he died, there the\' laid him ; Tf lugh unmarked .mil forgot, 'tis a throne. What's his n.ime ? lie died lor his countr\, Then what matter his name unknown? "Lis the act, not the actor, liveth ; ' Tis the deeds which we do crown the grave ; What life wins in tra'isient glor\' ; It is death makes a king or slave. Here the sun's List blush lingers longest. Mere the feet of the morning first come. And the thunder's voii e speaketh his rcipiiem, I, ke the roll of a funeral ilnim. See, the clouds above him are stooping, .\nd thev gatlier around him and weep; So 1 leave him. enwrapped in his glory. With his Uod, on the hills, asleep. CllAKI.KS C. I'lKIMiK. ! ' it i i I ■' 9Lh PATA'/OTS J.W; ///iKO/LS. I'M w.h yon once af^ain. my friends, No more my tootstcps roam ; Wlierc it lieuaii my joiirni'} ends, Amitl till' sct-nc^ of liomc. No otiu'r clinio lias skies so liliie, t)r streams so hroati and clear, AntI where are lie.irts so warm and true As those that meet mc here? SiiK e last, with sjiirits wild aiul free, I presseil my native stranii, I've wandeied i .any miles at sea, And n.any miles on land : I've seen fair rej;ions of the earth With rude commotion torn, \Vhi( h taught me how to prize the worth Of that where 1 was born. I'M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN. in other countries when I h> ird 'i'lie language of my own, How fi)ndly each lannliar i.ord Awoke an answeiing tone ! IJut when our woodland songs were snn;^ Ui)on a foreign marl 'I'he \(jws that faltered on the tongue With rapture thrilled my heart ! My native land ! I turn to you. With Messing and with prayer, Where man is lirave anil woman true, And free as mountain air. Long may our Hag in triumph wave, .Against the world combined, And friends a welcome — foes a grave, Within our bonlers fmd. (lEORGE P, MoRKI-. I IT IS GREAT FOR OUR COUNTRY TO DIE. HI it is great for our country to die, where There, at the banquet divine, the patriot spin; I I ranks are contending : ^-^ liright is the wreath of our fame ; glory awaits us for aye — (dory, that never is dim, shining on with light never ending — (I lory that never shall fade, never, oh I never away, ( )h ! it is sweet for our country to die ! I low softly reposes Warrior youth on lii.-. b.ier, wet b\ the 'ears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears; they crown him with garlands of roses. Weejj, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above. Not to the shades shall the youth descend, who fur country hath perished : Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile : cherished ; Ciods love the yoimg who ascend ])ure from lie fimeral pile. \ot to Ely^ian fields, by the still, oblivious river; Not to the isles of the blest, over the bhie, roll ing sea ; Hut on Olympian heights s lall dwell the dcvoi. d forever ; There shall assemble the r,ood, there the wim/. valiant and free. Oh ! then, how great for our country to die. in tin- front rank to ••■: rish, i'irm with our bre/.st to the foe, victory's sh.o';! in our ear ! Long they our statues shall crown, in songs our memory ci'. jrish ; We shall look forth from our heiven, jileascd the sweet i lusic to hear. Jamks Ci. rEK( i\ ai . I 1 /Wfk'/O/S AM) ///.AW/iS. '_'■")!» THE CUBAN CRI5IS. RI.D is tlic scttiii;; sun, llcddci tlic Cuban sod ; Maceo's v.ili.mt fi^lit is done I'or Irccdom and lor (lod. riic loll J,'- leaved pine antl thestatcl\- jialni Bend lowly in grief to-nij^lil, \iul tiirouf^h the liiisli of tiie tropic calm i here rolls from the sea a nioiirnriil psalm, A re(|iiiem over the right. Honored with many s( ars Now lies the hero brave ; I'ltyingly the southern stars Weep o'er the martyr's grave. While night winds wiiisper of deeds so fell That nature shudders in sleep. And every tree in the crimson dell Mutters a secret most dread to tell Of treachery foul and deep. JAery land shall know. Heaven antl earth shall see ; The whole world weejis when a traitor's blow Strikes at the brave and free. But from Havana comes clang of bells, Borne gaily across the lea from Morro Castle, where Weyler dwells, A drunken wassail the ( lamor swells With plaudits and fiendish glee. Mark seem the midnights there, Dark are the crimes they blot ; But darker still are the dungeons where The friends of freetlom rot. Their chains clank dull on the slimy walls, Their festering bones protrude ; .\nd (lay after day the death bell tolls As the drifting smoke from the slaughtc- r(;lls, 'Mid jeers from the multitude ! Red is the rising sun, Reil with the wrath of Cod ; For Cuba reddens in streams that run With blood where her tyrants have trod. Still flows to the sea the scarlet tide ; How long shall it last, O Lord ! But hell rolls on where the S|).iniards ride, And I'reiuied v.omen in terror hide From a fate far worse than the sword. Our skies are obscured with smoke. Our soas are stained with blood ; 0;ir hills still echo the butcher's stroke .Across the < rimson tlood. Our flag insulted, our brothers slain, .•\t last awakens our land ; Now sweeps a tempest from every ])Iain, Our sovereign people have ( hallenged Spain. The judgment hour is at hand. Lofis S. Amo.vson. THE LITTLE URUMM R. A r his po.^t. the little inaji)r Drojiped his drum, that battle d.iy ; ( 111 the lielil, .ill ^tailled with i rim>. Craiit me but this little boon. Can yo'.i. friends, refuse me water — Can you, when I die so so(jn 1" There were iKjiie to lulii .\>. Is there a spirit clothed in mortal \\eed>, Who at tiie patri(H's moving story I)e\i)teil to his country's gooil, Devoted to his countr\'s glory, Shedding for freemen's rights his generous blood — I.isteneth not with deej) hea\etl, higli, Oiiivering nerve, and glistening eye, ]""eeling within a spark of heavenly llame, That with the hero's worth may humble kindred claim ? If such there be. still let him ])lod On the dull Ibggy i)aths of care. Nor raise his eyes from the dank sod To view creation fair: What boots tt) him the wondrous works of (led? His soul with brutal things h.ith ta'en itj earthly l.iir. Oh ! wh(j so base as not to feel The [)ride of freedom oik e enjoyed, Though hostile gold or hostile steel Have long that bliss destroyed! Tiie meanest drudge will sometimes vaimt Of independent sires who bore Names known to fame in da\s of yore, Spite of tiie smiling stranger's taunt; But recent freedom lost — what heart Can bear the humbling thought — the ([uick'ning mad'ning smart ? JiMNNA liAILLlE. ROMERO; w A IL'(ailVE IROM MEXIlO. niCN freedom, from the land of Sp.im, l>y S])ain's degenerate sons was drivcL. Who gave their willing limbs again 'l"o wear the chain so lately riven i" Romero broke the s.vord he wore — "do. faitidul band," the warrior said, " Go, undishonored, never more The blood of man shall make thee red: I grieve for that already shed ; And I am >ick at heart to know, That faithtnl t'riend and noble foe Have only bled to make more stn)ng 'i'he \oke tiiat Spain has worn so long. Wear it who will, in abject fear — I wear ii not who have been tree; The ]ierjured I'erdiiiand shall hear No oath of loxalty from me." TIrmi, hunted b\' the hounds of jiouer, Romero (hose a sate retreat, Wiiere bleak Nevada's summits tower Above the beauty at their feet. There oik t-, wlien on his cabin lay The crimson light of setting day, Wiien even on the mountain's Itrcast The chainless wintls were all at rest, And he could hear the river's flow I'rom the calm paradise below ; Warmed with his former tires again, He I'ramed this rude but solemn str.iiu ■ •• Here will 1 make in\' home — for here at lea>t I St-'"-', Upon this wild Sierra s side, the steps of lil)eit\ ; \Vhere the locust chir])s unscared beneath the uii- ])runed lime, And the merry bee doth hide from man the spoil of the mountain thyme ; Where the pure winils come and go, and the wild vine gads at will. An outcast from the haunts of man, she dwells with nature still. " I see the valleys, Sj)ain ! where thy mighty rivers run. And the hills that lift thy harvests and vineyards to the sun. And the flocks iliat drink thy brooks and sprinkle all the green. Where lie tliy ])lains, with sheep-walks seamed, and olive-shade.; between : I see thy fig-trees bask, with the fair pomegranate near, And the fragrance of thy lemon-groves can almost reach me here. "Fair — fair — but fltllen Sjjain ! 'tis with a swell- ing heart, PATRIOTS AND /IhROliS. i(Jl 1 J I tliink on all thou mi,L;htst have hefii, and '• l!ut 1 shall sec the (Ia\ , it will cmnc hefore I die, look at vvhat thou art ; 1 shall see it in my sdver hairs, and with an aijc- Hu; du' strife is over now, and all the good and dinmied eye; — hrave, When the spirit of the l.md to liiicrty siiall hound, rii,.t would have raisetl ihee ii|>, an- j^one. to exde As yonder fountain leajis away from the darkness or tlie grave. of the ground : Ti;\' lleeces are for monks, tiiy grapes for tiie con Ami to m\ mountain ( ell. the voices of the free vi'tit feast. Shall rise, as from the heatrn shore 'he tiiuii(ler> And the wealth of all thv harvest-fields lor the ot the sea." '* pampered lortl and priest. W. C. iJkVANi. ^-:-- O-'^^' HARI.I'XH CA.STI.K. MARCH OF THE MEN OF HARLECH. 1 liR War (if llie Kdscs wns a disa-lmiis strugtjlp wliidi (k-Milatcd Kii^;lanil diirint^ tlie llftecnlli iciitiiry. h was so called beiiiuse tlie two factions into whiili the ccmnlrv was divided upheld tin- claims to the throne of the Houses of Vork and Lancaster, whose had^jes were the white nnc tliy folds a-~uiHkT, Flaj,' \vi' ( Diiiiiicr under ! The I'lai id sk\ now luiglit on lii^;!) Slull iaiincli its bolt-, in tlr;udir ! Onward, 'tis our coinilry needs us, He is lir.ue-^t, he wiio leads ns I Honor's self now |>roii(ily iieaiis ns ! Freedom, (lod and Ri^ht I Camiiria, (iod and Rij^ht I He is l)ravest, he who leads iisl Honor's self now |iioiidly heads us ! Cainliria, (lod and Rij:lit ! Rocky streps and passes nairou flash witii spear and llii^hl of arrow ; Who would think of pain oi sorrow ? Dealii is f;lory now. Hurl the reeling horsemen o\er: Let the earth diad foemen lovtr! I'.ile of friend, of wile, of lover, 'i'remliles on a Mow ! Strands of life are riven, lilow for blow is given, In deadly lo( k or battle slux k, Antl meicv shrieks to heaven ! Men of llarK( h ! yomii,; or hoary. Would you win a name in stor\' ? .Strike for home, for life, for glory ! Freedom, (lod and right! (andiria, (lod and Right! Would \(m win a name in storv ? Strike for home, for li'e, for glorv, Cambri.i, (lotl and Right! BEiALlTY OF HEROIC DEEDS. P. J f THE presence of a higher, nanuiy, of the spirit- ual element is esseiiti.il to its perfection. The high atul divine beauty which v.m be loved without effeminacy, is that which is found in com!)ination widi the lumian will, and never separate, licauty is the i.iark (loii sets tipon virtue. Fvery n.itural ai tion i- gr,. the world into himself "All those things for which men jilough, build or sail, obey virtue;" saitl an ancient historian. "The wiiuls and waves," said (libbon, "are always on the side of the ablest navigators." So are the sun and moon and all the stars of heaven. When a noble ai t is done — ])erchance in a scene of great natural beauty ; when Leonidas and his three hundred martyrs consmne one ilay in dying, and the sun and moon c )me eai h and look at them on( e in the steej) defile of Thermoiiyla; ; when .\rnold Winkelried, in the high Alps, under the shadow of the avalanche, gathers in his siile a sheaf of Austrian spears to break the line for his comrades ; are not these heroes entitled to add the beauty of the scene to the beauty of the dwd ? When the bark of Columbiiii iiears 'lie shurr ii' .\iiierica — before it, the beach lined with savai;cv, lleeing out of all their huls of cane; the .sea he- liiiul ; aiul the iiurjile mountains of the liuliaii Archipelago around, can we separate the man from the living picture? Does not the .New World clothe his form with her jialm-groves ami savannahs as lit drapery? I'^ver does iiatunil beauty steal in like air, and envelop great actions. When Sir Harry Vane was dragged np the Tower hill, silting on a sled, to suffer death, as the cli.nn- pion of the Fnglish laws, one of the nuiliiiude cried out to him, "You never sate on so glorious a seat." Charles II., to intimidate the citi/.ens of I.,ondon, caused the ])atriot Lord Russel to he tlrawn in an open coach through the jirincipal streets of the city on his way to the scalTold. "Hut," to use the simple narrative of his biog- rapher, " the multitude imagined they .saw liberty and virtue sitting by his side." In ])rivate places, among sordid objects, an .n t of truth or heroism seems at once to tlraw to itself the sky as its temple, the sun as its candle. Nature stretcheth out her arms to embrace man, only let his thoughts be of eijual greatness. Willingly does she follow his steps with the rose and the violet, and bend her lines of grandeur and grace to the decoration of her darling child. < )nly let his thoughts be of eciual scope, and the frame will suit the picture. A virtuous man is in unison witli her works, and makes the central figure of die visible sphere. ** Rai.i'H Wai.do 1;.\ii.rmj.\. THE FATHERS OF THE REPUBLIC. T<) be cold and breathless, to fei I not and I who have ]:0iired their heart's blood into the cliaii- speak iKjt, — tliis is not the end of existence ' nels of the iiulilic jirosperity. to the men who have breathed their sjiirits Tell me, ve who tread the sods of yon sacred into the institutions of their country, who have height, is Warren dead? Can you not still see stamped their characters on the jiillars of the age, i him — not pale and prostrate, the blood of his :■ ' ! 1 /'J JR/L ^fS . \.\I) ///:RO/:S. •Jt;:? g.i:i.int heart pouring; out of liis yliastly woimd, lull I Wliy, lln^li.-.li liearts tlit-re are at hoiiic, tlial |iiil- iii'iuiig it'^iik'iuk'iit over tlic licUl ol liuiior, with ' sati' witli our own ; the lOM- of licavfii upon ins cluok. ami tlic I'lic ol X'oitcs bc)uni] Atlantic's waves send lortli a loving IiIn rtv in ,(is eye? tone ; h-11 nie. ye wiio make y(jur pious pilgrinia.ue to Within the Cabinet are men wiu) would not oiier the >lia 'es of N'ernon, i> Washington indeed siiut j;old, III in the eold and narrow house? 'I'lial wliiili Tu see our country's libert), like (battel, bought ill i If ihe^e men, and men like these, < aniiot die The hand that tr."e(i the charter oT Independ /iKi' is, indeed, moti.inless ; the eloiiuent lips that and soUl. Vou sa\ that oITk e shall lie mine if I the traitor play ,-,M.nned it are hushed ; bm the l.,lty spirits that ^-.j,, „,,„ ^ ^.^.^.^ .ompensate lor lionestv\ deeav ? toiueived, resolveil antl maintameil it, and wliuli ■ aliiue. to such men, make it lilt' to li\e— these cau- iict expire. I'.nw \Ki) lAKKK.rr. Ten thousand |ioundsI ten tliousaiul poiindsl Shall 1 an ICsaii jjrove. And for a mess of potta''e sell the lurita-e 1 lo\e ? w THE INCORRUPTIBLE PATRIOT. ( Mpvcrnor lohiisldiie, of New Jersey, is saiil tu li.ivo iiHertMl lull. |i>se|ili Ki-eil lllty tliousaiul (iollais if lie woiilil try to u'-iiiillc llu- Colonics to tlic inotlicr loiiiitry. Said hi-, " 1 am ml woitli [miclia>iiij,' ; Iml, siicli a> I am, the King of (ileal lliilaiii is not rich ciioiii;h lo Imy me." I>l'rKN' your gilded bait, oh. King 1 my taith you cannot buy ; do, taiii|ier with some craven lu-art. and dream ol victor)- ; Mv honor never shall be dimmed b\ taking sik li a bribe ; The honest man can look abo\-e ihe mer :i'narv tribe. t'ailisle and Ivlen may consort to bring aiioiit a a peace ; (iiir \ ear of jubilee will be the \eir of out release. 1 litil your fleets and armies are all remanded back, I leedom's avenging angel will keep upon your track. What said our noble Laurens? V»'hat answer did he make ? l>i(l he accept your overtures, and thus our cause forsake ? No ! as his country's moiith-piei e, lie spoke the burning words, "Off with conciliation's terms — the battle is the Lord's!" Are ye afraid of Hourbon's house? And do ye now despair, because to shield the jierishing the arm of France is bare ? That treaty of alliance, which makes a double strife, lias, like the sun, but warmed afresh your viper brood to life. And art thou, Johnstone, art thou, pray, upon this mission sent, I'o keep at distance, by th\- craft, the throne's dis- memberment ? Dismemberment! — ah, come it must, I'or union is a sin, When jiarents' hands the furnace heat, and thrust | Fear makes men look asitle, and so their footing the children in. | miss. John Dkvuen. If you can blot out IJunker Hill, or liraiulywine ignore, ( )r X'alley i'orgeannihil.ite. and wipeaway its gore; If you can make the oi plums' tears torget to [ilead with ( lod. Then you ma\ find a patriot's soul that owns .i nionarc h's nod. The King of j-liiglaiul cannot buv the faith which fills my heart ; My truth and virtue cannot >taiul in traffic's servile mart ; l'"or till \()iir lleets and armies are all reniaiidrd bai k. Freedom's avenging angel will keep ti])oii )our track. lj)\v,\Nit ('. |ii.ni>,. REDMOND, IN ROKEBY HALL. IIT'RIT) has fallen — but o'er him stood Young Redmond, soiled with smoke and blood C'heering his mates, with heart and hand Still to make good their desjierate stand. " Up, comrades, up I in Rokeby halls Ne'er be it said our courage falls — What faint ye for their savage cry. Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt ) our eye ? I'hese rafters have returned a shout As loud at Rokeby's '^assail rout ; .As thii k a smoke these hearths have given At Hallowtide or Christmas even. Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, For Rokeby and Matilda's right ! These skives ! they dare not, hantl to hand. Hide buffet from a true man's brand." Sir Wai.ikk Sonr. COURAGE ENSURES SUCCESS. NO, there is a necessity in fate, Why still the brave bold man is fortui He keejis liis object ever full in sight, And that assurance holds him firm and right; True, 'tis a narrow way that leads to bliss, r.iit right before there is no precijiice ; nate ; i 1 111 !.« ( ■ 1 I £ il ■, ' «' y-ii 2ti4 PATKlOrs AM) IfHROIiS. V i 'i I (•' DO OK 01 [Z IDKI'KS'I' tluit waiting;; tlu)iii;li ii m-i-ims so safe to li,:;llt lifluiul liit;li walls, ami liiiil ilowii fot-s into Doi-p fosses, or liciioKi tlu'iii sprawl on sjiikcs \ Strewed to re IIANNI'R. i Ctiiiiit I'ul.isKi. a I flelinilcil I'nii^li nllKft, was lioni nlMis' llii|^ui-.licil |i.in-iiu^i' ill 17.17. laKiM^;iii) aniK atjaiiiM tlii' l\ii>'i.in iiiv.iilir>, lie I'oiiiiiiaiuli-il in ni.inv li.iltlcs ami .sif^;c> ami iicil'nrmi.l many iLiiiiiy i-\|ilciil>. His faiiif as a wairioi was uiirivalcil. lie wiiil liiln f\ilc in I 77-, and diti'iiil llic xrviic 111" lliL- I'nilfil .stales livo ytaii laliv. I cuir ilays aflir llii' lialtlf 111 lli.iml\ w iiii' lir was a| |">iiii< the soldier's bier, .\nd the miillled ilriim -should beat 'I'o the tread of mournful feet. Then thi^ crimson tlag sh.ill be .Marti. il c lo.ik .nid shroud lor thee." The warrior took that bamuT proud, .\nd it was his m.uti.il ( lnak and shroud ! II. W. 1,1 iNi.l (.-.I 1 iiw RETURN Ol- THii HILI.SIDI: I.IKilON. Wl I A r telegraphed word Ihc vill.ige hath stirred? Wiiy eagerly gather the people: .■\nd why do they wait .\t ( rossmg and gate — Why llutters \-on llag 'Ui the steeple ? W.ill, str.mgcr, do tell — it's now a smart sjiell Sin< e our sogers went marchin' ,iway, And we calciiUite now. To show the boys how We can web ome the Legion to-day. Kill .Vllendale's drum Will sound when they come, .\nd there's watchers above on the hill, To let lis all know, When the big bugles blow. To hurrah with a hearty gootl will. All the women folks wait By the 'Cademy gate. With ])osies all drippin' with dew ; The Legion shan't say We helped them away. And forgot them when the service was through. My Jack's comin', too, lie's served the war through ; Hark I the rattle and roar of the train I There's the bugle aiul drum. Our sogers have come. Hurrah ! for the boys home again. " Stand aside ! stand aside! Leave a sp.ic e far and wide Till the regiment forms on the track." Two soliliers in blue — Two men — ^only t\' o Stepped off, and the Legion was back. The hurrah softly died. In the sjiace far and wide, As they welcomed the worn, weary men; ^v' I p.imiors AM) u/-:mohs. 'j\ri I'lic drum on tiie hill ( Ircw suddenly sidl, And the hiiglc was silent again. I aski'd h'arnicr Shore \ iiuestion no more, 1 ,ir a silk soldier lay on his breast ! While his hand, h;ird and brown, Stroked tenderly ihnvn. The luiks of the weary at rest. V.\ KM l.\ NN. I»ATRICK HLNRY ( ) iiidi\ idii.d inllncm I'd Ills iliii|iii;n(i- the Revohnion more liis j/reat s|iei'( h N( ansi' of the Ameriean than did I'atriek Henry. liciore the Vir^dnian Con- vfiiiion has become historic, [iassa.L;es of which have been read .ind (OMunitted to nuni- or\ bv ahnost every school- li(i\ from th.U lime to the lire>eiit. lie insisted on the necessity of fii^htin^ for in- (ie|ienilence, and closed w itli the wonls, "(live me lib- erty or t;ive me death I" lie was constantly in ad- v.uice of the most ardent pi.triuts, siigjie^tini; and car- r\ini,' into I'ifect b\' his im- iiudiate personal inllnence measures that were opposed as premature ami violent by all the eminent supporters of the cause of lihertv. AlthouL^'h unpromisin;.,' and shii'tless ill his early youth, he rip.uied out into a noble manhood, and, being inspired by the slru'^'gle lor iiulei)eiulen(;e, he used all the resources of his burning eloquence in favor of the colonies, and has left behind him a n.une as a i)atriot and an orator which history deli,L;hts to commemo- rate and advancing time docs not eclipse. HEROES OF THE MINES. ' A A '^^ '>i;"iy strangely thrilling tales / V I "i^l ^''"c to ^ wondering world con- -^ ' *• signs. Is one from the rock-rent hills of Wales ; Where men, down deep in its dark coal mines. Were there enclosed iiy the fire-damp's shock, Imprisoned fast in the fearful gloom; While countless tons of the rtiiitiired lock Confined them there in a living tomb. (Irouprd overhead were the weeiiing wives, .\nd men with faces stern and still. Who sadlv thought of the hundreil lives That death had claimed in the trembling hill ; Or watched, impatient, the curling smoke That rose from the burning mine below ; And the roaring Ibmus. that raged and broke Like the waves of hell in their crimson llow. l.om; hoiir^ tlu'y waiteil, then work be-an — With .1 fierce desire to seek their dead ; And no one shrank from the risk he ran, lint hearts were hea\ \ with grief, a- le.id. .And they \ainb' ho|)eil th.il a < box n fi w, In the chambers sonuw he re beiie.ilh the ground, Had refiige sought, and perha|is lived ihiough, .\ikI 'scaped the fate tliat the re-.t had found. They fiercely l.ibored through m in\ (la\>, Nor paused to rest in the darksoiiu' iiiiiht, And slowh opened ilie c nibered wa\s. Wheie many a blood)' ami ghastl)' si,^lit They met. in working and toiling by ; .\nd mangled corjises were sent above, Where hillsides echoed the anguished cry Of some poor creature's {'.e-pairing love. ]>ut on they went ; for they found not all, 'I'hough hundreds lay in the grasp of death- And hourly hasleneil to catch the call ( )f some jioor wreti h with - \piring breath. Who might have lived in a nx k-hewn grave. To hear the rai)id but deadened sound That tokl him comrades had soiiglit to save, And wrest its prey from the ilinty ground. When, siulden, a sound the stillness broke. As the sound of waters far awa\ ; While each arrested his falling s'roke. No frozen statues as still as thev Who looked and listened in rapt surprise To the shivering echoes, low and long. I ,' t; 260 J'ATK/O/^ .l-\/> ///:/<( >/:S. While tliri)ii^li the taverns lull ami rise I'hf Sdh'inii cliaiit of a sat rcil song, A son.:; lliat all, in their native tonj-uc, ILiil listened to on their mother's hreast. Ami heani in trenihlini; acienls simg When Iriemls were laid in the yravi- to rest A hymn s(j oiil, as to form a jiart (M the oldest lej^ends the WcMnneii knew, To < liii;; to their iniimst soul and heart, As the old home antheins ever do ; 'I'o the ( 'hri>ti,in's n\.u\, triinn|ihant strain, that looked with trust to .ui awtnl death : That jirondlv ((inonys with thi' latent hreath No hijiher heroes in ancient da\s, Who I .-oiidly ligiire in j^lorioiis tales, Had str in};er t lainis to tl)e hero's praise Than these roiinh men in the mines of W.ii^ -,. Then tlie seekini; miners l>ent their powers Till the stnrdv strokes ted thi< k ,ind last. " In the deep and angry billows None can raise my sinking head Mut my tbnil and faithful Savi(jnr, Who hath lived and died instead. Friend of friends in death's dark river, I'irm sui)i)ort npon tlie wave, Seeing him I .sing ronteiited Though death's waters njund me rave. Thus distant voices sang the son}-, .\faint with fasting, but not with fears; For the brave old miners' liearts were strong, While listening eomrailes heard with tears The notes tiiat the prisoned miners sang. Wiio knew not yet that hel]) drew nigh. Till the dismal death-trap's echoes rang With the fearless faith that dared to die ; And working bravely a (ew short hours, They rescued the little band at last ; ]5ut some were discovered, al.is, too late; While those surviving; the bitter fright Bore such dread marks of their cruel fate That strong men wejit at the woeful sit;)u For hunger's < hitches had marked each fa( e Willi the sign of suffering branded deep, And the lines that pain's sharj) ])encils trace On the forms that such dread vigils keej). 'Tis a simple storv. sad but true, ( )f the humble heroes, rough and brave. Who sang a grand old anthem through In the gloomy depth of a living grave — One of the sadly simple tales Of life and death in the mines of Wales. J. ICoUAk JoNKS. PA TRIO IS A.\J> ///:A\)/:S. 2«{7 A Till: l.irrLli MAYPLOWl-k. \1) now — lor iIk- I'liliuss of lime is coiiu' — let us go lip once tnoic, ill iiii.igiiintioii, to yonder hill. mikI look out u|i(in llic Nonuii |,cr 1 1'lie. 'I'll, It Miij^L- (i.irk ■'iicck, just (IIm eriiilile thrii'iuli tiie iieiN|iei tive glass, on the waste oi waur-. is the taleil vessel. The storm iiioaiis tlirui;:h her tattered canvas, as she «:ree|is, almo-t -inlviiii.', to luTaiit liorage in I'rosiiu etown Ii.iiImm ; .11(1 iliere she lies, with all her tre.isiire^. not oi mIm 1 and j^oKl (tor of these she h.is none), I'lii eiited liy our coxst to llie navigator who. iiikk - (|ii;imted witli its channels and r.-adsteads, should appriLidi it in the stormy season, I dare not c.ill it a iiiere piece of good fortune, that .he geiiei;;! north and south wall of the shore , " New laigland should be broken by this extraordinary proje( tion of the cajie, running out into the ocean a huiulred nuks, as if on purpose t, his drum w.is bv his side ; le ( l.'ispcd Ids hands and raised his eyes, anil prayed before he died. •'Look down upon the battlefield. (). thou our | Heavenly I'riend : ' 1 live mercy on our sinful soiilj;;" the soldiers (Tied Amen ; For g.itheriil 'round a little L;roiip eaili bnvi' iii.in knelt and crieil ; They I steiuil to the druinmei l>o\. who pr.ivi'cj belcjre he tlied. "< III, mother." said the d\iiigbov, ••lnuk down from heaven on ine ; Receive nie to thy foiiil eiiibr.ue. (» Like me home to tlue : I've lined m\ i oiii.trv ,is ni\ (iod. lo -^erM ihiiii both I've tried." lie smiled, shook hands: iK'atli sei/cd the liii\. who prn\ed belore he died. I'lai li soldier wejit then like a (hild.slnut hearts were they and brave ; The ll.ig his winding shei't ; (lod's bimk the key unto his grave ; They wrote iii»on a sinijile bo.ird thcNe word>: " This is a giiitle To thiise who'll mourn the driiiiinur Imv, who pra\fd before he died." \'e an,L;i b 'round the throne of gr.u e. look ilown upon the braves Who foiighl .111(1 died on .'s|iil()]i\ | lain now sliiiu- bering in tin ir gr.ivi"> : How many homes made desolate, how niaiiv hearts have sighed, I low ni.iiu' like flu." druiiinier boy, who prayed before he died ! THE MAN WITH THE Ml SKET. Stil.DIl.KS ])ass oil from this rage of renowii, This ant-hill, commotion and strife. Pass by where the marbles and bronzes look down With their fast frozen gestures of life, ()n, out to the .Tameless who lie 'neath the gloom ( )f the ])itying cypress and i)inc ; Your man is the man of the sword and the plume, I'.iit the man of the nuisket is mine. 1 knew him! liy all that is noble, I knew This commonplace hero 1 name ! I've camped with him, marched with him, fought with him, too, In the swirl of the fierce battle-flame ! Laughed with him. cried with him, taken a i)art Of his canteen and blanket, and known That the throb of his (hivalroiis ]irairie boy's heart Was an answering stroke of my own. I knew him, 1 tell you I .\nd, also, 1 knew When he fell on the battle-swej t ridge, That i)oor battered body that lay there in blue ^Vas only i ])lank in the bridge ( Iver whicli some should pass to a fame That shall shine while the high stars shall .shine ! \'oiir hero is known by an echoing name, lUit the man with the musket is mine. ii'» V if' -JiSS r.\/Kiors A.xn ui:kohs. ii I knew him; All tliniii'.'li liim the ^'ooil nml tlic l>a>l Kill toLii'lht-r .111(1 ri|ii.iily Iri'r ; iJiit I jiiil(;i' a-. I iriisi ( liri^t will jiiilj5c llic lirave 1.1(1. i''(ir litMtli in:i(l(' lull) nolili' in iiic ! Ill the ( \( loiii' 1)1 war, in llir li.illK 's f( li|i!aii(ls, .Aiul he (jit'd \>illi till- naiiR'^ iliat lu' loviil oil his li|.^ Ili> iiiii'.ki't still j;ia>|'C'(l III Ills hands! So darkh' glooms yoii thundrr-cloiid, That sw.iilus. as with u iiurjilc slirnud. Iteiik'('rs distant hill Ih it the thunder's sdleiiui >-oiiiid 'I'li.il iniiiiers deep and dread, Or et hoes Irom the j^nnnin^,' ^;roiind The w.irrior's incaMircd ire.nl? Is it the lightning's ijiiiverin^ ;;lan(e 'I'll. It (111 the lhi( ket sfre.iiiis, Or do they lla^h on spi-ar .iiid l.iiu c rile Mini's iitiriiiL; licanis .■' ■' t Up (dose to the fla;,' iny soldier went down, In the salient front of liie line ; Yon may take for your heroes the men of renown, liut the man of the musket is mine. 11. S. Tavlor, BATTLE OF BEAL' AN' DUINE. Tlll'l Minstrel came oiux' more to slew The eastern ridj^e of r.en\enue, For ere he parted, he would say I\irewell to lo\ely I.ocii .Xi hray. Where sludl he fmd. iii forei.i,'!! land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand? There is no bree/.e ujion the fern, No rijiple on the lake, U])on her aerie nods the erne. The (letT has souj,'ht the hrake. The small liirds will not sinj: aloud, The springing trout lies still, I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star. Wave o'er the (loud of Saxon war. That np the lake < omes winding far ' To hero, hound for battle strife, Ur baril of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life. One glance at their array ! Their light-armed archers far and iieai. Surveyed the tangled ground. Their ci'iiter ranks, wii'i pike and s[)ear, A twilight forest frowned. Their barbed horsemen, in the rear. The stern battalia crowned. No cvmlial clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the piiie and drum : Save hea\v tread, and armor's clang, '] he sullen march was duml.>. IWTKIOTS .l.\7> Iff-NOIiS. 2»11» I here Wrcatlu-il no wind their crcHU to shake, ' Or wave tlicir ll.i^;-. aliro-ul ; I Si ari I' ilic liail a.><|i('ii >fftiif\ .1 tr.ii e of living lliin^, Save wlii'ii llie\ stirred the roc; I lie iiost moves like a dee|> sea wave, Where ride no ro( ks, its pride to lirave, lli^li swelling, dark and slow. Tlie like is passed, and now the\ j^ain \ n.irrovN and a limken pl.iin. liilori' the TrosK li's iuj:kiiI jaws: Ami here, the horse and !>|eiiien dasheil among the rout .•\s deer bre.ik ihrou-h the broom; Tlieir steeils .ire ^toiii. their swords arc out. They soon make llght^ome loom. Clan .Vlpiiie's best .ire b.n kwaril borne ; Will re, wheri' was Koderu k then ■" One bl.i^l upon his bugle horn Were worth i thons.iiid nu'ii. And reiliieiil through the jmss of le.ir The b,itil' 's tide w.is poured ; \'anislied the .""asoirs struggling >pe.ir, N'nnished (he mountain's >word As lir.K klinV. < h.isin, so bla< k .md steep kii eives her roaring lin . As the d.ilk e.neriis ol the dee|i Sm k the w ild whiilj ool in. So did the deep and darksome pasi Devour the b.iltle's mingled nia>s; None linger now upon tie.' pl.iin, S.ive tllo^e who ne'er --hall light ag.iiii. SiK W'ai.ii;k Sruri. I ORCUrr NOT THI; r-ii-.i-O. OROI.r not the field where they perished. The truest, the l.i^t ol ilu- brave. All gone — and the bright hopes we • her- ished. Cone with them, and (jiieiK lied in their .1 grave ( )h ! could we I'roin death but recover Those lie.nts ,1-, thev bounded belore. In the face oi high Heaven to light over That combat tor freedom oik e more ; — Could the chain lor an inst.int be riven W'liic h tvrannv thing round us then. No I 'tis not in man. nor in heaven, To let tyranny bind it ai^.iin ! lint 'tis ]iast — and though bla/oned in story 'I'he name of our victor may be, Accurst is the march of that glory Whit h treatls o'er the hearts of the tree. l'"ar dearer the grave or the jirison Illumed by one jiatriot name, Than the trophies of all who have risen On liberty's ruins to fame. Tll. I.MAS MooKE. 270 J'A TK/OTs . l.\7:> HHRi V-.S". PAUL REVERES RIDE. I'aiil Kcvcrc, an Ameriian ]ialrint of (lie Kivoluiinn, anil one iif llic caillcsl Aniciu.iii fii^ravers, \va-< li.nn :il liostoii ill !7i5. "e liiok an active |>ail in llie ile^lriu'li|iin liarlmr, aim was icin>pirii(nis for lii-. |>atrioti>m in lll«'. political inovciiipiits of llif time. His midiii^lit "ViH-iii- tio'i to Concord to ^ivc notice of tlit- intciulcil attack of ( General (•"UC forms tlu- subject of the following; spirited poeii. : flittii LIS TKN, my chiklren, and yoii sliall hi'ar Of till- midnight ride of Paul Revere, ( )n the eiglitecnth of April, in Sevcntx -Five ; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend, — " If the T5ritish inarch By land or sea from the town to-night, Hang a lantern aloft in t!ie helfry an h Of the North-Clhiirch-towcr. as a signal-lighl, — One if by land, and two if by sea ; .\ii(i 1 on ilie ojiposite shore will be. Ready to ritle and si)read the alaiin riiroiigh every Middlesex village ami tarm l-'iir the' lountry-lolk to be up and to arm." Then he said good-night, and with ninl'lled n.ii Silently rowed to the I'harlestown slu)re, lust as the moon rose over the bay, When- swinging wide at her moorings lay The Soniersett, British nianof-war: .\ phantom ship, « ith each mast and spar .Across the moon, like a ]irison-l)ar, And a huge, black hidl, that was magnilled liy its own rellection in the tide. I Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and i.tnet I \Vamlcrs anil watches with eager ears. Till in the silence aroinid him he hears : The muster of men at the barrack-doiir. The S(.)niul of arms, and the tramp of feet. j And th.e measurtd tread of the grenailier^ ' Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he (limbed to the tower of the church, I'p the wooden stairs 'vith stealthy tread, To the bel'Vy-chamber overhead. And startled the jjigeons from their perch On the sombre rafters, that round him made Masses ami mo'ing shapes of shade — I'p the light lidder, slender and tall. To the highest window in the wall. Where he jaiised to listen and h)ok dowii , A moment on the roofs of the town, And the moonlight tlt)wing over all. Heiuath, in the clmrliyard, lay the dead In their nighi-encampnient on the hill, ^\'rallpe(l in silence so deeii and still. That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, ' The watcliliil night-wind as it went ! ("r^'"p:ng along from tent to tent. And seeming to whisper, " All is well !" A moment oidy he feels the spell Of the ])la( e and the hour, the secret dread or the loiu'ly l)ell"ry a!id the dead : for suddenly ai' ids thoughts are bent < )ii a shadowy something far away. Where the river witlens to meet the bay — A line of black, that bends and floats On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. Meanuhile, imjiatient to mount and ride Booted and spurreil, with a heavy stride. On the opjiosite shore walked Paul Re\cre; Now h'> jjatted his horse's side, Now ga/.ed on the landscape far and neat, Then impetuous stamped the earth, .And turned and tightened his saddle girth; I'ut mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the old North Church, .\s it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still. PATRfOTS AND IflUWf.S. '271 Ami lo ! as lie looks, on the lielt'ry's height, A uliminer. aiul then ;i ^Umui of li,i;iu ! II,' -]irin;;s to the .saiklle, tlic liriille he turns, jit lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A ^.c unci i;ini]) in the belfry inirns ! A bnrrving of hoofs iii ;i viil.igestri'et. A -luipe in the moonlight, a l)iilk in the dark, A:,.l beneadi from tlie pebbles, in passing, a spark Mriii'k out by a steed that llies fearless and lleet : 'I'll, it \>as all ! And yet, throngh the gloom ami the light. Ihe fate of a nation was riding that night ; ■\iid the spark strnck out bv that steed, in his llight. Kuuiied tiie lantl into flame with it-< heat. It w.is twelve by the village-( lock. When he erussed the bridge into Meilfonl town. lie iie.ird the crowing of the cock, .\iiil the barking of the f:irmer's dog, Anil felt the damp of the river-fog, Tliat rises when the sun goes down. It was one by the village-clock, WIilu he rode into Lexington. He Niw the gilded weathercock Suini in the mooidight as he jiassed. And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, da/e at him with a spectral glare, As if they alreatly stood aghast At the bloody work they would look nj)on. It was two by the village-clock, W'lun he came to the bridge in Concc 1 town. lie heard the bleating of the flock, And the twilter of birds among the trees. And t'elt the breath of the morning breeze I'llowing over the meadows brown. And cne was safe and asleej) in his beil W ho at the bridge would be first to fall, Who that (lav would be lying dead, Pierced by a IJritish nnisket-ball. \'uu know the rest. In the books you have read How the liritish regulais fired and tied — ll.nv the farmers gave them ball for ball, I'mm behind each fence and farm-yard wall, ('liasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again I'nder the trees at the turn of the road, .\nd only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; .\iid so throin^h the night went his cry of alarm To every Miildlesex village and farm — .\ cry of defiance, and not of fear — A voice in the darkness, a knock at ^he door. And a word that shall echo forevermore ! I or, borne on the night-wind of the jiast, Tlirongh all our history to the last, In the hour of darkness and peril and need, U A '{'he jieople will waken and listen to hear The iunr\ ing hoof-bcat of th.it steed, .\nil the midnight-message ol r.tui Revere. 11. \\ l.dNi .1 1 1.1.1 )W. A SONO OF- THi: NORTH. Captain < 'ro/iiM, llu- scioiul uliieirdl >ii lulin I niiikliii's \.\>i ill-1'..licl i'\ii>, siiilrd vviili Ir.iiikliii in |S.)5, in >rarcli nf a Noill'wot iia.s>,a^f, al'itr wliiili nolliin^ «.is licanl 111' (lie party until 1S511, wImmi Captani MiClinloik I'numl nil Kin^ William's l>lanil a irmid, datcil April J5, I.S.1S, signed by ( aptain (id/irr, staling; tliat tin- ;.liips l>el>iw and 'I'ermr had liceii aliandoncd and llial tlic crews, iiiuU r iiiniinand ot C'ro/ier, were aliniit t-.i start fcr tlreat I'i-li Kivir. V\\./ James wis (inc dI the utticfrs in tiinmanil. .\11 of llii- cxpi-diiicin |uTislud in tlic mmws ol tlif .North, afirr leavini; relics which were iliscovered hy Milistipunt ex- peditions. WA\' ! away I " cried the stout Sir John, " While the blossoms are on the trees; I'or the summer is short and the time speeds on. As we sail f'>r the lujrtliern seas. Ho! gallant C'rozicr and brave hit/, lames ! W'e will start the world 1 trow. When we find a way to the Northern .seas T'hat never was found till now ! A good sloiit ship is the lirebus .•\s ever tuifiirled a sail, And the Terror will mat( h with as brave a one, As ever outrode a gale." So they bid farewell to their iile::;a!it Iiomes, 'To the hills and valleys green, With three hearty cheers ft)r their ".:'.ti\e isle, And three for the I'.nglish <]'.ieen. They sped them awav bevond cape and baw Where the da\ and night are one — Where the hissing light in tl.e he:i\eiis grew bright .\nd flamed like a midnight sun. There was nought below s.ue the fleldN ol snow, That stretc lieil to the icy pole ; And the l'"si|uiinaiix in his strange canoe, Was the only b\ ing soul ! Along the coast like a giant host, The glittering icebergs frowneil ; Or they met on the main like a battle jtlain, And crashed with a fearful sound ! The seal anil the bear, with a curious stare, Looked down l"ro;n the trozen heights, .And the stars in the skies with their great wdd eves. Peered out from the Xorthern lights. T'he gallant ("ro/ier and the br.ive litz lames, ;\nd even the stout Sir John. Felt a doubt like a chill through their warm hearts thrill .\s thev urgeil the good ships on. They s]ied them away. be\ond cape and bay, Where even the tear-ilrops freeze ; \\\ \ . t k \ I I \ i i ! i III h> '.:v :; c i > { 1 1! ■ M' 1 '1 n 1 ir il 272 PATR/OTS AXD HEROES. But no way was found by strait or sou; 1. To sail through the Nortiiern seas; Tlicv speil tiieni away, beyontl ca])e ami bay. And tiiey souglit hut they souglit in vain I i)ut no way was lound, througii tiie ice around 'I'o return to tiieir homes again. IJut tiie wild waves rose, and the waters froze I'ill they closed like a ]irison wall ; And the icebergs stood, in tiie silent Hood Like jailers grim and tall. O (lod, C) (lod ! — it was hard to die In that i>rison-house of ice! For what was fame, or a mighty name, When life was the fearful price. The gallant C'rozier and the brave I'itz James. .\nd even the stout Sir John, Had a S'cret dread, and the hopes ah lied. As the weeks and months pass-d on. Anil deeper and deeper came the sleep, Till they slept to wake no more ! Oh, the sailor's wife and the sailor's ( hild ! They weep and watch and ])ray ; .\nd the Lady Jane, she will hope in v.un As the long years pass away ! The gallant C'ro/ier and the brave lit, J,:iirs, .And the good Sir John have found .\n open way to a (pnet ba\', And a port where all are bound. Let the w.itirs roar round the ice-bountl >i;ore That circles the frozen pole. P.ut tiiere is no sleep and no grave s(; deep ■j'hal can hold the iiuman Soul. I'.i.i/ \i;k ni I >iM I \ THE "CONSTITUTION" AND "OlER- F^inRE." RINC. the War Then the be King came, with hiseyesof tlame, .\nd looked on the '"ited crew; His chilling breath was as cold as death, And it picr( ed their warm hearts through. A lieavy sleep tiiat was dark and tlee]). ("ame over their weary eyes, And they dreamml strange dreams of the liills and streams. And t'le blue of their native skies. The Ciii'istmas chimes of the good old times Were heard in each dying ear. And the darling feet and the voices sweet Of their wi\es and chihlren dear ! Rut it fided away — a^'ay — away ! Like a sound on a distant shore; f iSi2 a liriti.-^h si; i.uii m sailed Irom llalif.ix to cruise oil the ; ort of New \'ork. 'l"he .-Vnierican lr;^.,te •• ('on^-titutioll." I ap- tain 1 lull, while eiiiiea- voring to eiUer Xi^- York harbor, lib m with this sipi.idron, .li.d was chased by it for luur days. I ler escape w,i> line entirely to the supe- rior skid of lur olficei- and the energy of Ikt ( rew. The i base w.,> one of the nio^i reinari;- able in histor\ , and the escape of the .•Xiuencan frigate won great credit for Captain 1 lull, {■'ail- ing to reach .\e\\ \i)\\., Hull sailed for rio-tmi, and reached that port in safety. Remaiuingtlierc a kw da\ s he put to sea again, just in tiuie to avoid ordv..:' from Wash- ington to reincuc, Ml port. The '■ Constitution " sailed from lio->ton to t!i« northeast. On the i()th of .August, while cruising off the mouth of the St. Lawrence, she fell in with the ISritish frigate " Ouerriere," Captain Dacres, one of the vessels that had c'nased her during the previous mcnitli. Tlie " Cuerriere " immediately stood tow.irds her, and both vessels jjrepared tor action. Tiie ]',nglish commander opened his lire at long range, but Captain Hull refused to reply until he had g'otten his shiii into a favorable ]iosi- tion, and for an hour and a half he mameuvrec' mi silence, under a heavv fire from the liritisli frigate. .\t length, having gotten within ])istol shot of her adversary, the " Constitution " ojiened a ter- rible fire upon her, and poured in her broadsides PATRIOTS AXD IIliROHS. 273 witp. surli effect that the " Gucrriere " struck licr ' rolors within tiiirty minutes. 'I'lie "(luerricre" lo^t seventy-nine men killed antl woundctl, while the loss (if the " Cunstitution was but seven men. 'I'lie " duerriere" was so murh injured in the fight tli.it she (ouid n(jt lie brought into port, and Hull h.id her burned. I IK' "Constitution" tlien returned to Boston uilli lu'r |irisoners, and was received with an ovation. It was the first time in half a century that a liritish frii^ate had struck her flag in a fair fight, and the victory was hailed with tlelight in all parts of the cduntry. THE SHIP OP STATE. TinC ship of -State — above her skies are blue, Hut still she rocks a little, it is true, .\nd there are passengers whose faces white SlidW they don't feel as hajipy as they might. Vet. on tlie whole, her crew are (|uite content, Since its wild fury the tyi)hoon has sjjcnt ; And willing, if her pilot thinks it best, To head a little nearer south by west. And this they feel, the ship came too near wreck In the long (piarrel for the quarter deck. Now, when she glides serenely on her way. 'I'lie shall. )ws past, where dread explosives lay, The stifl" obstructives' churlish game to try, Let sleeiiing dogs and still torjieiloes lie. And so I give you all " The Ship of State ! Freedt)m's last venture is her priceless freight. Ciiid speed her, keep her. bless her while she steers Amid the breakers of unsounded years Lead her through danger's path with even keel And guide the honest hand that holds her wheel." O. W. Holmes. THE IMMORTALS. PA TRIO rs have toded, and in their country's cause. Hied nobly, and their deeds, as they de- serve, Receive proud recomi)ense. We give in charge 'J'heir names to the sweet lyre. 'I'he historic Muse, I'roiul of her treasure, marches with it down To latest times: and Sculpture in her turn Gives bond, in stone and ever-during brass. To guard them, and immortalize her trust. w THE BALLOT BOX. \\ have a weapon, firmer set, And better than the bayonet ; A weapon which comes down as still .As snow-llakes fall u|ion the sod, Hut executes a freeman's will .\s lightning does the will of (lod. Naught from its force, or bolt, or knocks Can shield them — 'tis the Hallot liox. John I'iekpont. 18 PATRIOTISM. /'^iiS^BKT/ ''^'^^"^1" ' o' patriotism, the heart of JA^H^u a nation will be cold and cramped n'-dllBni '^"'' ^^'''''^ > ''''-' '""'^ ^^''" have no .tmw^Uml (jiuluring imimlse, ami commerce no invigorating soul ; society will degenerate, and the mean and vi- ( ions triumph. Patriotism is not a wild anil glittering passion, but a glorious reality. 'I'he virtue that gave to p.iganism its daz/ling lus- tre, to barbarism its redeeming trait, to Chris- tianity its heroic form, is not deael. Jt still lives to console, to sanctify humanity. In ever\ clime it has its altar, its worship and festivities. On the heathereil hill of Scotland the sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. The genius of I''rance, in the brilliant literature of the day, pays its high homage to the piety and heroism of the young Maid of Orleans. In her new Senate-hall, England bids her sculptor ])lace, among the effigies of her greatest sons, the images of Hamjiden and of Russell. In the gay and gra( eltil cajiitai of Belgium, the daring hantl of Oeefs has reared a monument, full of glorit)Us meaning, to the three hundred martyrs of the revolution. By the soft, blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the chapel of William Tell. On the anniversary of his rev. it and victorv, across those waters, as they glitter in the July sun, skim the light boats of the allied cantons. From the jirows hang the banners of the republic, and, as they near the sacred spot, the daughters of Lucerne chant the hymns of their old i)oetic land. Then bursts forth the glad Te Dfum, and heaven again hears the voice of that wild chiv.ilry of the mountains which, five centuries since, ]iicrced the white eagle of Vienna, and flung it bleeding on the rocks ot L'ri. ,\t Innspruck, in the black aisle of the old cathedral, the peasant of the Tyrol kneels before the statue of Andreas Hofer. In the defiles and valleys of the Tyrol, who forgets the day on which he fell within the walls ol MaiUi;a? It is a festive day all through, this ([uiet, noble land. In that old cathedral his insjiiring memory is recalled amid the pageantries of the altar ; his image a])- pear*: in every house; his victories and virtues are proclaiiiicd in the songs of the ]ieople: and when the sun goes down a chain of fires, in the deep red light of whi( h the eagle sjireads iiis wings and holds his giddy revelry, jjroi laims the glory of the chief whose jilood his m.idc his native land a sainted spot in Luropc. Shall not all join in this glorious worship ? Shall not all have the faith, the duties, the festivities of patriotism ? Happy is the country whose sons and daughters lo\ e her sacred soil, and are ready to con.secrate it to freccK)m with their blood. _, ,, ,, 1. 1'. Meaciiei^, lllltl ■ i \ t « h m ,! i'h 1 I ■ 1 1 , ' 1 t 1 ■ ! i |i y^ili i ii .'^f. 271 JWTRIO'IS AM) J/l:RO/iS. PRIDE OF BATTERY B. in towcri'il upon our rijjlit, far off tlu' river lav, And over un the wooded lieii;lu we liekl their lines at l)a\. At Li>t the muttering guns were still, liie '''<-'''"'L»'ds raised within our view a little maiden stocjd ; ■^^^^l^^V* *'^ '"^^ ^"' "'^ '''^ *^"^ seven, from fireside fresh she seemed, ^N/'' cot' such a little one in heaven one soldier often tlreaiiied). And as we started, one littk' har.d went to her Indeed I will, for Xed, sa\- he. il' I do what I-.^\, curly head In grax'e salute. ••And who are \-)u?" at length 'he sergeant s.iid. "And where's xour home?'' he growled .luain. She lisped out, '• Who is me? Why, don't \()ii kiujw? I'm little Jane, the pride of IJattery H. .My home? W h\- that «.is Imrned away, and pa and ma are dead, And so I rid" the mms all tl.iv along with .Sergeant Xed. .\nd I'w.' a drum that's not a toy. a ea]) with feathers too, And I march besitle the drunnner lio\- on Sundays nt review. I'.ut now our 'bacca'^ all give out. 'l:e men can't have their smoke, .\nd so they're cross; why even Xed won't ]ilay I'll be a general \et, ma\ be, and ride ,i ]ir,in(;ii ' b.-iv." We biinnned her tinv apron o'er. \'ou >h(i':l,i have heard her laugh. .\s each man from his scant\' store sliook oiit a generous half. To kiss the little mouth stoojied down ,i s( C' n| grimy men, I'ntil the sergeant's husky voii:e said, •• "rentidii sipiad ! " antl then We gave her escort, till gooil-night the puiiy waif we bid, And watched her toddle o;it (.f sight — or v\m- 'twas tears that hiil I ler tiny forn. — nor turned about a man. nor -.j eke a word, Till after awhile, a far hoarse shoit ;: 1 1 the u iiid we heard. with me and joke. And the big colonel said to-day — I hate to hear We sent it back, and cas,: sud eyes npon the s( ene him swear — around, He'd give a leg for a gootl pipe like the \'anks had A baby's hand had toucheil the tie that brotliers ovei there. once had bound. .And so I thought when beat the drum, and the big That's all; .save when the dawn awoke again the guns were still, work of hell, I'd creep beneath the tent and come out here And through the snllen clouds of smoke ilie across the hill, screaming missiles fell, .■\nd beg, good Mister Yankee men, you'd give me Our general often rubbed his glass and marveled some Lone Jack ; nnich to see Please do ! When we get some again I'll surely Not a single shell that whole d.ay fell in the camp l)ring it back. i of Battery 15. F. H. (I.'VSS.xwav . HARMODIUS AND ARISTOQITON. 1 KOM THK i;i. C. Ilarmoihiis having received a p-rsonal at'lVont from I lipparcluis, the two friends conspired to ventic tliis by llie dcatli of lioth tlie l)rothers. They tir^t ai lacked and killed I liiiparchus. whose guards then .slew Ilarniodiiis ! and arrested .Xrislogiton, wlio was afterwards put to death by the order of llippias. The latter having become tyrannical and unpopular was expelled from the state about three yea, - after that i-vent. Slalties were erected at the |inblic expense to the memory of the conspirators, who were regarded as heroes and niartvrs of libertv. h is said that when the tyrant Dionysius asked .'\ntii>ho which was the finest kind <>f bras>, he replied, "That of which the st.atues of Harniodius aiiu Aristogiton are formed," I '1,1, wreathe my sword in myrtle bough. The sword that laid the tyrant low, When ijatriots. burning to be free, I'o Athens gave equality. Harmodius, hail ! though reft of breath, 'i'hcju ne'er shall feel the stroke of death ; The heroes' haj^py isles shall be The bright abode allotted thee. rATR/OTS .l\/) ///-.ROUS. 27o I'll wreatlie my sworii in inyiik' liou^ili. I'lie sword tliat laul llipparcliiis luw, W'Ik'Ii ;it Atlicna's advcrsi.' I'aiif lie knelt, and never rose ai^ain. While freedom's name i^ nndt rstood, \()ii sliall (leliL^lu the wise and ,uood ; \'oii d ired to set \<)ur toiintry free. And gave hir laws eipiality. l.nKI) DkNM AN. His loss w.is deeply and nniversally lamented. His memory i> ( iierished wiih even warmer re-.ird than thai ul' some others, who, from tlie greaier length of their (aretr and the wider sphere in whi( h they acted, ma\ be sii].po-.ed to have ren- dered more important ser\ i( es to the (oiintrv. lie was horn a: Roxlmrv, Mass., in 17)1. aiid ^radnated at Harvard ColleL'c in i75(). 11, ■ p,,~. ses>ed in high perlectiun the j;ift of eloquciue WARREN AND BUNKER HILL. G i:\ERAL JOSEl'lI VVARRKN was one of the most distingnished patriots of the American Revolution. He opposed the plan of fortifyini,' the hei,i,dits of Charlestown, l)Ut the majority of the council of war de( ided against him, and thus brought on the battle of Hunker Hill before the Americans were fully jirepared for it. While both the armies were a>vaiting the signal for action on the 17th of June, 1775, (len- er;il Warren joined tlie ranks as a volunteer, and ik'( lined to take the < ommand of the army which was offered to him by Ceneral Putnam. He was about to retire from the redoubt, after the ammu- nition of the .Vmericans had been exhausted, when he was shot in the forehead and instantlv killed. ANDREAS HOFER. Ilofer was a celebrateii 'Ivmlese (lalriiil. With his army of peasants lie .signally iltffatcd the Irtncli coininander after a long and obstinate cunlliit, but, overpowered at last liy the reinforcements sent from I'raiue, lie took refiij^e in the moiiii- tains. Ik'ing soon after heliayed by a former friend, lie was tried and shot, l-'ehruary, iSio. At the ]>lace of execution lie said '' lie stood before Ilim who created l.iin; and stand- ing he would yield up his spirit to Ilini." .\ coin which ha! been issued during his administration, he delivered to \\\- corporal, with the charge to bear witness, that in Ms la-' hour, he fi'lt himself bound by every tie of constancy to Ir. poor father land. Then he cried " Kire!" I WILL not kneel to yield my life; Hehold me firndy stand. .\s oft I've stood in deadlv strife I'or my dear father-land : :ii \ V I 4i, . I if liTd IATR/07S A. YD IHiROES. M',. Tlie cause for wliicli I Ion); have bled, I ( lierish to the last — God's lilessing lie upon it shed When my vain life is past! On nature's ranijiarts was I Ixirn, And o'er them walked elate, My retinue the hues of dawn. The mists my robe of state ; I will not shame my mountain-birth, Sia\ es only f rouch to ilie, Kreet I'll take my leave of earth, With clear and dauntless eye. Thou^'hts of the eagle's lofty home, Of stars that ever sliine, The torrent's crested arch of foam, 'i'he darkly waving pine, The di//y crag, eternal s;io\v, Mchoes that wildly .oil — With xalor make my bosom glow, And wing my parting soul. This coin will make my country's tears, Fresh cast in freedom s mould, 'Tis dearer to my brave compeers Than all your despot's gokl ; (), let it bear tiie last farewell ( )f one free mountaineer, And bid the Tyrol peasants swell Their songs of martial cheer ! I've met ye on a fairer field, And seen ye tamely bow. Think not with suppliant knee I'll yield To (raven vengeance now ; Cut short my few and toilsome days. Set 1 )0.se a tyrant's thrall, I'll die with unaverted gaze, And concjuer as I fall. II. T. TurKERMAN. LEXINGTON. ^"^ LOWLY the mist o'er the meadow was creep- Oing, Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun, When from his couch, while his cliildren were sleeping. Kose the bold rebel ami shouldered his gun. Waving her golden veil Over the silent dale, Elitlie looked the morning on - ottage and spire, Htished was his parting sigh, While from his noble eye I'lashed the last sparkle of lilierty's fire. On the smooth green where the fresh leaf is spring- ing Calmly the first-born of glory have met ; Hush ! the death-volley around them is ringing ! Look ! with their lite-blood the young grass is wet I Faint is the feeble breath. Murmuring low in death. " Tell to our sons how tiieir fathers have died ; " Nerveless the iron hand, Raised tor its nati\e land, Lies by the weap m tliat gleams at its sidt Over the hillsides the wild knell is tollin-. I'Vom their fair hamlets the yeomanry conic .\s through the storm-clouds the thunderliiist rolling. Circles the beat of the mustering drum. Fast on the soldier's jiath Darkens the waves of wrath, Long have they gathered, and loud shall tl.e\ till, Red glares tlie musket's flash. Sharp rings the rifle's crash. Blazing and cl.mging from tliicket and wall. Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind i, r.iv- Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail, Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving. Keeled with the echoes that rode on the gale, ^•'ar as the tempest thrills. Over the darkened hills, ]''ar as the sunshine streams over the ])lain, Roused by the tyrant band, Woke all the mighty land, (lirded for battle from mountain to main. Oroen be the graves where her martyrs are lyinu ! Shroudless and tombless they sank to their rest. While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying. Wraiis the proud eagle they roused from his nest. Borne on her Northern pine, Long o'er the foamy brine. Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun ! Heaven kee]) her ever free, AV^ide as o'er land and soa I'loats the fair emblem her heroes have won ! O. W. Holmes. THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL. HI", lay upon his dying bed, His eyes were growing dim When with a feeble voice he called His weeping son to him. " Weeji not, my boy," the veteran said " I bow to heaven's higii will, But ([uickly from yon antlers bring The Sword of Bunker HiU." The sword was brought ; the soldier's eyes Lit with a sudden flame. And as he grasjied the ancient blade, lie murmured Warren's name. Tiien said : " My boy, I leave you gold, But what is better still. I leave you, mark nie, mark me now, The Sword of Bunker Hill. PATRIOTS AND JIHROHS. 2V7 " ' Pwas on that dread imninrlal day We dared the liiitish band, .\ . .qitain raised tliis sword on nie, , lore it from his liand. Aid as tlie awful battle ra^'cd, it lighted freedom's wih ! lor, boy, tlie (Ic '. of freedom blessed The Sword of Bunker Hill. " O keep the sword " — his accents broke ; A smile, and he was dead — But Ids wrinkled hands still grasped the blade Upon thai dying bed. The sun remains, the sword remains, Its ,L;iory growing still, And many millions bless the sire And Sword of Ikmker Hill. THE WOUNDED SOLDIER. STICADY, boys, steady! Keep your arms ready, (iod only knows whom we may ni-^et here. Don't let me be taken ; I'd rather awaken To-morrow, in — no matter where, Than to lie in that foul ])rison-hole, over tiiere. Sup slowly I Speak lowly ! Tlie rocks may have life! Lav me down in the hollow ; we are out of the strife. Hy iieaven ! the foeman may track me in blood, For this hole in my breast is outpouring a flood. No ! No surgeon for me ; he can give me no aid; The surgeon I want is a pick-axe and spade. Whr.t, Morris, a tear? Why, shame on you, man! 1 thought you a hero ; but since you began To whimper and cry, like a girl in her teens, Ky (leorge ! 1 don't know wiiat the devil it means. Well I well ! 1 am rough, 'tis a very roiigii school' Tiiis life of a trooper — but yet I'm no fool ! I know a brave man, and a triend from a foe; And, boys, that you love me I cartainly know, But wasn't it grand. When they came down the liill over sloughing and sand ? IJiit we stood — did we not? — like immovable rock, I'nheeding their bal's and re])er.ing tiieir shock. Hid ydu mind the loud cry, when, as turning to fly, Our men sprang upon them, iletermined to die? Oh, wasn't it grand ? (Iod help the i)oor wretclies who fell in the fight ; Ni) lime was there given for prayers or for flight. They fell liy the score, in the crash, hand to hand. .■\nd they mingled their blood with the sloughing and sand. (Ireat heavens! This bullet-hole gaps like a grave ; A ( iirse on the aim of the traitorous knave ! Is liiere never a one of you knows how to pray. Or speak for a man as his life ebbs away ? l'ra\- ! l'ra\ ! Our Father! Our Father I — wiiy tloii't ymi pro- ceed ? Can't you see 1 am dying? (Ire.ii Ciod. Imw i bleed I Our {''atiier in heaven — iio\s, tell nie the rest. While 1 stancii tlie hot blood ircni tlie hole in my breast. There's something about the forgiveness of sin ; Put tliat in ! luil that in ! — a'.d then I'll follow \()ur words and say an ".\men." Here, Morris, old fellow, get hold of my luuul, .\nd Wilson, my comratle — oh ! wasn't it grand When they came down the hill like a tiiuiider- charged cloud. And were scattered like mist by our brave Jiitle crowd ? — Where's Wilson, my (;omrade? Here stoo]) down your head. Can't you say a short pra\er for the thing and dead ? -Christ-Ood, who died for sinners all, Hear Thou this suppliant wanderer's cry; Let not e'en this ])oor sparrow fall Unheeded by Thy gracious eye ; Throw wide Thy gates to let him in, .And take him, pleading, to Thine arms; Forgive, O Lord, his lifelong sin. And (piiet all his fierce alarms." ( 'lod bless you, my comrade, for singing that hymn, It is light to my path, now my sight has grown dim. I am dying! Bend down, till I touch you once more ; Don't forget me, old fellow — Ood i)rosper this war ! Confusion to enemies! — keep hold of my hand — And float our dear flag o'er a pros[)erous land ! J. W. Watson. THE OLD GRENADIER'S STORY. ?'T^W.\S ihe day beside the Pyramids, I It seems but an hour ago, ■*■ That Kleber's Foot stood firm in S(iuares, Returning blow for blow. The .Mamelukes were tossing Their standards to the sky, When [ heard a child's voice say, '• My men, Teach me the way to die ! " 'Twas a little drummer, with his side Torn terribly with shot ; But still he feebly beat his drum, .'\s though the wound were not. .'\nd when the Mameluke's wild horse Burst with a scream and ( ry. He said, "O men of the Forty-third, Teach me the way to die ! " 111 ; ':T '!; I'M >r I im r ' HI] Si < IhI HI 1 1 i i H If ■1 ill 1 1 1 f 1 ^H Bjl 'H |i 1 278 J\lT/oo.' hoy ,L;ood-l>\ , And said. •• We men of the I'orty-thirtl Teach \ou the wa\' to die ! " I never --aw .-^o .sad a look As the i)oor youngster cast, When the hot smoke of c.innon In (loud and uliirh\in(l jiassed. I'.arth shook and heaven answered : I watched Ins eagle eye, .\s he faintly moaned, "The Korty-thiKi 'leach me the wa\ to die!" Then, with a musket lor a < rule h, 1 le limped unto the light ; I, with a hullet in my hip, iiail neither strength nor might, lint, |)roudly heating on his drum, A lever in his eye, 1 heard him mo.m, "The l'nrl\- third Taught me the wa\' to die ! " Tluv found him on the morrow, Stret< hed (Ui a heap of dead ; His hand was in the grenadier's Who at his hiilding bled, 'i'hey himg a medal round his neck. Ami ( losed his dauntless eye ; On the stone they cut, "The h'orty-tliird 'iaught him the way to die ! " 'Tis forty yi'ars from then till now- - The gra\ e gapes at my feet — Yet, when 1 think of such a hoy, I feel my oki heart l)eat. And from my sleep 1 sometimes wake. Ilearing a feeble cry. And a voice that says, " Now, Forty-third, Teach me the way to die ! " Ci. W. TnoK^•|•,^R^ . THE HOMES OF FREEDOM. IH.Wl'^ seen my coimtrymeii, and have been with them a fellow-wanderer, in other lands; and little did 1 see or feel to warrant the appre- hension, sometimes expressed, that foreign travel W(juld weaken our patriotic attac hments. ( )ne sigh for home — home, arose from all hearts. And why, from i)alacesand courts — why, from galleries of the arts, where the marble softens into life, and paint- ing sheds an almost living ])resence of beautv around it — why, froii) the mountain's awful brow, and tile lovely valle_\s and lakes touched with the sunset luies of old romance — why, from those vener- able and toiu hing ruins to which our very heart grows — why, from all these scenes, were they IcKik- ing hesoiKl the swellings of the .\tlantic wave, to a tle.irer and holier spot of earth — their own, own coimtry? Doubtless it was, in part, because it is their country. 15ut it was also, as every one's ex])erience will testily, hecaiise the}' knew tliat/Z/i-vr was no op|)res- sion. no ])itiful exaction of ]>et!«y tyranny; because that //lerc, they knew, was no accredited and irre- siitihlc religious domination; heraiisc that //irri', they knew, they should not meet the otlious .soldier ' at every corner, nor swarms of imploring beggars, ! the victims of misrule: that //lere, no curse cause- less did fall, and no blight, worse than jilagiie ami pestilence, did descend amidst the pure dews of i heaven ; because, in line, that //igfr, they knew. I was liberty — upon all the green hills, and amidst all the jieaccftd \allt>ys — liberty, the wall of fire arotmd the humblest home; the crown of glor\. studded with her ever-blazing stars upon the pr nnl- est mansion ! My friends, upon our own homes that blessing rests, that guardian care and glorious crown ; and when we return to those homes, and so long as we J dwell in them — so long as no ()i)pressor's foot in- vades their thresholds, let us bless them, and hallow them as the homes of freedom! Let us make them, too, the homes of a nobler freedom — of freedom from vice, from evil, from passion — from everv ' corrupting bondage of the soul. I Okville Dewkv. THE SWORD AND THE PLOW: OR THE VICTORIES OF WAR AND OF PEACE. A DHSI-RTHR. il.>1;R ri'.R :" WcU, Capt.iin, the world's about li.^'ht, Ami it's nncoinmon ([iiccr 1 sliouUl riiii iVuui a li,:4lii, Or the cliaiicc of a t'li^ht ; 1, raised in a land W'iuTO boy.,, yon may say, are iiorn rillo in iiand, Aiul who've t'unght ail my lite for tlie right of my ranch, With tlu' wily Ai^uhe and the cruel Comanche. Hut it's true, and I'll own it, I did run aw.iy. "I'nink?" No, sir : I'd not tasteil a drop all ila\ ; liiit — smile if Non will — I'd atlri.'am in the night, And 1 woke in a fevt;r of sorrow and fright And went for my horse ; 'iw is np and awaj' ; And I rode like the wind, till the break of the dav. " What was it I dreamt?" I dreamed of my wife — The true little woman that's better than life — I tireamt of mv bo\ s — I have three — one is ten, The yoimgest is four — all brave little men — Of my one baby girl, my jjretty white dove, The star of my home, the rose of its love. I saw the log house on tiie clear San Antoine, And I knew that around it the grass had been mown. For I felt in mv dream, the sweet breatii of the hav, I was there, for 1 lifted a jessamine spray; And the dog that I loved heard my whispered command. And whimpered and put his big head in my hand. Tlie i)lace was so still ; all the boys were at rest ; And the mother lay dreaming, the babe at her breast ' saw the fair scene for a moment ; then stood In a circle of flame, amid shrieking and blood. The Comanche had the i)lace— Captain, spare me the rest ; \Hu know what that means, for vou come from the West. I woke with a shout, and I had but one aim — To save or revenge them — my head was aflame. And my heart had stood still; I was mad, I dare say, For my horse fell dead at the dawn of the day ; Then I knew what I'd done, and with he.irt- broken breath. When the boys found nie out 1 was praying for death. "A pardon?" No, Captain, I did run away. And the wrong to the flag it is ri. ht I should pay With my life. It'-> not hard to be bra\e When one's children and wife have gone to the grave. I'oys, take a good aim! When 1 turn to the west Put a ball through my heart ; it's kintlest anil best. lie lifted his hat to tlie flag — l)ent his head And the prayer of his cliildhood solemnly said — Shouted, " Comrades, adieu !" — spread his arms to the west — And a rifle ball instantly granted him rest, Hut o'er that sad grave by the Mexican sea. Wives and mothers have planted a blossoming tree. And maidens bring roses, aiul tenderly say : ■' It was love — sweetest love — led the soldier away." Mary A. IUrr. 279 iii:^ mm & h 280 THE SWORD AXD TUE PLOW. SONU OF THE ORBl-K AMAZON. IHL'('1n.I.I'. 1(1 my hli'iider siiic I lie pislol and the s( iiiiitar. And in my maiden llowcr and pride Am come to share tlie tasks of war. And \()nder staiuls my fier) steed, 'I'lial paws tlif ground and nciylistogo, My < liargtr of tlie Aral) breed — I took liiin Irdiii llie routed foe. My mirror is the iiH)ii.Uain sjiring, . At whieh I dress my niflled liair ; My iliinmed and dnsty arms 1 hriii!,', Aiul wasli a\va\ the blood stain there. Why should I guard Irom wintl and sun Tiiis eheek, whose virgin rose is lied? It was for one — oh, only one — I kept its bloom, and he is dead. Hut thev who slew him — unaware ()f(i)wartl murderers lurking nigh — And left him to the fowls of air, .Are yet alive — and they must die. They slew him and my virgin years Are vowed to ( Ireete and vengeance now, And many an Othman dame, in tears. Shall rule tiie Grecian maiden's vow. I touched the lute in the better days, I led in dance the joyuus band ; Ah! they may move to mirthful lays Whose ItiikIs can touch a lover's hand. The march of hosts that haste to meet Seems gayer than the dance to me ; The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet As the fierce siiout of victory. W. C. Bryant. THE SOLDIER'5 WIDOW. W() for my vine-clad home! That it siiould ever be so dark to me, With its bright threshold, anil its whispering tree! That I should ever come, i-'earing the lonely echo of a tread lieneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead! Lead on, my orphan boy! Thy home is not so (.les(jlate to thee — Antl the low shiver in the linden tree May bring to thee a joy ; i5ut oh, how dark is the bright home before thee, To her who with a joyous spirit bore thee! I-ead on! for tliou art now My sole remaining hel_ "r. Cod hath spoken. And the strong heart 1 leaned upon is broken; And I have seen his brow — The forehead of my u])right one, and just — Trod by the hoof of battle in the dust. 1 le will not meet thee there Who blest thee at the eventide, my son \ ' And when the shadows of the night steal on, lie will not call to pra\er. The lijis that melted, giving thee to Cod, .■\re in the icy keejiing of the sod! Ay, my own boy ! thy sire is with the sleejiers of the valley cast. And the jiroud glory of my life hath passed With his high glance of fire. Wo that the linden and tlie vine should blocini, And a just man be gathered to the tomb! Why — bear tlum proudly, boy ! It is the sworil he girded to his thigh — It is the helm he wore in victory — And shall we ha\ e no joy ? For thy green vales, oil Switzerland, he died ! — I will I'orget my sorrow in my pride ! N. 1'. WlM.ls. M HOME FROM THE WAR. .\R( H ! nor heed those arms that hold thee, Though so fondly close they ( ome ; Closer still will they enfold thee. When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. Dost thou ilote on woman's brow? Dost thou live liut in her breath? March ! — one hour of victory now Wins thee woman's smile till death. Oh, what bliss, when war is over, Heauty's long-missed smile to meet. And, when wreaths our temjjles cover, Lay them shining at her *"jet ! Who would not, that hour lO reach. Breathe out life's expiring sigh — I'roiid as waves thai on the beach l,ay their war-crests down, and die? There ! I see thy soul is burning ; She herself, who clasp/s thee so. Paints, ev'n now. thy glad returning. And, while clasping, bids thee go. One deep sigh, to i)assion given, One la.st glowing tear, and then — March! — nor rest thy sword, till Heaven Brings thee lo those arms again. TlI(lM.\S MOUKE. THE GOLDEN AGE. FOR lo ! the days are hastening on ; By projihet bards foietold. When, with the ever circlint; years, Comes round the ate of gold ! When peace shall over all the earth Its final s|)lendcrs fling. And the whole world send back the song Which now the angels sing ! lice. !l M f ii v. U 281 2s U Till: SWOKP AXn Till: ri.ow. I TMIi 5W()kI>. 0\ IK tlic mantel liunj,'8 the swonl, ^lic.illiiil ill M.ihliartl, dfiitril and old; kill Miiil. ta» the wtufir now — lie \sh(jsr ri-hi aim wielded il thrn ? I>iist, witii tlie host tliat hreathcd the hieath Of the battle Mars, when the natinn's vow I'reedonied tlie lives of a million uien. ^'lileiit? Ah, \es: The man who led With horse and yonder sword, i-, dead. Who I .in tell of its flashing blade? Who loniess the valor ii taught? Where are tlie r.ink> that followed it> lead? Where are the lielils of rarnaye laid ? Where the hearts ih.ii back of it foii;;ht:^ On what page is written their meed? Silent the men and tluir battle-cry, 'I'hey who i hallen-ed their f.iti — to die I Powerless now on the lanelled wall — Xe\ertheks> — >nntten like its master's h.md ; I'l.ish gone out of its tempered steel Since it lay on its master's pall ; Jiound no more by the red scarf band Near the heart that it once could feel ; Never again to mix in the dii. Or in the van to lose or to win ! Peace is carved on the rusty sword. Peace is wrought in the silent stone, Memor\- crowned by love's tnie art : Battle and victorv speak no word ; Sword art thou of the spirit of one Whom death enshrines in the reverent I;eart ; l.ove and honor gleam from thy blade — liattle and victory fade and fade I StKI'IIKN 1 I. THAVKK. LOVE AND PEACE. TIIMKi: is a story told In I'^astern tents, when autumn nights grow cold. And round the fire the Mongol shepherds sit With grave responses listening unto it: ( >iue, on the errands of his mercy bent, liuddha, the holy and benevolent, Met a fell monster, huge and fierce of look, Wliose awful voice the hills and forests shook. "O son of jieace! " the giant cried. " thy fate Is sealed at last, and love shall \ii.ld to hate." The unarmed Hiiddha looking, with no trace Of fear or anger, in the monster's face, With pity said : "Poor fiend, even thee 1 love." I,o ! as he spake, the sky tall terror sank To handbreadth si/.c ; the huge abhorrence ir.m^ li\to the form and fashion of a dove ; .\nil where tlu' thunder of its r.igi' was hearii, Mroodiiig above him sweetly sang the bird; •• ll.ite h.ith no harm lor love," so r.iii the m.i,-^ '■ .\nd peai e iniwe.i polled Hot iJvmII now on the waste and i riii!t\ of w.ii, riicsc stare us wildly in tin- i k >•, like lurid nuteor lights, as we tr.ivel lli'' | .i^c of history. We see the dr.sol.itioii and ili.itli that pursue its denioni.ic footsteps. We link ii|.iiii sacked towns, upon ravaged territories, u|<()ii \i,). l.ited homes; we behold all the sweets (h.irilh > cif life I h.iiiged to wormwood and gall. Our mhiI is penetrated b, the sharp moan of mother^, si>. ters ami ilaughters — of fathers, brothers and .(iii>, who. in the bitterness of their bereavement, nliisi' to be comfort! (1. Our e\es rest at last iipuii oin- )f those fair lUlds, where nature in her abiiinl.uue I spre.ids her cloih of gold, spacious and a| t, fir I the eiitert.iinnicnt of mighty multitudes; or, jrr- ' haps, from the i iirious subtlety of its position, like j the carpet in the Arabian tale, seeming tociniir.itt so as to be covered by a few onl\-. or to dikitc so as to receive an innumer.ible ho^t. Here, under a bright sun, such a^ shone al .\iis- terlit/ or lliiena \ ista amidst the jicaiefiil li.ir- monies of nature — on the .Sabbath of peace— we behold bands 'if brothers, ( hildreii of a coiunioii I'ather, heirs t- a i ommon h.ippiness, stri]).':;liiig together in the .......dly light, with the madiios of fallen sjiirits, itking with murderous wcipoiis the lives of brothers who have never injured tluiii or their kindred. 'I he havoc rages. The ;;rniniil is so.iked with their commingling blood. 'I he air is rent by their commingling cries. Horse ami rider are stretched togclhcr on the earth. More revolting than the mangled victim>, tluui the gashed limbs, than the lifeless trunks, than tlu' spattering l)rains, are the lawless passions which sweep, tempestdike, through the fiendish tuniult. Nearer comes the storm, and nearer, rolling f.ist and frightlul on. Speak, Xiniena, speak and tell us, who has lust and who has w on ? "Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe to- gether fall. O'er the dying rush the living; pray, my sister, for them all ! " IIorror-striK k, we asked, wherefore this hateful contest? The melanclioly, but truthful answer comes, that this is the fstahlished method of ikter- mining justice between nations! Charles Sumner. 77//:' SII't^A7) .i.\/> nil. ri.ow. 283 ^'T^IS inulnij;!)! ; on tin- moitnlaiiis lirmMi I I he colli roiiDil moo i shines lU'iply ilosvtl , ^ nine roll the w.ilcr-., lihie thf sk\ ^jirtMil-' like ;in ohmii hiinj; on \w^\\, lii'H|i.in;;lfil wilh tiuj'^e i'^li's ol li^iil. -Ml wildly, Hpiritiially l)ri{{ht ; i!?;^;;: M W?^' THli Tl HKI.SM CAMP. II I "HI I irKIMH. Aiil II lu) answered froin the hill, And tiif wiiji' iiiiin ol tii.it wild hii',1 Kllslll'il like li'.IVl'S ItOIII lll.lit to ('oa«l, As ruse ilir Mil v/in's voire in .lir In niidiii;;lit I. ill tu wonted |ira\er; It rosu, that i lianted inuumriil strain, __, ^ Who ever gazed upon them shining, And turned to cartii witliont repining Nor wished tor wings to llee aw.iy, And mix witli tlu'ir eternal ray? The waves on either shore lay there, Calm, clear, and azure as the air : And scarce their foam the jjebhles shook, Hut murmured meekl\- as the brook. Tlip winds were ])illowed on the wavfes; The banners droopL'd aloni,' their staves, And. as tliey fell around them furling, Above them shone the crescent curling ; And that deep silence was unbroke. Save where the watch his signal spoke, Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill, I-ike some lone spirit's o'er the plain : 'Twas musical, but sadly sweet. Such as when winils and harp-strings meet, .Anil take a long unmeasured tune, 'I'o mort.il minstrelsy unknown. It seemed to those within the wall A cry projihetic of tlieir fall ; It struck even the besieger's ear With something ominous and drear, An unilefincd and sudden thrill. Which makes the heart a moment still. Then beat with quicker pilse, ashamed OTtliat strange sense its silence framed : Such as a sudden jj.issing-bell Wakes, tliough but for a stranger's knell. LOKU I'.VkON. li 284 77//: SWORD AND THE PLOW. THE BATTLE-FIELD. This slriking potiii is an American c'a^ic. Two lines aloiio, if llifie were no otiiers, are enough to give it immor- tal fame : " Trutii, iruslied to earth, shall rise again; The eternal years of ChA are hers." o NCI'; tliis soft tiirf, this rivulet's sands, Wi-rc trampled by a liurrying crowd, And fiery hi arts and armed hands Encountered in the battle cloud. Ah ! never shall the land forget How giisiied the life-blood of her brave, (tUsl'.Mi, warm with hoi"' •^"'^1 courage yet, Upon the soil they fought to save. Now all is calm, and fresh, and still, Alone the chirp of flitting bird. And talk of children on the liill, And bell of wandering kine are heard. No solemn host goes trailing by The black-mouthed gun and staggering wain; ATen stai t not at the battle-cry, Oh, lie it never heard again! Soon rested those who fought ; but thou Who minglest in the harder strife ror truths which men receive not now, Thy warfare only ends with life. A friendless warfare! lingering long Through weary day and weary year. A v.-ild and many-weapontd throng Hang on thy front, and flank, and rear. Yet nerve thy spirit to the proof, And blench not at thy chosen lot. The timid good may stand aloof, The sage may frown — yet faint thou not. Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shad dwell, at last. The victory of endurance born. Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again; The eurnal years of (iod are hers ; But Error, ^t'ounded, writhes with pain. And dies among his worshippers. Yea, though thuii lie upon the dust. When they who helped thee flee in fear, Die full of hope and manly trust, Like those who fell in battle here. Another hand tli} sword shall wield. Another hand the standard wave, Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed The blast of triun.ph o'er thy grave. W. C. Bryant. THE REGIMENT'S RETURN. HE is coming, he is coming, my true-love cchk s home to-day ; All the city throngs to meet him as in- im. gers by the wav. He is coming from the battle, with his kua].-,.ck and his gun — He, a hundred times my darling, for the dangers he hath run. Twice they said that he was dead, but I would not believe the lie ; While my faithful heart keiit loving him I kiniv lie could not die. All in white will I array me, with a rosebud in niv hair. And his ring upon my finger — he shall see it shin- ing there. He will kiss me, he will kiss me with the kiss of long ago; He will fold his arms around me close, and I shall cry, I know. Oh the years that I have waited — rather lives they seemed to be — For the dawning of the happy day that brings him back to me. But the worthy cause has triumphed. Oh. juv' the war is over. He is coming, he is coming, my gallant sold tr lover. Men are shouting all around me, women weep and laugh for joy, Wives behold again their husbands, and the mother clasps her boy ; All the city throbs with passion ; 'tis a day i f jubilee ; But the happiness of thousands brings not happi- ness to me ; I remember, I remember, when tlie soldiers went away. There was one among the noblest who has not re- turned to-day. Oh, I loved him, how I loved him, and 1 never can forget That he kissed me as we parted, for the kiss is burning yet ! 'Tis his picture in my bosom, where his head will never lie ; 'Tis his ring upon my finger — [ will wear it till I die. Oh, his comrades say that dying he looked \\\< .wA breathed my name ; They have come to those that loved them but nv.- ilarling never came. Oh, they said he died a hero — but I knew huw that would be ; And they say the cai.ise has triumphed — will tli;it bring him back to me ? E. J. Cutler. THE SWORD AND THE PLOW. 285 WAR'S DESTRUCTION. CONCEIVE, but for a moment, the conster- nation wliich tlie approacli of an invading army would impress on the peaceful vil- li>H> in our own neighborhood. WIilu you have pl.u (1 yourselves for an instant in that situation, Vdii will learn to sympathize with those uniiappy count ni'swliiih liave sustained the ravages of arms. Htit iiow is it jiossible to give you an idea of these horrors? Here you behold rich harvests, the bounty of heaven, and the reward of industry, consumeil in a niiiment, or trampled under foot, while famine and pestilence follow the steps of desolation. There the cottages of peasants given up lo the flames, mothers expiring through fear, not for themselves, but their infants; the inhabitants fly- ing with their helpless babes in all directions, miserable fugitives on th,'ir native soil. Ill another part you witness oi)ulent cities taken hv storm ; the streets, where no sounds were heard hilt those of peaceful industry, filled on a sudden with slaughter and blood, resounding with the cries of the pursuing and the pursued; the palaces of nobles demolished ; the houses of the rich jjillaged, and every age, sex and rank, mingled in promis- cuous massacre and ruin. RoiiERT Hall. THE BATTLE-SONQ OP QUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS. FROM IIIK c;KRMAN. FI:AR not, O little floi k ! the foe Wiio madly seeks your overthrow, Dread not his rage and jiower ; What though your courage sometimes faints? His seeming triiimi)h o'er (lod's saints Lasts but a little hour. He of good chcLi ; your cause belongs To him who can avenge your wrongs, Leave it to him, our Lord. Though hidden now from all our eyes, He sees the Ciideon who shall rise To save us, and his word. .'\s true as dod's own word is true, Not earth or hell witii all their crew .\gainst us shall ])revail. .V jest and by-word are they grown ; (lod is with us. we are his own, Our victory cannot fail. .\inen. Lord Jesus, grant our prayer; (ireat C'aptain, now thine arm make bare; l'"ighl for us once again. So shall the saints and martys raise A mighty chorus to thy ])raise. World without end. Amen. Michael Altenbuki;. OLD IRONSIDES. The frig.ito ''CoiiiUtmioii," wliDSf t;lc)ricus reconl is known to all Uniihar witli our naval liisluryj wa.i havcd Iron) destruction l>y lln; tollDwinj,' lieautilul lines of Dr. Holmes, wliich causel llie iicople tn pausp, anil reconsider their ileter- mination of breaking up the nation's favorite. AN', tear her tattered ensign down I Long has it waved on high. And many an eye has danced to see Tiiat banner in the sky ; IJeneath it rung the battle shout And bur t the cannon's roar: The metec>r of the oce;in air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with iiero's blood. Where knelt the vani|uishe(l foe. When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the concpiered knee : The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea. Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave — Her thunders shook the mighty deep, .•\nd there shotild be her grave. Nail to the mast her holy flag. Set every threadbare sail. And give her to the gotl of storms. The lightning, and the gale. ( ). W. Holmes, FESTIVE PEACE. NOW are our brows bound with victorious wreaths ; Our bruised arms hungu]) for monuments ; < hir stern alarums changeil to merry meet- ing, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war has smootiied his wrinkled front ; And now — instead of motmting barbed steeds. To fright the souls of fearful adversaries — He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber. To the lascivious pleasing of a lute. William Shakespeare. A BRIGHTER DAY. LET us reckon upon the future. .\ time will come when the science of destruction shall bend before the arts of jieace ; when the genius which m;illii)lies our jiowers — which creates new i)roducts— which diffuses ccjinfort and h.".])])!- ness among the great mass of the people— shall occupy in the general estimation of mankind that rank which reason and common sense now as- siiin to it. ii I I !, I' i * I'ti \t\ iii I ' IT bin 2.S6 Till- SWOKl) AM) mil PLOW. THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. H( )\V sweet it was to l)re;uliL- tliat cooler air, And lake posscs.-iuii of iii\' lallicr's chair ! lieiicath 111)- cIIjow, on the sohel Ir.iine, Appeared tlie rough initials oi my luune, Cut tbrty years i)erore 1 I'he >.iiiie old clock Struck the same hell, and L;ave my heart a shoc^ I never can fori^et. A short hreeze sprung. And while a sigh was tremhiing on my tongue. Caught the old tlaiigling almanacs behind. While thus 1 mused, still ga/ing, gazing stili. On beds of moss that spreail the window--,; 11 1 (.leemed no moss my eye had ever seen Had been so lovel\-, brilliant, fresh and :;re! , And guessed some inlant hand had [flaced it i, .\nd prized its hue, so excpiisite. so rare. I'eelings on leelings mingling, tloubling ro-^e . My heart felt anything but cahn repose ; i could not reckon minutes, hours, nor year-. i\nd up they Hew like banners in the wind ; Then gently, singly, down, down, down they went, Ami tokl of twenty \ears that 1 liad spent Far from my native land. I'hat instant came A robin on the threshold : though so tame, At first he looked distrustful, almost shy, And cast on me his coal-black steadfast eye. And seemed t(j say — past friendship to renew— "Ah iia ! old worn-out soldier, is it vou?" Hut rose at once, and i'ound relief in tears ; Then, like a fool, confused, sat down again, Anti thought upon the ])ast with shame and |iaiii; j I ra\ed at war and all its horrid co^t, And glorv 's tpiagmire, where the brave are lost. I On carnage, fire, and plunder long 1 mused, ' And cursed ti.e murdering weajjons 1 had used. RoF!ERT Bloom n El. 11. SOLDIER, REST! THY rki)M '• THF. I AliV III' SOLDI KR, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking ; Dream of battleil fields no more. Days of danger, nights of waking ; In our isle's enchanted hall. Hands unseen tliy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, I'lvery sense in slumber dewing ; Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more ; Slee]) the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. No rude sound shall reach thine car, Armor's clang, or war-steeti champing, Triiimpli ncr pil)ro( h siinmion here Mustering, or sipiadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill file may come Att he davbreak from the fallow, WARFARE O'ER. '.IIK l.AKK." And the bittern soimd his drum. Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds sliall none be near, C.aards nor warders challenge here ; Here's no war-steetl's neigh and champing, .Shouting clans or sipiadrons stamping. Huntsman, rest 1 thy chase is done, Wiiile our slumberous spells assail ye, Dream not. with the rising sun. Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; Sleep ! thy hounds are by thee lying ; Sleep ! nor dream in yonder glen How thy gallant steed lay dying. Himtsnuui, rest ' thy chase is lione, 'I'hink not of the rising sun, I'or, at dawning to assail ye. Here no bugles sotmd reveille. Sir Wamkh Scott. Tim SWORD Axn Tif/-: rf.ow 287 ODE TO F>EACE. D.\r(;iiri;R of Ciod: tiuu suvt on iiigii Amid t!ie dances of tlic sky. And uuidot willi tliv t;entli" sway I'hy planets on llieir ttniffnl way; Pvcet Peace I sliall ne'er a^ain The smile of thy most holy face, i'roni thine ethereal d\vellin,u-i)lace. Rejoice the wretched, uearv raie Of discord-breathing men? Then come from thy serene al)odc. Thon gkulness-niving child of (lod ! And cease the world's ensanguinetl strife, And reconcile my soul to lite ; For much 1 long to see, I'.re I shall to the gra\e descend. Tin hand its Messed branch extend, And to the world's remo'est end Wave love and harmony i W'li.LiAM Tknneni. I vjijsi *■ Too long, O gladness-giving ijiieen ! Thy tarrying in heaven has been ; Too long o'er this fair blooming world The Hag of blood has been nnfiirled, Polluting God's pure day ; Whilst, as each maddening jjeojile reels, War onward drives his scythed wheels, And at his horses' bloody heels Shriek murder and dismay. Oft have I weiit to hear the cry Of widow wailing bitterly ; To see the parent's silent tear For children fallen beneath the spear ; And I have felt so sore The sense of human guilt and woe, That I, in virtue's passioned glow, Have cursed fmy soul was woimded so) The shape of man I bore ! WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING. w HKN banners are waving, And lances a-piishing ; When captains are shouting, And war-horses rushing ; When cannon are roaring, And hot bullets flying, He that would honor win, Must not fear i]ying. Though shafts fly so thick 'i'hat it seems to be snowing; Though streamlets with blood More than water are flowing; Though with sabre and bullet Our bravest are dying. We speak of revenge, but We ne'er si)eak of flving. I .. 288 THE SWORD AXD THE PLOW. Come, stand to it, lieroc:> ! The lieatlien are coming ; Horsemen are round liie walls, kitlint,' and running ; Maidens and matrons all Arm I arm I are crying. From petards the wildfire's Flasliing and Hying. The trumpets from turrets high Loudly are braying ; The steeds for the onset Are snorting and neighing ; As waves in the ocean, The dark plumes are dancing; As stars in the blue sky. The helmets are glancing. Their ladders are planting, Their sabres are sweeping ; No>v swords from our sheaths ]5y the thousand are leajiing; Like the Hash of the lightning Ere men hearken thunder, Swords gleam, and the steel caps Are cloven asunder. The shouting has ceased, And the flashing of cannon! I looked from the turret For crescent and jjcnnon ; As flax touchetl by fire, As hail in the river. They were smote, they were fallen, And had melted for e\er. BEFORE IV.E BATTLE. BY the hope v.ithin us sjjringing, Herald of to-morrow's strife ; ]]y that sun, whose light is bringing Chains or freedom, death or life — Oh ! remember life can be No charm for him, whi^ lives not free! Like the day-star in the wave. Sinks a hero in his grave, Midst the dew-fall of a nation's tears. Hai)))y is he o'er whose decline The smiles of home may soothing shine, And light him ilown the steep of years; But oh, how blest they sink to rest. Who close their eyes on victory's breast ! O'er his watch-fire's fading embers Now the foenian's cheek turns white. When his heart that field remembers. Where we tamed his tyrant might. Never let him bind again A chain, like that we broke from then. Hark 1 the horn of combat calls — Fre the golden evening falls, May we pledge that horn in triuin])h round ! Many a heart that now beats high, in slumber cold at night shall lie, Nor waken even at victory's sound. — ]?iit oh, how blest that hero's sleep. O'er whom a wond'ring world shall wcepl Thomas MnouK. THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND. NOW there's peace on the shore, now thca's calm on the .«ea, J'ill a glass to the heroes xvhose swords kept us free, Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose and Dundee. O the broadswords of old .Scotland ! AiH. O the old Scottish broadswords ! Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, the good and the brave — juet him flee from our board, let him sletj. with the slave, Whose libation comes slow while we honor his grave. Though he died not, like him, amid victorv's roar. Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore. Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore. Yea, a i)lace with the fallen the Uving shall claim; We'll intwine in one wreath every glorious name. The Ciordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the Oraham. Count the rocks of the Sjjcy, count the groves of the Forth, Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven of the north ; Then go blazon their numbers, their names, and I their worth. The highest in splendor, the humblest in place, Stand united in glory, .is kindred in race, For the private is brother in blood to his Cirare. Then sacred to each and to all let it be. Fill a glass \o the heroes whose swords keju us ' free, I Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose and Dundee. I O the broadswords of old Scotland ! i And O the old Scottish broadswords! I John O. LocKHAin-. t LET THE SWORD RUST. WI'.Rh; half the power that fills ihe world with terror. Were half the wealth bescowed on camp and courts, Oiven to redeem the human mind from error, There were no need of arsenals and forts ! I H. W. j,oNni Ei.i.ow. THE SWORD .l.\7) Tlir. PLOW. 289 THE ANCJELS OF BUENA VISTA. Ximcna, l().)kini. 4k ^ I'l'^AK. and tell us, our ^N iKjrtlnvard far away, ^^ O'er ;he camp of the I' Mexican array, invaders, o'er the Wlio is losing? wlio is winning? — are tliey far. or come they near ? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, wliither rolls the storm wc hear ? " Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls ; iJlood is flowing, men are dving; (lod, have mercy on their souls ; " Wiio is losing? who is winning!'' — "Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain." " Holy mother ! keep our brothers ! Look Xiniena, look once more I" " Still 1 see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Hearing on in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse. Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.'' " Look forth onc:e more, Ximena !" "Ah ! the smoke has rolled away ; And I see the northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of grey. Hark I that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels ; Tiiere the northern horses thunder, witii the cannon at their heels. " Jesus, pity! how it thickens! now re- treat and now advance ! Right against the blazing cannon shivers I'ueiila's charging lance I Down they go, the brave yoimg riders; horse and foot together fall ; Like a ploughshare in tiie fallow, through their i)loughs the northern ball." Nearer came the storm, and nearer, roll- ing fast and frightful on : " Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who iias won?" ".Mas! ala., ! I know not; friend and foe together fall. O'er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all ! " Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother, save my brain ! I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding ; now they fall and strive to rise ; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes ! 19 Oh, my heart's love! oh. ms dear one ! lav thy poor heatl on my knee ; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? canst thou hear me ? canst thou see ? Oh, my husband, brave and gentle ! oh, my liernal. look once more On the blessed cross before thee ! Merc\ ! mercv ! all is o'er !" NEWS KK(1M TIIK HATTLE EIELD. Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thv dear one down to rest : Let his hands be meekly folded ; lay the ( ro.s I'pon his breast ; Let his dirge be siuig hereafier, and his funeral masses said ; To-day, thou poor bereaved one ! the living ask thv aid. "If : '^ || ' 1 M ' i i ! 1 '1 : 1 'ii ' 1 i; ' 1 ' ■ 1 ..f ! # 1^ imH m-A 1 1 r ^ ! M I: i'. 18 'IP ' ! ■ yjll 290 THE SWORD AND Till: PLOW. Close beside lier. faiiil!) mi)aninf,', fair ami ydiiiig, a soUliiT lay, Torn Nvitli shot, ami i)icnt,d witli lames. l)leecl- inj,' -low ills lilc away ; 15iit, as tcii'le'l)' before him the lorn Ximena knelt, She sau the northern eagle shining on !iis pirtol belt. With a stilled cry of horror straight slie turned away her head ; With a sad and bitter I'eeling lookctl she back upon iier dead ; But she heard the south's low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parched lips again. Whisijered K)w the dying soldier, pressed her hand, and faintlx smiled : Was that jiitying face his mother's? did she watch beside her child? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart sui)plied ; With her kiss upon his forehead. '• Mother !' murmured he, and died I ■' A bitter curse upon diem, jraor boy, who U d thee forth. From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely in the North !" Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled. =' Look forth once n^ore, Ximena!" "Like a cloud before the wind Roils the battle down the mountains, leaving blood ami death behind ; Ah ! they j)lead in vain for mercy; in the dust the woundeil strive ; Hide your faces, holy angels 1 oh, thou Christ of (lod, forgive !" Sink, oh night, among thy mountains ! let the cool grey shadows fall ; Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy cur- tain over all ! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide ai)art the battle rolled. Li its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold. But the nc' ' - Mcxic women still their holy task pursui'd. Through that Ion 4, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint, ami lackir.g food ; Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they h>mg, And the dying foemcn blessea them in a strange and northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father! is this evil worM uf ours: Ijuvard through its blood and a.shes, spim^' afresh the Eden (lowers ; Fio'u its smoking hell of battle, lo\c and |.itv send their jjrayer. And still thv white-winged angels hovt-r diiuU ill our air. J. Ci. Willi TIKK. A PICTURE OF PEACE. 1 Ro.M " evanc;ki,ini-.." PICACF seemed to reign ujion the earth, .md the restless heart of the ocean Was for a nu>ment (onsoled. All sounds were in harmony blended. Voices of ( hildren at play, the crowing of ((k ks in the farm-yard. Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, ami the CDoiiiLj of i)igeons, Ml were subdued and low as the murmurs of love, and die great sun Looked with eye of peace through the golden vapors around him. II. W. LoNiilKI.lnW THE TYRANT'5 SCOURGE. AH ! w hence yon glare. That fires the arch of heaven? — that d.irk red smoke Blotting the silver moon ? The stars are (|neiu lied In darkness, and pure and spangling snow (ileams faintlv through the gloom that gathers roimd ! Hark to that roar, whose swift and deafening peals In countless echoes thiough the mountains rir^,, Startling pale mdnight on her starry throne! Now swells the intermiiigling din ; the jar Frecpient and frightful ol the bursting bomb' The falling beam, the shriek, the groan, the shout. The ceaseless clangor, and the rush of men Inebriate with rage ; — loud, and more loutl The discord grows; till ])ale death shuts the scene, And o'er the conciueror ami the conquered draws His cold and bloody shroud. Of all the men Whom day's departing beam saw blooming there, In proud and vigorous healtli ; of all the liearts That beat with anxious life at sunset there, How few survive, how few are beating now ! All is dee]) silence, like the fearful calm That slumbers in the storm's portentous pause ; Save when the frantic wail of widowed lo\e Comes shuddering on the blast, or the faint ninaii With which some soul burst from the frame of clay Wrapt round its struggling powers. The grav morn Dawns on the mournful scene; the sulphurous smoke Before the icy winds slow rolls away, nil'. SWORD Axn riU: ri.ow. 291 All'! tlie l)right l>cams of frosty morning dance Along tilt; spangling snow. I'licrc trucks of blood l^vt 11 to the fcjrest's (U'ptli. and scattered arms, And lifeless warriors, whose hard liiieamtMits l)f, nil's self could change not, mark the dreailfiil path Ol the oiitsallying victors ; far t)ehind, Blai k ashes note where their proud city stood. Witlim yon forest is a gloomy glen — Larh tree which guards its darkness from the day Waves o'er a warrior's tomb. War is the statesman's game, the priest's deliglit. The lawyer's jest, the iiired assassin's trade, And to those royal murderers whose mean thrones Are lioiight by crimes of treacher}' and gore, The bread they eat, the staff on whii h they lean. Guards, garbed in blood red livery, surround Their palaces, particij)ate the crimes That force defends, and from a nation's rage Secure the crown, which all the curses reach That famine, frenzy, woe and penury breathe. These are the hired braves who defend The tyrant's throne. Percy P. Shelley. THE DEATH OF THE WARRIOR KING. TI lERE are noble heads bowed down and pale, Deep sounds of woe arise, .And tears llow fast around the couch Where a wounded warrior lies ; The hue of death is gathering dark l'|ion his lofty brow, And the arm of might and valor falls. Weak as an infant's now. I saw him 'mid the battling hosts, lake a bright and leading star, Where banner, helm and fah hi(m gleamed, And flew the bolts of war. When, in his ])lentitude of power, He trod the Holy Land, I saw the routed Saracens Flee from his blood-dark brand. I saw him in the banquet . jur Forsake the festiv - throng, To seek his favorite minstrel s haunt, And give his soul to song ; For dearly as he loved renown, He loved that spell-wrought strain Which bade the braves of perished days Fight conquest's torch again. riien seemed the bard to cojie with time. And trium])h o'er liis doom — Another world in freshness burst Oblivion's mighty tomb! Again the hardy Britons rushed lake lions to the fight, While horse and foot — helm, shield and lance, Swept by his visioned sight I But battle shout and waving plume, T'he drum's heart-stirring beat, The glittering pomp of prosperous war, I'lie rush of million fet t, 'i"he m.igic of the minstrel'^ song. Which told of victories o'er. Are sights and sounds the d\ in.^ king Shall see — shall hear no more I It was the htuir lost that dreudhil ila\ , Stood few antl laint, but fearless s.ill. 'i"he soldic-'s hope, the jjatriot's zeal, For ever dinnniil, for ever crosi — Oh ! who ^hall say what lieroes feel, When all hut life and honor's lost? Three hundred white hirelings are low in the dust. The unequal conflict was bloody and brief, And they weep for their men and their golden- haired chief. I hate the jjale'aces ! I'll fight to the death While the prairies are mine, and a warrior has breath ! By the bones of our fathers, whose ruin they wrought. When they first trod our land, and for sympathy sought — By tlie souls of our slain, when our villages burned — Bv all the black vices our ]ieople have learned, No season of re>t shall my enemies see. Till the earth drinks my b'ood, l'i my people are free. Fkancis S. Sm:th. 'l"he last sad hoiu" of iVeetloms dream. And valor's task, moved slowly by. While mute the\- watched, till morning's bean: Should rise and give them light to die. There's yet a worUl, where souls are free, Where tyrants taint not nature's bliss; — If death that world's iiright o].ening be. Oh ! who would live a slave in this ? Thomas IvIoore. COMING PEACE. DRUMS and battle cries Oo out in music of the morning star ; And soon we shall have thinkers in the place Of fighters ; each found able as a man To strike electric influence through a race. Unstayed by city-wall and barbican. lU.VAHETH B. UrOWNING. f i %< ii 1 1 1 \\ 2IM ////: SH '()/ ieajis the dof; : '-(let down, you inip I Are \(m so j;l.id \on woidd eat me u] The ■ ■ ■ 'liie Id row lows at the j^ate to j^reet him, liorses prirk up tluir ears to meet him: •' Well, well, ol.l Ha\ ! Ha. ha, old Gray ! Do you get j,'ood food whin I'm away? ' Vou hasen't a rih,'" says Farmer John ; " The cattle are lookinj; round and sleek The <(dt is goinj,' to he a roan, And a lieauty too; liow he has grown! We'll wtan the calf next week." Says Farmer John. " Wlien I've heeu olT, To rail you again aboiit the trough, And watch you and pet you while you ilrink, Is a greater comfort th in you can think !" And he pats old Hay, And he slaps old Clray. ' Ah, this is the comfort of going away ! ' For after all,"' says Farmer John, " The best of a journey is getting home. I've seen great sights, but would I give This spot, and the peaceful life I live, For all their Paris and Rome ? These hills for the city's stifled air, And l)ig hotels, all bustle and glare; Laud all houses, and roads all stones That deafen your ears and batter your bones? Would you, old Ray? Would you, old dray? That's what one gets by going away. Fve found this out," says F'armer John, " That hapi)iness is not bought and sold, And clutched in a life of waste and hurry. In nights of ])leasure and days of worry; And wealth isn't all in gold. Mortgages, stocks, and ten ])er cent., But in simple ways and sweet content ; F I''ew wants, pure hope, and noble ends, .Some land to tdl, and a few good friends Like you, old 15ay, And you, old (Iray : That's what I learned by going away." J. T. Tkiiwhridce. THE VILLAGE BOY. RFF iVom the vilUge corner, sec how wild The village boy along the pasture hies. With every smell, and sound, and sight be- guiled. That round the prospect meets his wondering eyes ; Now, stooping, eager for the cowslip jieeps, As though he'd get them all. — now tired of these, Across the Haggy brook he eager leaps, For some new flower his happy rapture sees; — Now, leering 'mid the bushes on his knees On woodland banks, for blue-bell flowers he creeps; — And now, while looking up among the trees. He sjjies a nest, and down he throws his flowers, And up he climbs with new-fed ecstasies; I'he happiest object in the summer hours. J. (J. Cl.ARKE. 297 I '" Nil Mr ■t! !; :f 298 KCRA/. SCE.YES. HOMESICK FOR THE COUNTRY. I'D kind <)' likf to have a cot Fixed oil soii'j siimiy slojie ; a spot Five acres more or less, With maples, cil.irs, cherry-trees. And p()i)lars whitening in the breeze. 'T won Id suit my taste, I guess, To have the porcli with vines o'erhung, Witli bells of pendant woodbine swung, In every hell a bee : And round niv latticed window sjiread A clunij) of iones, white and red. To sola( e mine and me, I kind o' think 1 siiould desire To hear arouiul the lawn a choir (Jf wood-birds singing sweet ; And in a dell I'd haveahrook, Where I uughi sit and riM^lmy book. Such should be niv rerir;u Far from the city's crowd .md noi.se ; There would I rear the i^irls and boys, (1 have some two or tlirri'!. .\nd if kind Heaven shniiM bless my store Willi fue or six or seven UKjrf, I low h:ipp\- I would lie! SLMf*\ER \V()()r)S. THJO ceaseless hum of men, th" dusty streets, Crowded with nuiltitiidi nous life ; the din Of toil and traffic, and theuoc and sill, The (.Iweller in the pupulous city luei'ts ; Tlu'>e have I lel't to ^e^■k the cool retreats < )f the untrodden toresl.wlieir, in b' luers r.uiKk'il b\- natiu'e's hand, in- laid with {lowers, .And roofeil with i\ \ , on the iuoss\- seats ■declining, 1 < an while ,iuav the luiiirs In ^weete^t coiiver>e with i.Kl books, or give My ihoiiglits toCiod ; or .ni- cies fugiti\e ndiilge, while over me their railiant shower^ Of rarest blossoms tlieold trees shake down, And thanks to I lini ni)- i ledi- tations <;ro\\ n I WlI.I.I.VM 11. HlKI l-l'.ll. DEATH IN THE COUNTRY. IKOM "rilK III' rcllMA.N's IlKKSIUK." THERF is to my mind and to my early recol- lections something ex(|uisitely touching in the tolling of a church-iiell amid the silence of the country. It communicates for miles around the message of mortality. The ploughman i-tops his hordes to listen to the solemn tidings; the RURAL SCENES. 299 hiiu^ewit'e remits lier domestic occupations, and sii-- Willi lier needle idle in her lingers, to poinler wih) it is tliat is going to tiie long home; anil even tlir l.ttle thoughtless children, playing and laiigh- iim their way from sciiool. are arrested tor a mo- 111 'lit in their evening gambols by these somids of iiiflaiiclioly import, and cover their heads when I hey go to rest. JaN.KS K. PAULDlNd. THAT CALF. TO the yard, l)y the barn, came the farmer one morn. And, calling the cattle, he said, Willie they trembled with fright: " Now which of you, last night. Shut the barn door while I was abed?" 1 lach one of them all shook his he id. Now the little calf .S|)ot, she was down in the lot, .And the wav the rest talked was a shame ; 1-or no one, night before, saw her shut up the door; lint they .said that she did, ali the same. For they always made her take tiie blame. .Said the hor.se (dajiplc gray), "I was not up that ua}' L.ist nigiit, as I now recollect;" .•\ii I the bull, passing by, tcjssed his horns vcrv high, .\nd --aiil, " Lt'l who may here object, I -ay this, that calf I suspect." Then out spoke the cow, ''It is terrible now, To accuse honest folks ot'siicli tricks." Said the cork in the tree, " I'm sure 'twasii't me;" .\iid the siiecp all critNl, " Ikili ! (there were six) .\(i\v that calf's got herself in a ti\." ••Win, of course we all knew 'twas the wrong thing to ilo," Sail! tile chickens. '• (Jf ( ourse," said the cat. '• 1 suppose," crieil the mule, "some lolks think me a fool. But I'm not ipiite so simple as that ; The ])oor calf never knows what she's at." Iibt that mouieiit, the calf, who was always the laugh .And the jest of the yard, came in sight. '■ Did \ou shut my barn door?" asked the farmer once more. '• I did, sir, I closed it last night," Said the calf; "and I thought that was right." Then each one shook his head. " She will catch it," they cried, "Serves her right for her meddlesome ways." S-iiu the farmer, " Come here, little bossy, my dear, You have done what I cannot rei)ay, And your fortune is made from t(j-day. " For a wonder, last night, 1 fv)rgol the door (jiiite, And if \ou liati not shut it so neat. All my colts had slipped in, and gone right to the bin. And got what they ouglii not to eat, They'd have foundered themselves upon wheat." Then each hoof of them ail began loudly to bawl, The very mule smiled, the cock crew : "Little Spotty, my dear, you're a favorite here," They cried, " we all said it was \oii. We were so glad to give yon your due." And the calf answered knowingly. " lioo !" i*He their blackened sjiires. Up, mv < niniaiie^ ! up and tloing ! Manhood's rngged I'lay Still miewing. bra\cl\ hewing Through the worKl i>ur wa\ ! 1. ('.. Wit I I'llKK. THE NOIilLITV OF LAIiOR. ' \l.l. u|ioii tiiose wiiom 1 addre-,s to st.md up iir the nobilit}- ot labor. It is Heaven's jreat ordinance for lunuaii improvement. n n that i^reat ordinance be broken down. t do I s.iv? It i-> brnkeii down; and it has rokeii down tor a,e-. Let it. then, be up again : here, if an\ where, on these shores new world — of a new c ivili/atioti. Hut how. be asked, is it b'-okeii down? Ho not men II mav be said. 'I'liex do, indeed, toil ; but ihev, too. generalU ilo it bec.uise they must. \Lin\ submit to it as, in some sort, a degr.uling I necessity ; and the\ desire nothing so much oa I earth as escape from it. 'I'hey fulfill the gre.it l.nv I of labor in the letter, but break it in the -pin: ; fiill'ill It uith the- muscle, but break it with the mind. To some lield ol labor, meiii.d or manual, ( \ eiv idler should fasten, as a chosen and coveted liuatie ot improvement. l!ut ^d is he not iinpelh d to do, under the teachings ol our imperl'ect ci\ ili/ation. On the contrary, he sits down, folds his luiiub, and ble>.ses himself in his idleness. This wa\' of thinkiiiL; is the heritage of the absurd and unjust feudal sy-tem. under whi< h ser s labored, and gen- tlemen spent their lives in fighting and feasting. It is time th.it this opprobrium of toil were- done aw:i\ . .\shanied to tod. art thou? .\shamed of thy ilingy woikshoji .md dustv labor-lleld ; of tliv hard hands, s(,irietl with seivueuKue hon()rable th.m that of war; of thy scnied .iiid we.ithei-i.t. lined garments on whiili Mother .N.iture has embroid- ired. 'midst sun aiid r.iin, 'mklst fire and steam, her own heraldic 'ioi>i-? .\shamed of these loki II.. .iikI titles, and envious i f the t'aiKiting lobes of mibe( ile itlleiiess ami vanity? It is trea- son to n.uure — it is impietv to Heaven— it is breaking' Heaven's great ordinaiue. I'lUi . 1 le- jieat — roll, either of the brain, orol'the heart, or ot the li:iud. is the olih' ti i;e m.inhood, the only true nobilit'. ! <)k\:i.iK Diwiv. THL S()N(i OF THF 5.HIRT, WITH tingers wo.iry and worn. With eyelids he.uy and red, \ wom.iii sat. in unwoinaiiK ra!.;^-, I'l.iiu,' Ik r needle and thread — Stiti h ! s'iicli ! stitch ! Ill po\ertv. Iviii^er. and diit : And still with a voice of dolorous | ii( ii She s.uil: the •• Soul; ot" the Siii; t !" " Work ! work ! work ! While the ( Ol k w crow in.; .doof I Ami work — work — wot k fill the stars shine tiirou,i_:h the 'ooi ! It's. ( ). to be a slive .Mong witli the b.irbarous 'luik. Where woin.in has never a soul to s.ivc. It ihis i, ("hi;-tian work ! " Work— work — work I Till the braih begins to swim ! Work — work — >.(jrk Till the eves are heavy and di ii ' Seam, .mil gusset, aiul band. Hand, and gusset, .ind seam — Till over the liiittoiis I fall as!eep, .•I. id sc'v t!vm ou in a dre.im ! i I t i •: if a I) !;: I| • 'I f ■ I ' 340 y///:' llcVv'/./r.s //('A'A'AA'.V. " () iiicM with sisters dear ! () incii willi motlicrs and wives! It i-> iitU linen yiju're wearinj,' out, IJiit human creatures' lives! Stitcli- Mitch— stitcii. In |)o\erty, hunger, and ilirt — Sewing at un< c. witli a d()iil)le tlircad, A shroud as well as a shirt ' «' r.tit why do 1 talk ol de.iili - ■jliat I'luuitoiii ol gri-l\ lione? I hardly tear his terriMe shape, It seem-, so like my own — It seems so like my own r.etause ul" the lasts I keep; () Ciod ! that liread should he so ilrar ! And tlesli and Mood so rlieap ! '' Work — work — work! My lahur ne\tr llags ; And what are its wages? A bed of straw. A crust of bread — and rags, That sh.attered roof — and this naked llooi — A table — a broken chair — And a wall so blank niy shadow i thank l-'or sonietiiiies falling tliere ! *' Wiiik — work — work! i'roui weary chime to ciiimc ! Work — work — work As prisom rs work lor crime ! Hand, and gusset, ami seam, Se.im. and gusset, and band — 'liU the heart is sick ami the brain l)enuml)nd As well .IS the weary liand. ■" Work — work — work I In the dull December light ! And work — work — work When the weather is warm and bright I While unuerneath tin- eves The brooding swallows cling. As if to show me their sunny backs, And twit ine with the spring. •• U but to breathe the breath Of the < owslip ami p>iinrose swee: — With the sky above my head, .\nd the grass bi ne.itli my feet ! lor olds one short hour To feil as 1 iiseil to teel, ISelore I knew the woes of u.mt, Ami the w.dk that co>ts a meal ! " () but I'lr one sliort hour — A ropite, however brief! No l)l^■s^ed leisure tor love or hope. Hut onlv time for grief ! A little wiejiiiig would will tail. So brush yoh gy.ihments an' hum er soug, Stid o' inojiin' erlong. 1 ; BEAUTY AND GRANDEUR OF THE ALPS: t (t.\ 1 AININ(. BRILLIANT DESCRIPTIONS OF SWISS SCENERY. LAKE LEMAN (GENEVA) IN A CALM. M'.AR, pLuid l.tmaii ! thy ( oiurastcil lako. \N itli ilio wild world 1 dwelt in, is a ihiii^' WhiLh warms nie, with its stillness, lo forsake luirth's trouMed waters lor a purer sprint;. This (iniet sad is as a noiseless wing '1 o wait Mie IrdMi distrai tion ; on( e 1 IomiI Torn ocean's roar, Imt thy soft niurniurini; Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice rejiroved, 'i'iiat I with stern delights should i 'i r havi,' bein sti moved. It is the hush of night, and all between 'I'll) margin and the mounlain>, tliisk. \el ( lear, Mellowed and mingling, )t;t distinetly seen. Save ilarkeni'd Jura, whose capt heights ajipear l're<'ii)itonsly stee[) ; and drawing near, There breathes a li\ ing fragranc e fnmi the siiore, Of llowrrs \et fresh with ehildhoi)d ; on the ear Drops the light dri]) of the suspended oar, Or ( hir|)S the grasshopper one good-night carol more. At inter\als, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. 'riurc sei'uis a floating whisjier on the hill. Hut that is fan<\ — for the starlight dews All sdently their tears of love instil. Weeping themselves away. Lokd Bvkon. THE sky is changed — and such a change ! ( )h 'night. And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, \'il lovely in your strength, as in the light Of a dark eye in woman 1 I'ar along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone cloud, r>ut ever\' moimtain now hath found a tongue. And Jura answers, through her mist\- shroud. liack to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ' Now, where the swift Rhone (lea\es his way be- tween I leights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intiivene That they can meet no more, thougl\ broken hearted ! LAKE LEMAN (GENEVA) IN A STORM. Though in theii souls, which thus each other thwarted, I,o\e was the \er\ root of the fond ra;^e \Vhich blighteiirii i;.i|is .IS litNol.itioii w(irknl, T.ierf the hot sh.ilt shoiihl l)la-.i \\h.it(.'vtr tiuTi • III hirktd. At. I this i> ill tlic nif;hi : M()>t j,'li)ri()ii> iii^ht 1 I .11111 Hcrt tint si-iit lur >luiiiiiei I Id iik- In- A siiarer iti th\ lion i- .iiid i.ii dfii^hl — .\ iior'iDi) ol the lciii| e^t .itid ol tliecl II'iu till' lit l.ikt.' shinfs, .1 pliosjihorii >(a, \nd till' liig laiii (oiiii's daiK iiiu t]iei t for the (lav. and wondering what we h.id l)c^t do with our^elves. when sudden!'. . on turning toward the window. Mont Hlani: w.i> iLishini; in the sunshine. Such an in-iantaneoiis and t\tr.iordin.ir\ reve- lation of splendor we ne\er die.mied ot. The clouds had vanished, we could not tell where, and tliL' whole illiinitahle va>t of glory in this, the heart of Svvit/erl.md's Al])ine gr.iiuieiirs, was disclosed ; the snowv .^lonar(■h of Mountains, the huge gla- ciers, the jagged granite peak^,, needles, and rough eiiornious crags and riilges congri'gated and shoot ing lip in every direction, with the long be.nitiful v.ile of Chainouny visilile from end to end, far lieneath, as still and shining as a jiic lure ' Just over the longiludinal ridge of moiinlains on one side was the moon in an infinite depth of ether; it seemed as if we ( ould touch it ; and on the other the sun was exulting as a bridegrt 'ini coming out of his rhainlier. 'I'lie cloiiils still sweeping past \is. now (onceahng. now partiallv veiling, and now- revealing the view, addeii to it> power hy such sudden alternations. lii:t the hour of nost intense splendor in this Sky, mountains, rivers, winds, lake, ligluiiiiu^, • ye ! With night, and ( IoikU, and thunder, and ., soul To make these lelt and feeling, w.ll may he riiings that have m.ulr me wat< liliil ; th • ir loll (Jf vour dcjKirting voii e> is the knoll Of what in me is sleepless — if I rest. Hut where of ye. oh tempests ! is the goal? .Are \e like those within ihe human l)iea>t ? Or do ye lind, at length, like eagles, some lii^a liest ? l.liKH !'.\l(i\. (l.iy of glory was the rising of the ol' Icsel, ■ .illo'l seiihi's. I'liis |ilicnuiiH'noii i uiisi>ls ul .i vulilen rise and Tail of tlic water m parluiilai luirt-- of tiic laki', iudepeiuleiiliy ol tlic aj;eMc\ of liie wind or of aii\ otliiT apparent ( aii>f. It i> :ii.)st toiiiiiioii ill tlie vicinity ol (icnc\a. I>iiriii^ lu'se oscillations the waters soiiietiines rise li\e .■•■et, thoiij^li the usual iiK rease is not more than two ; It never lasts Innj^rr than twenty-live niin- :ite'<. Ii il It is yenerall)- les>. The cause of thcM ■ieiclies has imt liceu explained with certaint\. hut ihev are ol>served to oc< iir most < oinuionh when thi' clo'ids are lieavy and low . The lake never freezes o\er entirelv, inn in severe winters the lower extremity i> covered with ice. The sand and niiid iirouuhl down by the Rhone and depnsiiiii around its mouth ha\r i aii-i'd ( oiisiderahle eiii roachmeiits upon its np|ier • \tremit\. •• Mon lac est Ic |)remiei " are the words in which N'oltaire has vaunieil the I'Ciiities of the Lake of (Iciuna; and it must he confessed ihal. tiiouuh il wants the gloomy sublimity ol the Hay of Iri iiul the sunny softnesN se^>.reat variet\ of scenery. The \inr- rovcred slopes of Vaud contract well with '.iie abrupt, rockv ])re< ijiiies of Savoy. .\iar (ieneva the hilU sniiside, admitliii},' 111 exi|uisite view of Mont l>lanc, whose Miowv summit, llKJUi^ii sixtv miles dist.uif i> oifeii r'llected in its waters. • Like l.eni.in vvoo> me witli its crystal f k e, 1 he mirror where the stars and mountains view The stilliuss of their aspec t in each trat e Its ( lear depth yields of their fair iieiL;ht ami line." At its upper e.xtremitv it extends to the very lia>e of the liiL;h Alps, \vhi(h li\ their i lose vicinity ,u;\e its scenerv a cliara( ler of maynitu cnce. THE BATTLE OF- MORO ARTEN. Till'! wine month shone in its u:ol(leii prime. And the red grajio chislerim.; huny. Hut a deeixT sound throuj^h tiieSwitzers' clime. I'iian the vintage music rung — A sound through vaulted cave, .\ sound through echoini; glen. Like the liollow swell of a rushing wave; 'Twas the tread of steel-girt men. Hut a band, the noblest band of all, Through the rude Morgarten strait, ^\ ith bla/oned streamers and lances tall, Moved onwards in princelv state. They came with heavy chains I'or the race des|)iseil so loiii; — Hut amidst his .\lp domain-^. The iieiii^manV arm is strong ! The siin was reddcniiiL; tin- c louds ol mo:n \\ licii they entereil the ro( k defile, .\iid shrill as a j(jyou^ huntrr's honi i'hiir bugles rang the while. l!ut on the mi>ly height Where the monntam people --tood I'lieie was stillness as of night, W hen >loiins at disLime brood. There wa> stillness as of deep dead nii-ht, And a jiaiisi. — but not of liar- While the Swit/ers gazed on the gathering mi^iit Of the hostile shield ami spear. On wound liiese coliinms bright I'etween the lake and wood, I'lUt they looked not to the iiii-tv height Where the mountain peopK- ^tood. .\nd the mighty roi ks c.ime boiimlmg doivn Their startled fots among. With a ioyoiis wiiirl from the summit llirowii, Oh ! the herdsman's arm is strong ! Thev rame like lanwine hurled I'roin .\lp to Alp in play. When the e( hoes shout through the snovvv woild, And the pines are borne away. With their pikes and ma->s\ ( hibs thev brake The cuirass and the shield, And the war-horse dashed to the reddening lake I'Vom the rea|iers of the field ! The fitdd — but not of sheaves: Frond crests and pennons lay, Strewn o'er it thick as the birclnvood leaves In tlie autumn teiiijiest's way. I'Ei.iciA I J. Hkmans. I !! i! ' t \ i Jl t I ; \ 1 \ J * ■ n!f rj ii| it I' I 'il 1 1 1 \ 11 Ii i ii 11 \\ /;/■:, I rrv .ivn gr.wd/jk or the Ai.rs. THE OLACIKR OF THI: RHONE. EKK litiij; lie rcai lu'd tlif in.i-iuri( cut i;l.,cit.r of tlic klione ; a Iro/en cataract, more tlian two tlioiisaiid Icct in lieij^lit, ami many iiuUs limail at its base. It fills the wliolc valley between two mnnntains, rnnninj,' lia< k to their smnmits. At the base it is arched, like a dome ; and aliovc. laj^j^ed and rough, and resembles a mass of ^'ijiantic ( r\ I! ! T.ORI) BVRON. THE BOY OF THE ALPS. LIC.HTI.N'. .Alpine rover. Tread the mountains over : Rude is the path thou'st yet to go; Snow cliffs hanging o'er thee, I'ields of ice before thee. While the hid torrent moans below. Hark, the deeji thunder, Through the vales yonder! 'Tis the huge av'lanche downward cast ; From rock to rock Rebounds the shock. But courage, boy ! the danger's past. Onward, youthful rover, Tread the glacier over, Safe shalt thou reach thy home at last. On. ere light forsake thee. Soon will dusk o'ertake thee ; s mil 01 ~o I the sill \. df Uj 01 1 c cra'jN I) sidi" O'er yjn ire-hrid^r lies llic way ! Nuw, lor tliL- risk |)rf|);irf thee: Sate it yet may bear llice, 'riioiij,'h 'twill melt in morning's ray. Hark, tliat dread iiowlinj,' ! ' \'\- tiu' wdH |)rowhiig — S( ent of thy track the foe liath got; And < lil'f ami shore Resound liis roar. Hm coiirasje. lioy — thedanuer's past! Uatciiing eyes have toiind thee. Loving arms are roimd tliee. Sate h.ist tiioii rea( lied thy fatiiei 's cot. Thomas Mdcike. MT. PILATUS. UNI-OKIL N.MKLV I'ilatus is very attractive to clouds, otherwise the mountain is lai more interesting,' than the K\\;\, .and the view from it in some re- s|iects finer, liiougli a le^s tiompiete panorama, and tlie grandeur of its mvii serratetl outline, wlii( li forms so iiiiportanl a feature ot the Kigi vuw, is of course wanting. I'he Lake of Lucerne lies open as far as lirunnen. .■\< eoriling to a wihl tradition ot iniisiderahle antii|uiiy, tiiis moun- tain derives its n.mie fnjiii I'ilate, tlie wicked governor of jud.xa. wiio, liaviiig been l)aiiisiied to (Jaul b\ I'lherius, wandered about amdiiL; tiie mountains, stricken liy (on- scieiice, until he ended his inihera- lile existence by throwing himself into a lake on the toj) of I'ilatus. Hie mountain, in coiiseciueiice, la- 1) irs tinder a very bad rejintation. From its jiositiou as an outlier, or advanced guard of the chain ot the .\lps, it collects tiie (lends which float over the pliin from the west and north: and it is remarked thai almost all the storms whicii burst upon the Lake of Lucerne gather and brew on its summit. This almost perpetual assembling of chjiuls w.us long attributed by the superstitious to the unquiet spirit still hovering round the sunken body, which. Alien disturbed by any intruder, revenged itself ly sending storm, and darkness, and hail on the surrounding district. So pi-evaleni was the belief in this sui)erstition, even down to times comjiara- tively recent, that the government of Lucerne for- haile the ascent of the mountain, and tlie natural- ist, (,'c'nrad (iessncr, in 1555, was obliged to i^ro- vide himselt with a special order, removing the I interdii t in his case, to eti:dile him to 1 .irry on his researc he^. .\ci onling to some the name I'ilatus is cjiily a (orruption oi /'i/iuttii\ (cipprd). .11 ism- from the cap of ( luiids whi( h r.irelv tpiits its b;irren brow, and which is sometimes seen rising Iroin it like steam from a caldron. '^v^IBj^ lASUrtX MT. BLANC. THIS mount. nil is \ try steep ami rocky : it is exceedingly eiu umbered witli its own im- mense niiiis, w Inch, in the course ot ages, have rolled dt>uii iroin its summit ami lodged either at its base or 011 its flanks, 'i'here are piles on ])iles of nx ks, and some of them are ot great dimensions; among which, to clear even a mule- path has evidently been a work of great labor and difti( ulty. The zigzag ascent winds around turns. which are very abrupt and freciuent. They otten pass along the edge of fearful jirecipices. where a false step would send the mule and the rider to destruction. It often seems as if the apparently perverse, but li ;9 !' ('. \ \ \ I i ■ H ^i i-A W I -i i II H ni« iU:.\r/v .i.\7) (;/<.\M)/:Ch' 0/' rni: .ii.rs. rrallv skillful iittlr animal, was about to walk . in order thai \\\> lect iii.t\ litid ihcir |iro|nT |io^iii(iii, his head and nee k ;irf pro- jet ted lievond tile road, and overlianj; tlic jiret i pice. I?ut do not interfere with the ni( e haLuu inj; of \oiir mule ; he knows better tiian yoii tan in- struct him how to prt. ceed, and has not tlip least inclination to nil! down the inonntain, .dihoii^h the wroiij; jiidlin^ up of a reij^n, or the sudden '-•hanj^e of position ol a heavy man on the saddle, may forte him ami \oursell tt) that result. Trust a nooil I'roviiieiic e, ,intl the nnile. as the instru- nient. and you will pass salelv alon^; the mountain steeps, lilNIAMIN SlLI.IMAN, SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOL'NY. HAS T thou a < iiarm to stay the niornni^ star In \\\> steep course ? So long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful head, () sovran Blanc! 'I'he Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly : but thou, most awful ftjrm ! Risest from forth thy silent sea ot pities, How silently ! Around tliee and above, Deej) is the air and dark, substantial, l)lai:k. An ebon mass: niethinks thou pierce.st it. As with a wetlge ! Hut when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thv crystal shrine, Tliy habitation from eternity ! O dread and silent mount ! I gazed U(X)n thee, 'Till thou, stdl present to the boilily sense, I >idst \anish Irom my thought ; ciitrunced m l)ra\er 1 «or>hiped the Inu-^dile alone. \et, like some sweet begniliiig melotiy, So sweet we know not we are listening to it, 'I'hon, the meanwhile, wast blending with mv thought, \>.i, with my life and lile's own .set ret jov ; Till the dil.iting soul, eiirapt, ir.insliisetl. Into the miglitv vision |>.i.ssiiig— there, .\s in her natural lt)riii, ^welled vast to lie.iveii ; Awake, m\ soul ' not only passive praise Thou owest ! not alone these >well ing te.irs Mute tli.mks ami set ret etsiai \ Awake, \'oit:e of sweet soiig ! Awake. iii\ heart, awake I 'ireen vales ami ic\ t Jiff-,, all jom my hymn. Tht)u first and ( hu f. ,<(|f sovr.tii of the vale ! (J, .-.triiggling with the tl.irkness .ill the night. Anil vi>ited all night b\ troupe ni star>, < >r when the\ climb tht- sky or when they sink : Companion of the mtjrning st.ir at tlawn, Thyself earth's rosy star, aini ni the dawn Co-heraltl : wake, O wake and uttei jiraise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? Who filled thy tountenaiue with rosy light ? Who made thee parent of peri)elual streams ? .\m\ yon, ye five wild torrents fiercely ,L;Iad ! Who calleil \oii forth from night and niter ileatli. I'roni ilark and it y t:averns tailed \ou forth. Down those precii)ilous. black, jagged rocks, i I'orever shatteretl and the same forever? Wlio gave you your invulnerable life. Your strength, your speetl, your fnrvand your jos, L'nceasing thunder ami eternal foam? j .And who commandeil (anti the silence c.ime). Here let the billows stiffen, aiul have rest? ! Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain — Torrents, niethinks, that heanl a mighty voice, And stt)p])ed at once amid their maddest plunge — i Motionless torrents I silent cataracts ! /UAl'/V A.\n CNAXDhCK ( >/■' /•///: ALPS. ;U7 \\'!m iu.kIi' vdii ^loriDii.i ,is I lie g.iti's ot' lie.iven |: iHMtli llif ki'fii, lull iMDOii ■' \N liii Ipiidc till- Mill 1 I >:iiL' Mill witli raiiilinws? Wlut, witli liviiij; llowiTs «M liivi'lic^t l)liu', sjircail narl.iiuls at vuur fei'i — (I'll! Id the torrents, like a shout of natioiis, .\!i>v«cr ! and k't tin- i< c iil.iins «'(lio, doil' . with i^lidsoiii'- V(ii(o ! \i- |iiiii' nio\i-s. with \oiir soit iinl soiil-likf sounds! A I tlu-y, too, liavc a voii u, ndii piles ol snow, .\,i I in their perilous Kill shall tliiinder, (lod ' Vf llvm;; llowers ih.it skirt the eternal Iristl \i' wild ;;oats sportiiij; roiiiul the raj^le's m-st ' \'e ^MJ;le^. pl.is in.iles ol the nioiint.iiii ■>tiirni ' \<- liylitiiiiij;s, the dread arrows of tin- i louds! \r sii^ns .111(1 wonders ol the elements ! Itter I'lirth (lod, and lill the hills with pi use ' riiou, too, lioir Mount! with thy sk\-|iOintiii,^ pe.iks, Oil Iroiu whose I'rel tin' av.d.mt he, unhe.ird, Shoots downward, j^litterini; lhrou.;h tiif |piir" serene lai 1 ih" depth of ( loiicK, ih.it vi'd thy hreasi — Tlio I too ai;. tin, stu|)endous mount, iiii ! tliuu 'I'll ,t as 1 r.iise my head, .i while liowed low I;i .1 loration, upward Iroin tliy b.ise .Slin\ traveliii;; with dim eyes sutfiised with tears, Solemnly seemeNt, like a \,i|)ory < loud, I'.i ! ise before me— rise, oh, ever rise, Ri~ • like a cloud of intense from the e.irih ' TImu kiiij^ly spirit, throned amonj; the hills. Thoii dread ambassador from c.irlh to heaven, . The i)ala( es of nature, whose v.i^t w.ills Have |)innatled in clouds theirsnowy scalps, And throned eternity in icy halls ' )i < old sublimity, where forms and f.ills The av.ilanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, (i.ithcr around the summits, as to show lldiv e.irth may soar to heaven, yet leave vain man below. I, OKI) IIVKDN. HNOLAND AND SWITZERLAND. TWO voi, es .ire there — one is ot the sea. One of the mountains, e.ich a mighty voice; In both from age to a>;e tlioii didst rejoice. Til V were thy chosen music, liberty I There ( ame a tvrant, and with hol\ glee 'Ihoii fought'st against him — but hast vainlv striven ; riio 1 t'rom thy .Mpuie holds .it length are drneri Where not a tiinny d.iy .11 noon, the iv.il.iiK lies are f.dling on the Jungtrau •ibout every ten minutes, with the lo.ir of thunder, but they are niiu li more seldom vi~>ible, .111(1 sonipfinies the traveler cron^es the Weng<'rn .\!p without witnes-^ing them at .ill. Hut we weie so very highly I'avored as Xa see two of the grande-.t av.iliiic lies pos^lble in the i oiirse of about an hour, between tvvelve o'( lock anil two. One c.innoi conv'Hid .my l.ingii.ige to < onvey an adeipi.ite i lea 1. 1 their 111, ignilicem e. \du are standing f.ii below , ga/ing up to where tlie great disc of the ijilieriiig .\lp cuts the heavens, and drinking in the inllu'jiice of the silent scene around. Suddenly .in enoriiioiis mass of snow and ice, in itself a mount, lin. seems to move ; it breaks from the topjiling outmost nioimt.iin ridge of snow, where it i-. hundreds of feet in depth, and in its first f.ill of perhaps two thousand feet, is broken into millions of lra.;nients. As voi lirst see the lliLsh of distant artillery by niglit, then he.ir the roar, so here you may see the white tlashing m.iss majesti( ally bowing, then hear the astounding din. A < loud of diistv, misty, dry snow rises into the air t'rom the concussion, forming a white voliime of (lee( y smoke, or iiiistv light. iVom the bo-iom ol which thunders forth the icy torrent in its second pnjiligioiis fall over the roikv b.itlleni'Uits. The eye follows it delighteil as it jiloiighs through the p.ith which preieding av.ilani lies h.ivr worn, till it comes to the brink of a v.ist ridge of bare rock, perh.ipsmore than two thousand leet perpeiiditnlar. riien |)ours the whole citiract over the gull with a still louder roar of e( hoing thunder, to whi( h nothing but the noi.-.i' of Niagar.i in its snl)- limity is comparable. .Nevertheless, voii may think of the tram|> of an army of elepli.mts. of the roar of multitudinous c.ivalrv marching to battle, of the whirlwind tread often thousand bisons sweep ing .icross the prairie, of the temjiest surf of ocean 1) aling and shaking the coiuiiunt, of the sound of torrent tloods or of a numerous host, :)r of the voice of the 'rriimpet on Sin.ii. exceeding loud, and waxing louder and louder, so that all the jieople in the cam|) trembled, or of the rolling orbs of that fierce chariot, described bv .Milton, Under whose burning wheels The steadfist emj)yrear. shook throughout. b i if H48 liJlACJY AM> (tkANDl'J J< cV- ////; J/./'.S. mn FALL OP TML STAIHUACH. SI K.\N(ir.l\\ Willi rx|i(l in ihc >t.iul.l>;u li the lo.iiiii)^' r.i|>i(lit\ <>( .1 latar.tit, will lie ili>.i|i|Miiiitrii : Imt, 111 the oiuiuon ot iii.iiu . tills want i> atiiiifd lur li\ ullicr inauties. I'lic rri( tioii ol the rut k. and the resistance of the air, rctani the deMeiit ni '.he water, jjiviiii; it. when si-eii in fri.n'.. ilie a|i|pe.ir.in( e ni .1 I.k «■ veil mis |KMiileil Irniii die |ire( ipii e, .iiid iiiiiia' in;:, in its eeiitre, the folds or ihc dra|Kr\ . When ver> full, it slioots (lilt Hum the rock, and 1- l>ent by the wind into ilickeriiij; nndidatiimx. l!\roii has deserilied it .idiiiir;ilil\-. both in prose and verse : "The torrent is in sha|ii-. ciirvini; over the rock, like the tail tif a white liorse streaniing in the wind — such as it niiulit lie conceived would he that ot" the ']iale horse' on which heath is inonnted m the AiiocaUpse. It is neither mist nor water, but .1 something between both: its im- mense Iieighl Liives it a uaveon iirvc — a s|iie,idiiiL,' here or < ondeiision there — woiiderl'nl and inde- scribable." " It is not noon — the snnbow's r.i\s still arch The torrent with the many hiie^ ot heaven, And roll the sheeted silver's waviiii: column O'er the cra^v's lu-adlonu iieriieiidiciilar. And tling its lines of loaininj,- lijjht alon^j. .And to and Iro. like liie |>ale loiTser's tail, riic ^i.tnt steed to be bfirudc b\ heath. .As told III li'c \po< alyi -!■ ARNOLD WINKLLklLli. bi tin- huillr i>r >iiii|itu li. lii ilii- li'iittcriilli (#ii(urv. '>,|. iimrtxi I'lilMi't |irrii'iviii); tli.l llirri- ua^ 110 oilirt iii> , 1 lir<'ul-iii^ llii' liiMvy .iriiK il line* >>( lln- Autlii.ins il .n \\ H.illi' riii^; ill iiittiiy of tin ir •ir.ui* .i» lif niilil ^iai>|i I..11. i ii|iiinil. I y this 11UMI1-, a |'a->.it;f li r 1 i« trll,.w coiii|..iV •,(._ wlui, VNJili li.iiiiiiu'r', .till h.ili lirt<, lii'util ili'Wii (Ik h:.. r.j mciinl iiriii-. iiml wmi llii* viii. ry. kfc % ^ \KI'. w.iv lot liberty!" hecriid- / V 1 ^'"'i' w'y ''"■ hbert\. .11.1! died ^ ' * In .inns the Aii>truii | ih.da 11 x stout i, A livin:; w.ill, .1 huni.in wooil ; I iiijire.:: liable tlieir front a|i|ears, All horrent with |.rojc«ied siiar^. (){i|ios('d to thi'se, a ho\erin^ band (olilelided for their l.itlletl.mti. I'e.is.i.it^. wlio-e new-loiind stren-th had 1 t-kt lioin 111. inly necl.s the ij:noble \oke; Marshaled uin c more at freedoin't> tall. I lie\ ( aiiie to coii'iner or to fall. .\iiil now liie work of life ami ikath Hung on the passing of a breath ; The lire of 1 oiitli» t burned within ; The battle trend>lcd 10 bcLiin ; Net, while the Aiistnaiis iield tin ir groni tl. Point tor a'-s.iiilt was nowiieie lounil . Where'er the impatient ."^wit/ers ga/ed, The unbroken line of I.iik es blazetl ; Th.it line 'twere siiic ide to meet. \iid jKrish at their tM.int's feet. How colli. 1 they re^t within their gra\<«. To leave their liomes the haunts of -l.ivc? Would they not Icel their ( hddren 'nad. With clanking < hain>. above their head:* It must not be : this day. this In iir Annihilates the invader's power" .All Swil/erland is in the field — She will not tly. she cannot yield. She must not tall; her better l.ite Here gives hst. And felt as 'twere a sk ret known Th.it one should turn the s< .ile a dne, \\ hile each unto himself wa- he On whose sole arm hung victory. It did depend on one. indeetl : r.ehold him — Arnold Winkelried ! There sounds not to the trump ot t..ine The e( ho of a nobler name, rnmarked. he stooil amid the throng. In riiiniiiation deeji ami long. Till \()ii might see. with suciden grace. The verv tluuiuht » omc o'er his fai e ; /ih.lf ,V AM) (iKAXDhrh ( '/ ////. Al.l'S. :tl» ' 'I'ury. ".i. ll.fl IIK . • 1 iiiii« tl .It > \ ia«|i l.v'i ! W ILlllUll i.r._ II (III III, ,r,\ rii <:- di.il' nx si(«j Inrm, Aiilit ipatc tlic Imrotin^ oioriii . AikI, liv till' ii|ilitiiii>; ol hiH itriiM, It II wlirrc the liolt uoiilil >trik« . amJ how. Hut 'twa> no MHiiicr tlnuiuht i.iaii done — III- liMMi-d .iiiiiiUt then), like .1 in-e. And ilnh ni.idi- vv,i\ I'nr liln-rtv Swift to tlu' broarli liio «i)nir.uk-. ll\ "NJ.iki' \va\ lor hliorn I" tl)i\ ir\. And tliroii^li till- .\nstri.in |ilul.ui\ iLi.t. ON THE .WKNSTR.ASSE— I..\KE OF I I'CERNE. The field was in a imiment won ! "Make way lur lihertv:" he < ricd. Then ran, with arms extended wide. As if his dearest friend to clasp ; Ten s|)ears lie swept within his grasp. "Make way for lilierty ! " he cried ; Their keen points cros.sed from side to side : .As riishe 1 the spcirs tlir. ii::h .Arnold's heart, Wliile, instantaneous as lii> fall, Koiit, ruin, panic seized tlietii all ; An earthijuake could not overthrow .•\ city witti a surer Mow. 'I'lius Switzerland again was free — Thus death made way for liberty. ' • its Montgomery. i! in 3l P m 1 1 .'i.JO I'liAClY .WD (.K.WniJK ('/■ /•///; J/./'.v WA i.AKE LllCERNH AND WILLIAM TELL'S wliichioniifc ts IJninncii uitli Klurleii. a di^tanc. CHAPHL. ol' al)niit i-i-lit iiiilfs. !t was ( ommi-iiccd l)v llu Swiss (MivcriiiiH-iit after tin- union ot" Savo ui li Oi'i'OsI 11. Dniinicii the laki^c iuniLf.at once France, when it was consi.iend advisable lo ini- its tlirection and < liara. ter. Alon- ti.e prow the > BliAlTY AND Gk IXDhUR 01' TlUi ALPS. Iiil to lach otlier, but to do no wrong to tlie Count <)!' Halislturj;, and nc* to maltreat liis governors." '.'Iie^e poor iiiountai.iei rs, in tlie i4tli century, furni^li, iierlui|is, tlic only exaniiiie (jI in>.uruent!) wlio, at the moment of revolt, liind llieinsei\es as sacredly to l)e just and merciful to their oppressors as to he faithful to each otlier; and, we may add, who nniMined true to their intentions. The s( heme thus concerted was ( arried into e.xecution on the following New War's da\- ; and such was liie origin of the Swiss Confederation. According to popular belief, which everywhere in Swit/erhiml conne( t.; pi iitical events wiiii no- tions of religion, the oath of the (iriitli w.is lol- Icjwed by a miracle, and three sprin-s gu>hed from tli.r spot upon which the confederates had stood. Ill token of this every stranger is led to a little hut built over the sources, and is invited to ilrink from then t) the memory of the founders of Swiss freedoi. . Cii..\i'Ki. is 300 I'eet aliove the lake, uii lor situatit)ii and view ; small, but coin- c,\cept on Sunda\ , when it is often i lere, according to the tradition, 'I'ell sprang on ^hore from the l)oat in wiiich Cessler was carryin:; him a prisoner to Kii--snacht, when a sudden storm on the lake had com|ielled him to re- move Tell's fetters, in order to avail himself of his skill as steersman. The ( hapel. an open arcade lined witli rude and faded paintings, iLjiresenting the events of the delivLM)- of Swit/erh.'.nd, was erei ted !)y canton I'ri in 1 :;'''8. and, in the firm l)i'lief of the country '.eople, to il'.e memory of the brave archer. Once a year, on the first Friday a'.fi.r tlie A^censi^)n, mass is .said and a sermon preached in the chajiel, which is atleiuied by the inlK-l)itants residing on the sliores ol' the lake, who, re] airing hither in boats, form an aipiatic proces- sion, lint there have been fien e t.isi>ntes as to the truth of the story of Tell. It is not mentioned liy jean i!e Winterthur, a contemp(.ir.ir\ and minute narrator of the events of ithe re.olution, nor by any writer for two centuries iLII," cMpud'ed fortable, ( rowd-'d alier their oicurreiue. It is first found in die chronicle of Melchior Russ, 1470. It is nntiy clear that a Swiss named William 'i'ell existed, .iii' that he was held in honor by his countrymen, biii th,ere is notiiing to prove his ( onnection with ihf hi.story of the Confederation. K.xactly Mniil.ir legends, or saga, of the loth century are found in Norway and Denmark. The view from Tells chajicl is exceedingly tme. The following are the remarks of Sir James W.u k intosh on this scene : " '1 he combination ol uhat is grandest in nature, with whatever is pure ,iiui sublime in human (oiiduct, affected me in this ]iassage (along the lake) more iiowerfiillv than anysieiie 1 had ever witnessed. l'erha])s iieitlif-r C.ree( e nor Rome woukl have hail sii< h power (jver me. The\- are dead. The jiresent inhahi tants are a new race, who regard with little or no feeling tlie memorials of former ages, 'i'liis is, perhajjs, the onl)- jilai e in our globe where deeds I if ])ur • virtue, ancient enough to be venerable, are < on>ecratcd liy the religion of the jieojile. anil lon- tinue to command interest and revereme No local sujierstition so beautiful and so mord aiy- where exists. The inhabitants of Thermo i\ he or Marathon know no more of these famous spots than that they are so many square feet (I earth. Ijigland is too extensive a country to make Run nymeile an object of national affection. In coun- tries of industry and wealth the s ream of event-, sweejis away these old remembrances. The soli tude of the .Alps is a sanctuary destined for the monuments of ancient virtue ; Griitli ?V[i\ Tell's cha]iel are as much reverenced l)y the Alpine pea- sants as Mei ca by a devout M'vssuiman." SUNRISE AMONa THE ALPS. StvjK a sunrise ! The .iiant Alps seemed liter- ally to rise from their pi.'ple beds, and putting op their crowns of gold, to s-.-nd uji hallelujahs almost audible ! Washington Ai.lsion. ■1 I N Ai.LsroN. CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH: COXTAININi; CAPTIVATING SELECTIONS FOR THE YOUNG. THE DOLLS' WEDDING. IIKRK'S a wedding to-day in the ^'ardcn lielow. Where tlie pinks and marigolds stand in a row ; The i)reltiest weildini,' that over was seen, I know, for 1 peeped tiirouyh the trcliisses green. The bride is a doll that is nearly as tali As the lily that leans to look over the wall. In a gown of pink silk she is gorgeonsl\- dressed, With a plume in her hat and a brooch on her breast. The groom is a sailor boy gallant and bold, In a caj) and a jacket all braiiled with goKl ; (Both dollies belong to a lassie of three. Whose face bubbles over with frolic and glee.) There are roses above, there are roses around. And the petals of roses lie thick on the gromul, And the robin is there with his silvers flute. And the oriole clad in his tlame-colored suit. Little Tiny, the terrier, manied the pair, Sittin[i on a bench with a serious air. With grandmother's kerchief as clerical clothes, And grandfather's spectacles over his nose. A FISHIN'. WUXST we went a fishin' — me An' my pa an' ma, all three — AVhea they was a i)icnic, 'way Out to Ilanch's wood one day. An' they was a crick out there, Where the fishes is, and where Little l)0\s 'taint big an' strong. Better have tlieir folks along ! I'urt nigh dark in town when we (lot back home; an' ma says slio Now she'll have a fish fer shore — And she biiyed one at the store ! Nen at supper, pa he won't Eat no fish, ri' says he tlon't Like 'em — an he pondeil ine Wiien I choked — nia, didn't he? Iamks WnircoMii Rii.KY. ; My pa he ist fished an' fished. An' my nia she said she wished Me an' her was liome — an' pa Said he wished so wors'n ma ! Pa said if you talk, er say Anything, er sneeze, er play, Haint no fish, alive or ded. Ever goin' to bite ! he said. I \\ AN'I'S a piece of cal'co 'I'o make my doll a dess ; I doesn't want a big piece; A yard' 11 do I guess. MATTIE'S WANTS AND WISHES. I wish you'd fred my needle. And fiiui my fimble, too — I has sucn hea]>s o' sewiii' I don't know what to do. 23 353 1' 5 1, ij r! .' i |;t I Ml I if ! ! 554 ciiii.niioon AM) von 11. My Hepsy torrd her ai)roii A tiim'lin' down the stair, And CiL'sar's Ujst his pantnoons. And needs anozzer pair. Siie lets me wipe the dishes And see in f;rand])a's watch— I wish I'd free, tniir pennies To buy some l)ntler-s(:otch. I wants my Maud a bonnet ; She hasn't none at all ; And Fred must have a jacket His rizzer one's too small, I want's to go to grandma's ; You jiromised me I might. I know she'd like to see me ; I wants to go to-night T wants some newer mittens — I wish you'll knit me some, 'Cause most my linger freezes, Tiie\- leaks S(j in the fum. I wored 'em out last snmnxr, A pullin' Cieorge's sled ; I wish you Wouldn't laugh so — It hurts me in my head. I wish I had a cookie ; I'm hungry's I can bf. If you hasn't pretty large ones. You'd better bring me free. CHILDHOOD A.\D VOL TIL 355 I wi>]i I had a ji'mii) — Won't \c)ii buy inc one to keep? (), dear ! I fuels so tired, I wants to ^o to sleep. ( ;kA( K (jOKDON. A FELLOW'S MOiHER. kk A FICLL(J\\"S mother, 'said I'red the wise. ZA With his rosy checks and iiis nicrry eyes, ■* *■ '•Knows what to do if a fellow f,'ets hurt liy a thiiiiip, or a hiiiisc. or a fall in the dirt. " A fellow's mother has bags and strings, Rags and biittoiis. and lots of things ; No matti-r how bnsy she is, she'll stop To see how well )0u can spin }uur lo]i. " She does not care, not much, I mean, {{ a fellow's face is r.ot ;dways clean ; And if }Our trousers are torn at the knee .She can put in a patch that you'd never see. " A fellow's mother is never mad, i'ut only >orry if \i>u are bad, And I'll tell you this, if you're only true. She'll always forgive whate'er you do. ■' I'm sure of this," said IVed the wise, With a manly look in his laughing eyes, " I'll mind my mother, quick, e\ery da\ , .\ fellow's a baby that don't obey." •M. I",. S.\N(;si KR. THE LITTLE WHITE HEARSE. AS the little white hearse went glimmering by- I he man on the coal cart jerked his lines, And smutted the lid of either eye, And turned and stared at the business signs; .\nd the street car driver sto'pped and beat His hands on his shoulders ami gazed iij) street Till his eye on the long track reached the sky — As the little white hearse went glimmering by. As the little white hearse went glimtiiering by — .\ stranger ])ettf ;1 a ragged child In the crowded walk, and she k'lew not why, Hut he gave her a coin for the way she smiled ; .And a bootblack thrilled with a pleasure strange .\s a customer ])ut back his change With a kindly hand and a grateful sigh — .\s the little white hearse went glimmering by. .\s the little white hearse went glimmering by — .\ man looked out of a window dim. And his cheeks were wet and his heart was dr\- — For a dead child e\en were dear to him. ;\nd he thought of his empty life and said : " Loveless alive, and loveless dead. Nor wife nor child in earth or skv I" — As the little white hearse went glimmering by. U A TWO LITTLE MAIDENS. S( )RR\ little maiden Is Miss I''iis>-aiid-l''eather, (,'r\ing lor the golden moon, Grumbling at the weather; The sun will fade her gown, The rain spoil her bonnet, If she ventures out. And lets it fall upon it. A merr\' little maiden Is Miss Ka s-andTalters, Chatting of the twinkling stars .And many other m.itters; I )an(ing in the sunshine, I'aliering through the rain, Her ( lothes never cause her A single thought or pain. .\(,.\'i;s C.-\KR. A LIFE LESSON. TIII'Ri:, little girl, do I't ( rv. They've broken Noiir doll, 1 l.::ow. And your tea set blue And your toy house, too, Are things of the long ago; Hut childish troubles will soon pass b\' ; There, little girl, don't cry. There, Utile girl, don't cry ; Thev've broken your heart, I know, .And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams .Are things of the long ago , Hut Heaven holils .all lor which you sigh; There, little girl, don't crw M- GRANDMA'S ANOEL. .A.MM.A .said ; ' Little one, go and see If grandtna's readv to come to tea.' 1 knew I mustn't disturb her. S(j I stepped as gently along, tiptoe, -And stood a mcjment to take a peej) — Antl there was gramhnother fast asleep ! " I knew it was time for her \.» wake ; I thought I'd give her a little shake, Or taj) at her door or sofllv call ; Hut I huln't the heart for that at all — " She looked so sweet and so (juiet there. Lying back in her high arm-ch.iir, With her dear white hair, and a little smile That means she's loving you all the wliil •. " I didn't make a speck of noise ; I knew she was dreaming of the little boys .And girls who lived with her long ago, .Ami then went to heaven — she told me so. " 1 went up close, and I didn't s|)eak One word, but I gave her on the cheek ] i ( \\\^\ 11 l! i( H % '• 1 Pi I 11 rp-' k I I i n , 356 CHILDHOOD AXD YOUTH. The softest hit of a htllc kiss, Just in a wliispcr, and then said this: ' (.iramhiiother dear, it's lime for tea.' '• Slie ojjened lier eyes and louived at me, And said : ' Why, i)et, I have just now dreamed Of a Httle angel w ho came and seemed 'I'o kiss me lovingly on my face,' She [lointed right at the very jilare ! " I never toKl her 'twas only me : I took her hand, and we went to tea." o THE LITTLE BOY'S LAMENT. H ! why must I always he washed so clean And scrubbed and drenched for ."^undav, When you know verv well, for you've alwa\s seen, That I'm dirty again on Monday ? My eyes are filled with the lathery soap, Which adown my ears is dripping; And my smarting eyes I can scarcely ope, And my lips the suds are sipping. It's down my neck and up my nose, And to choke me you seem to be trying , That I'll shut my montii you need not suppose, I'or how can I kecji In.m crying ? \'ou rub as hard as e\er voii (an And \()ur han(K are haul to my sorrow ; No woman shall wash \w: when I'm a man. And I wish 1 was one tD- morrow. FORGIVENESS. IS.Vr in the evenin- cool Of the heat-bakeil city street. Musing, and watching a little pair. Who pla\eil on the walk at mv teet : A boy, the ekler, of stroiiL', rough mould ; His sister, a blossom sweet. When, just in the miiKi of their ])lay. Came an angry ci\ , ai d .i blow, That bruised the cheek of tiie little maid And caused bright tears to flow, And brought from my lips ipiick, sharp rejiroof On the lad who h.id act'd so. And he stood by, sullen and hard, While the maid soon dried her tear. He looked at her with an angry e)e ; She timidly drew near. " Don't be cross, Johnny !" (a little sob), " Let me fordivc 'oo, dear!" And the cloud is jiassed and gone, And again in their ])lay they meet, And the strong, rough boy wears a kinder rnien And brighter the maiden sweet. While a whisper has come from the heart of (lod To a man, a man on the street. CHILDHOOD AND YD mi. 357 soap, If? y :ly o\w. l- e. e t ryinj,' ; ny inoiitli vou Sll pllOsc, I kceji t riiiii 1 ; s evLT you ds are luii ho w ; ill wash man. Ml'.- \\ as one l(J- heart of (Jod NUTTINQ. OV'V in the pleasant sunshine of a bright October day, Rollicking, '"roli( king through the woods, scaring the birds away. Went a group of laughing girls and bo)s to play till the suii was set ; Martha and Robbie, and 'r(jni and Will, and Dolly, the hoiiselvjld pet ! They "made believe" they ivere foragers bold, scouring the coimtry o'er, To add to their scanty soldier fare from an enemy's fruitful store, And they charged on the S(iuirrels' leafy homes till they b.T.t a ipiick retreat ; While tlieir i>recious hoards came rattling down at the noisy vie tors' feet. They played tag and follow my leader and scam- pered up and down, ('(ivering each other in their glee with the leaves so < risp and brown, Till they huddled down to talk and rest and plan some pleasure new. While Martha uniiacked the "goodies" for the hungry, bright-faced crew. " I'm too little to work," said Dolly, tossing her curls away, • Vou make the dinner, Mattie, dear — then I'll be papa, and pray ! 1 know just how he does it, 'cause I've looked through my fuigers, so; And (Jod will hear me better out-doors than he would in the house, I know !" Then clasping her baby fingers, and bowing her leaf-crowned head, With its tangled floss half over her face, siiading its flush of red. Sweetly the innocent little voice stole out on the waiting air, And up to the children's Father floated this child- isli prayer : '• I thank you, God, 'way up in the sky, for these nice things to eat ; For this happy day in the ])leasant woods, for the squirrels and birdies sweet ; For fathers and mothers to love tis — only Robbie, his mother's dead ; Ikit I guess you know all about that, God — you took her away, they said ! " If you please, don't make my mother die ; I shouldn't know what to do ! I couldn't take care of myself at all; you'd have to get me, too ! Make all the days just as good as this, and don't let Robbie cry — That's all little Dolly knows to pray, our Father in heaven, good-by !" Then the sweet child voices rose anew like a beautiful refrain, And the binls in the brown leaves overlkad caught up the merry strain. And twittered it back till the yellow sun was lost in the hazy west. When birds and ( hildren fluttered home, each to a sheltering nest. Lrcv M. Hi. INN. T NAMING THE BABY. HHV gather in solenui council, The chiefs in the household band ; 'I'hey sit in liie darkened ( hamber, A conclave j>rouil and grand; They peer in the curtained chamber, And all with one voice e.xclaim. As they point to the new-found treasure " The baby must have a name !" They bring forth the names by ilozens With many an anxious look ; They s( an all the tales and novels. They search through the good old Book; Till the happy-voiced young mother, Now urging her prior claim. Cries out in the fondest accents, " O ! give him a pretty name." " His grandpa was F'.benezer, " Long buried and gone, dear soul," Says the trembling voice of grandma, As the (juiet tear-drops roll. "Oh, call him luigene Augustus," Cries the youngest of the throng ; "Plain John," says the happy father, " Is an honest name and strong." And thus is the enibryo statesman Or, perhaps, the soldier bold. Respecting his future title Left utterly out in the cold ; And yet it can matter but little To him who is heedless of fame, For no name will dishonor the mortal. If the mortal but honors the name. NAN. I KNOW a maid, a dear little maid ; If you knew her, you'd woo her, I'm sadly afraid ; So I think it as well Her name not to tell, F3xcept that she's sometimes called " Nan." She has a hand, a soft little hand ; Did you feel it, you'd steal it, I quite understand ; So I think it as well To reveal not the spell That lurks in the fingers of Nan. i I ii 1 '! ■ t \ i ' t 35H ClllI.DllOOl) AX!) VOUT/f. Ilrij,'ln an- licr eves, her ( Icar liu/cl eye" ; ll tlK'ir d.iiKi.' ^liHiild entrance yon I'd leel no smjirise ; S.I I iliink it as well I'he whole truth to tell ; She's niv own li.iliy ilanuliier, ni\' Nan. ('ciK\ SlCMM' \\iii:i I Kk. 'I'here is a ^reat comfort to a l)oy in tlie amount of work lie (an j^et rid of (.loing. It is sometimes astoni>hiii,i,' how slow he can go on an crraiid. rerhap-. he couldn't explain, himself, why. wlu n he is sent to the neighbor's after yeast, he stojs to stone the frogs. He is not exactly ( rnel, hut he wants to see if he can hit 'em. It is a curinus fact ahoiit lioys, that two will he a great deal .slower in doiny any- thing than one. lioys have a yreat power of hcl|)ing ea( h other do notliing. Hut say what you \\ill about the general usefulness ol bo\H, a farm without a bo\ would very soon < ome to grief. lie is always in demand. In the first plate, he is to do all the errands, go to the store, tht ]iost-ofti(:e, antl to ( arry all sorts of messages. He woidd like to liave as many legs as a wheel h.i.^ sjiokes, and rotate about in the same wav. This he sometimes tries to do, and people who have seen him "turning cart-wheels" along the side (jf the road have supjiosed he was amusing himself ancl idling his time. He was only trying to invent a new mode of locomotion, so that he roi.lil economize his legs and do his errands with greater dispatch. Leap-frog is one of his methods of getting over the ground ([uickly He has a natural genius foi com- bining i)lcasiire with business. ClIAKI.KS DfDI.KV W.\KXF.R THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE. A C BEING A BOY. , ONI! of the best things in the world to be is a boy ; it reipiires no e.xjjerier.ce, though it needs some practice to be a good one. The disadvantage of the ]iosition is that he does not last long enough. It is soon over. ' Just as you get used to being a bov, you have to i be something else, with a good deal more work to do, and not half so much fun. And \et every boy is anxious to be a man. and is very uneasy w ith the restrictions that are put upon him as a boy. Tin re are so many bright sjjots in the lite of a larm boy that I sometimes think I shoidd like to live the life over again. I should almost be willing to be a girl if it wire not for the chores. ' LIT III', downv chick one day Asked leave to go on the water. Where she saw a duck with her brood at play Swimming ami splashing about her. Indeed, she began to iieeji and cry. When lier mother wouldn't let h( r. "If the ducks can swim, then win- can't I? Are they any bigger or better?" Then the old hen answered. " Listen to me. And hush your foolish talking; Just look at your feet, and you will see They were only made for walking." Dut chicky wistfully eyed the brook, And didn't half believe her; For she seemed to say, by a knowing look, Such stories couldn't deceive her. 1 tlic amount is sonieiimt's 1 an erraiici. f, why, wlicn t, lie stoi'S to ( rnel, hut he is a curious two will he n (Idiny any- i I i 1^ I THE MERRY BOATING PARTY. 359 9. 1- 3G() CHILDHOOD AM) YOUTH. And as lier nidflur was scraicliinK tlu- ground, She iiiiitlfrcil lnwrr and Imvi-r, " I know I can j,'() tlicrc and not be drowned, And so I lliink I'll show her." 'IIrmi slic Mi.uli' .1 iiliini;c wiiore the stream was deep. And saw ton l.iti' her liliinder ; For siie ii.id hardiv time to pei'j) When her foolish luMd went under. And now 1 hope iier late will show 'I'iiat child my stor\ re.adinj;. Tliat those who are ojder sometimes know What you will do well in iieeding: That i.irli (onteiit in his place should dwell. And env\- not his Ijrotlu-r, l''or any pari that is a( ted well Is just as good as .mother ; I'or we all have our projier s]iheres below, And this is a truth worth knowing: ^'llM will come to griel if you try to go \\here \()u never wxre made for goin,L;. I'li'i i:k Carv. THH MERMAN'S SONCi. C( (MIC away, children ; Come, < hildren, come down, The hoarse wind blows colder, Lights shine in the town. Siie will start from her slumber When gusts shake the door; She will hear tlie winds howling, Will hear the waves roar. We shall see, while above us The waves roar and whirl, A ceiling of amber, A pavement of pearl, Singing, " Here came a mortal, Hut faithless was she ; And alone dwells forever The king of the sea." But, children, at midnight. When soft the winds blow, When clear falls the moonlight, When spring tides are low, When sweet airs come seaward From heaths starred with bloom, And high rocks throw mildly On the blanched sands a gloom. Up the still glistening beaches, Uj) the creeks we will hie. Over banks of bright seaweed The ebb tide leaves dry. We will gaze, from the sand-hills. At the white, sleeping town, At the church on the hillside. And then come back down, Singing, " There dwells a loved one, l!ut i:ruel is she ; She left lonely forever The king of the sea." .Mamiikw .Xk.noi.d. DRI-AMS. SoMF tiny Ivis, one evening, gnw mischiev- ous, It seems, .Vnd broke into the store-ro(jm where \\\f. S.mdman keeps his dreams, And gathered u|i whole armfuls of dreams all bright and sweet. And started forth to peddle tliem adown the \il- lage street. Oh, you woulii never, never guess how i|uecrlv these dreams sold ; Why, nearly all the younger folk bought dreams of being ohl ; .\nd one wee (hip in < urls and kilts, a genl/e liitlc thing, Invested in a dream about an awMd pirate king. A maid, who thought her pretty name old-l'asli- ioned and al)sur(l, liought dreams ol names the longest and the queerest ever heard ; And, strange to say, a lad, who owned all son-, of ( ostly toys, iJought dreams of selling papers w ith the raggetlest of boys. And then a dream of simimer .ind a barefoot bov at ])lay Was bought up very (iuii:kly by a gentlemai' ([uitc gray ; And one old lady — smiling through the grief she tried to hide — Bought l)right and tender visions of a little girl who died. A ragged little beggar girl, with weary, wislliil gaze, Soon chose a cinderella dream, with jewels all abla/.e — Well, it wasn't many minutes from the time they came in sight Before the dreams were all sold out and the ebes had taken flight. BE TRUE. OUNTi friends, to whom life's early days Are bright with jjromise all, And to wliose view the glowing rays Of hope imclouded fall ; To coimsel ca( h to choose the good. Throughout tlie coming years, I would .A precept give to you : Observe, if you success would win, The wealth of worth embodied in Two little words : Be true. Y 1 w niischii\. liiiw '|iKcrlv iiif^ht (lrtaIIl^ I uciitic ii4tlc L'ary, wisiltil \ jewels all le time they nd the elves Cllll.nilOOI) AM) VOL' 111. Be true to right : let justice still Her I veil h.il.mce i laim ; I'liaweil, imiirilioi, throiit^li jjood or M.ike leititiitlc yt)iir aim. I'lihwayetl by prejuuici', thy mind Kach day siilUnitted claims will find To champiiin or clciiy ; Then e.ist, ;u( oriliiiu; to lli\ light, Thv iiillueine on tlu' side ot ri;^ht, Thougii all till' world i;ncs by. 11. lie true to truth : ihr jjroiidest name riuit sterling worth may win Is soiled and larni^lntl past reclaim WhiTe iiKehood enters m. No ,:;eiii that arduous tod ma\ limi. Ill learning's fields adorns tiie luind I. ike truth's pure, ^hiiiii.g ray. And Irom her jireseiu e crror'> ( rowds ( )f worshippers dis|)erse like clouds liefore tiie rising dav. LITTLB JACK. HV. wore a pair of tattered pants, A ragged rcjundabout, And through the torn crown of his hat A lock of hair stuck out ; He had no shoes upon his feet, N'o shirt upon his bark ; His home was on the friendless street, His name was " Little Jack." One day a toddling baby-boy With head of curly hair Kscaped his loving mother's eyes, Who, busv with her care, Forgot the little one, that crept Upon the railroad near To iilay with the bright pebbles there, Without a thought of fear. But see 1 around the curve there comes A swiftly flying train — It rattles, roars ! the whif.tle shrieks With all its might and main ; 361 The mother sees h'^r child, but stands Transfixed with sudden fright ! The baby clasi)S his little hands And laughs with hjw delight. Look ! look ! a tattered figure flies .•\(lown the railroad track ! His hat is gone, his feet are bare ! 'Tis ragged " Little Jack!" He grasps the child and from the track The babe is sat'ely tossed — A slip I a ( ry ! the train rolls by — Hravc •• Little Jack " is lost. They I'ound his mangled body there, Just where he slii>])ed and fell. And strong men we|)t who never cared I'or him when he was well. If there be starry crowns in heaven For little ones to wear. The star in " Little Jack's " shall shine As bright as any there ! Eugene J. Hall. \ II ( M; :■ \ \ . ) I ^. % ■\ im CHILDHOOD AM) YOUTH. WHAT Iil:55n: 5AW. >^> 1 1 T lll.> luoiiiiMj;. when .ill the rest had gi >cr I lio lif.iniiiiil |>ii tuns, whiili tlicrc in ihf niylit Jaik lr. anil windmilU. and bridge-", .nid lo.it' Some (lueiT |n()kinf^lMin>c^ and trees; .\ liumnioi k tliat hnML; li\ itMll iti the air, And a uianl tut nil ai the kmc*. Man there wa> a siieple, >u i ronked and high, I was thinking it ^llrel^ must tall. VViun rij^ht tlown lieiow it I hapiieiied to spy The liivelieiit tliiiii; ot tlitin all. The c:iitest and t dear little j;irl! if* I Idokid at liir hard as I tonl>l, ^"Nr- • .And she stood there so dainty — and looked back at nic — ■^ In a little white tilster and hood. "(lood niornii^," I whis|)cred, for all in a flash 1 knexv 'tw.is Jack Frost's little sister, I was so j^lad to h.ive her (oine \isiiinj; me, I rea< hed up rinite softly and kissed iier. Then can \oii helieve it? tlie darling was gone! Kissed (lead in tliat one little minute. 1 ne\fr ont e dreamed that a kiss would do that. How could there be anv harm in it? And I am so sorry I for though I have Uxiked lilty times at that window since then. Half hoping,' to see her once more, )et I kimw She cm never come back again. .And — it may be foolish — but all through tin dav I have lelt — and I knew that I should — Just as if 1 had kdled her, that dear little j;irl ! Ill the little white ulster and hood. C. W. BkONsoN. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD. COMIC back, come ba( k together, .AH ye fancies of the jiast, Ve days of Aj)ril weather, Ye shadows that are cast liy the hauntetl hours before ! Come back, come back, my childhood; TIkju art sinnmoned by a sjiell From the j^recn leaves of tiie wildwood, FVom beside the charmed wtll. For Red Ridinj; Hood, the darling, The flowe"- ot fairy lore ! The fields were covered over Witii colors as she went ; Daisy, buttercup, and clover Iklow her footsteps bent ; Summer shed its shining store; She was liajipy as she jiressed ihtm Heneath her little leet ; She pliu ked them and caressed them ; They were so very sweet. They liad never seemed so sweet before, To Red Ridin.u Hood, the darling. The flower of fairy lore. How the heart of childhood dances Upon a sunny day ! It has its own romances, •And a wide, wide world have they! A world where I'hantasie is king. Made all of eager dreaming ; When on< e grown up and tall — Now is the time lor scheming — llien we shall do them all! Do such |>leasant fancies spring For Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower ot fairy lore? She seems like an ideal love. The poetry of ( hildhood shown, And \et loved with a real love, .As if she were our owi; — .A younger sister lor the heart; Like the woodbind |iheasant. Her hair is brown and bright ; .And lier smile is pleasant, With its rosv light. Never can the memory part With Red Riding Hood, the darling, The flower of fairy lore. Did the painter, dreaming In a morning hour, Catch the lairy '■eeming Of this fairy flower ? Winning it with eager eyes es, itiul l.oat». . BkONSON. tr. I BUJWIXG iJOAP BUBBLES, 363 J(J4 LI! I LD HOOD AND YOUTH. From tlie old enchanted stories, l,ini.'cring with a long delight On the tinlorgotten glories ( >f the infant sight ? (living lis a sweet siirjjrise In Red Riding Hood, the darling, 1 he (lower of fairy lore ! Too long in the meadow staying, Where the cowslip bends, With the l)iittercii])s delaying As with early friends, Did the little maiden sta\. Sorrowful the tale for iis; We, too, loiter 'mid life's t.'owers, A little while so glorious, So soon lost in darker hours. All love lingering on their way, Like Red Riding llood, the darling. The flower of fairy lore. Letitia K. Landun. THE HIGHWAYMAN. DID you ever meet a robber, with a pistol and a knife. Whose prompt and cordial greeting was, " Your money or your lite ; " Who, while you siood a-trcmbling, with your hands above your head. Took your gold, mos' griudy cffering to rei)ay you ; in cold lead ? Well, I once met a robber; I was going honie to j tea ; riie way was rather lonely, though not yet too dark to see j That tiie sturdy rogue who stopped me there was ! very fully armed — But I'm honest in maintaining that I did'nt feel alarmed. | He was ])anting hard from running, so I, being I still undaunted, ' Very boldlv faceil the rascal and demanded what j he wanted ; I was quite as big as he was, and I was not oui of breatli. So I didn't fear his shooting me, or stabbing me to death. : In answer to my cjuestion the highwayman raised I an arm And pointed it straight at me — though I still felt | no alarm ; He did not ask for monc}', but what he said was i this : " You cannot pass, papa, unless you give voiir bov i a kiss I" Allen G. Bkielow. I _ WHAT BABY SAID. I.\.\I here. And if this is what they call tiie world, I don't think much of it. It'.s a vorv flannelly world, and smells of i)aregorir aw- fully. It's a dreadful light world, too, and mikis me blink, I tell )()u. .And I don't know what lo do with my lianils; 1 think I'll dig my fists in mv eyes. No, I won't. I'll scratch at tlie corner ol my blanket and chew it up, and then I 11 hob r; whateser happens, I'll holler. Aiul the more p.in.-- goric they give me, the louder 1 11 yell. That ojil nur^e i)uts the spoon in the corner of my mouth. sidewise like, and keeps tasting my milk herself all the while. She spilt snuff in it last night, and when I hollered she trotted me. That comes of being a two-days-old baby. Never mind ; when I'm a man, I'll pay her back gootl. There's a \)\\\ sticking in me now, and if 1 sa\-.i word about it, I 11 be trotted or fed ; and 1 would rather have catnip-tea. I'll ted you who I am. I A)und out to-day. I heard folks say, " Hu-li ! don't wake up Emeline's baby ;" and I suppose tiiat ])retty, white-faced woman over on the pillou is I'^meline. No. I was mistaken ; for a chap was in here just now and wanted to see Bob's baby ; and looked at me and said I was a funny little toad, and looked just like Bob. He smelt of cigars. 1 womier who else I belong to ! Yes, there's another one — that's "dammr." "It was Gamma's baby, so it was." I declare, I do not know who I belong to; but I'll holler, and maybe I'll find out. '["here comes snuffy with catnip-tea. I'm going to sleep. I wonder why my hands won't go where I want them to ! THE SQUIRREL'S LESSON. TWO little squirrels, out in the sun. One gathered nuts, and the other hail noi; "Time enough yet," his constant refrain ; " Summer is still only just on the wane." Listen, my child, while 1 tell you his fate : He roused iiim at last, but he roused him too lai Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud, And gave little scpiirrel a spotless white shroud. Two little boys in a schoolroom were placed, One always perfect, the other disgraceci ; " Time enough yet for my learning," he s;iid ; " I will climb, byand by, from the foot to the head Listen, my d'rlingj their locks are turned gray One as a Governor sitteth to-day ; The other, a paujier, looks out at the door Of the almshoi-.5e, and idles his days a.s of yore. Two kinds of people we meet every day : One is at work, the other at ])lay, Living imcared for, dying unknown — The busiest hive hath ever a drone. e; illy, "Hn-li! jing to sleep. vhere I want CHILDHOOD AXD YOC'TH. SG.') BOYS WANTED. BOVS of spirit, hoys of will, lioys of muscle, brain, and jjower, Fit to cope witii anything, These are wanted every iioiir. Not the weak and whining drones, Who all troubles magnify; Not the watchword of '• I < an't," Hut tlie nol)ler one, " I'll try." f)o whate'er you have to do With a true and earnest zeal ; Bend your sinews to the task. " Put your shoulder to the wheel." Though your duty may be hard, Look not on it as an ill; If it be an honest ta^^k, Do it with an honest will. In the workshoj), on the farm, .\t the desk, where'er you be, From your future efforts, boys, t^onies a nation's destiny. THE RIGHT WAY. AT home, abroad, by day or night, In country or in town. If askeil to drink, we'll smile and turn Our glisses upside tlown. The ruby wine, or bright champagne, ( )r lager rich and brown, We'll never touch, but always turn Our glasses upside down. It' friends shall say 'tis good for health, ' I'u-ill all your troubles drown. Uf'U dare to differ and to tiu-n Our glasses upside down. Cninpanions gay, and maidens fair. And men of high renown. May snci-'r ; but never mind, we'll turn Our glasses upside down. ^\e mean to conquc in this strife. To win the victor's crown. And so we'll always bravelv turn Our glasses upside down. Helen K. Brown. A SONG OF GOLDEN CURLS. I STAY a little, golden curls — twinkling eyes of blue ; : Stay and see the violets, for they are kin to you; I Fniger where the frolic wind.i arotmd the gardens rice. Ciieeks lik:* lovely mirrors where the red rose seeks ' its face. Sweet — sweet !" All ih;; birds are singing; Sweet -sweet !" The blossom-bells are ringing; Kisses from the red rose — Kisses from the white. Kissing you good-morning And kissing you good-night! Stay a little, golden curls — brightening eyes of bh:e, The violets are listening for the loveh steps of vou, The white rose bids you welcome, the retl rose calls you sweet, .•\nd the daisies spread a cari)et for the falling of your feet. " Sweet^sweet !" All the birds are singing ; " Sweet — sweet !' The blossom-bells are ringing; Kisses from the red rose — Kisses from the white, Kissing )'ou good-morning And kissing you good-night ! Frank L. Stanton. t : ! i\ 366 cm LP HOOD AND YOUTH. 1 I \ 7 , 1 r i ■' ■ i > :■ ■ \ i 1 . ^ j \ 1! ■ i THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN. HAMl'.LIX Tdwn's in lirunswick, 1)\- lanioiis llainner t'itv ; 'Mk' river Wescr. dtc\) ami wide, Waslies its wall on tiie sontlicrn sitle ; A j)lcasanler sjiot \oii n.'vti- spied ; But wlicn begins my duty, Almost five hundied vears ai;o, 'I'o see tlie townslolk sulfer so From vermin was a pity, 1 hour tiiey sat in counsel — At lenL;tii the Mayor broke silenl i . • li |i n i \ I 1 s V !i ! I U. i" ; ■ 368 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. Trippiiii,' and skiii]iinj,', ran merrily alter The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. The Mayor was dumb, and tiie Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry To the chiklren merrily skip|)in_L; by — And could only follow with die eye That joyous crowd at the piper's back. Hut how the Mayor was on the rack, And the wretch.cd Council's bosoms beat As the piper turned froiu the High Street To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons ami daughters! However, he turned from south to west And to Koppelberg Hill his stejis addressed, And after him the children pressed ; Creat was the joy in every breast. " He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop ! " When, lo, as tlu'v reached the mountain's side, A wondrous portal opened wide, As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; And the piper advanced and the children lol- lowed ; And when all wer; in. to the very hist, The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did 1 say all? No! One was lame, And coukl not tiance the whole of the way ; And in after )ears, if you wouki blame His sadness, he was used to say- - " It's dull in our town since my playmates left, I can't forget that I'm bereft Of all the jileasant sights they see, Which the ])i])er also promiseel me ; For he led us, he said to a joyous land. Joining the town and just at hand. Where waters gushed and fruit trees grew. And flowers j)iit forth a fairer hue, And everyihuig was strange aiul new ; The sparrows were brighter than i)cacocks hen -And their dogs outran our fallow deer. And honey-bees had lost their stings, Ar.d horses were born with eagles' wings; And just as I became assured My lame foot would lie speedily cured, The music stopjied and I stood still, And found myself outside the Hill, Left alone against my will. To go now limping as before. And never hear of that country more! " RiUU'.UI riK()WNIN<',. THE CLUCKING HEN. 6 <; '^ "X Till you take a walk with me, Wl My little wife, to-day? ' '' There's liarley in the barley-field, Aiid hav-secd in the hay." " Oh, thank you !" s'id the clucking hen, " I've something else to do; I'm busy sitting on luy eggs — I cannot walk with you." "Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck!" S.iid the (lucking hen ; " My little chicks will soon be hatched; I'll think about it then." The clucking hen sat on her nest — She made it in the ha_v — And warm and snug bemath her breast A dozen white eggs lay. Crack, (rack ! went all tiie eggs — Out drop the chickens small. " Cluck !" said the cliu king hen ; " Now I have you all. Come along, my little chicks ! I'll fake a walk \\'\\\\ you ." " Halloo !" said the barn-door cock, " Cock-a-doodle-doo !" ONE THING AT A TIME. w ORK while \ou work, I'lay while you play. That is the way to be Cheerful and gay. All that you do. Do with \(iur might, Things done by halves Are never done right. One thing each time, And that done well. Is a very good rule, .■\s many can tell. Moments are useless, ■["rilled away, So work while you work, And play while you play. BABYLAND. ( )W many miles to I'abyland ? Any one can tell ; Up one night, To your right — Please to ring the be 1. H What can you see in ISabyland ? Little folks in white, r>owny luids, Cradle beds. Laces pure and bright. What do th" • do in liabyland? Dream and work and play, Laugh and crow, Shout and grow. joUv times luve the\-. CHILDHOOD AM) YOrill. 361) T Wliat do they say in lialnlaiul ? W'liy. the oddest tilings; Migiit as well Try lu tull Wliat a hirdic sings. Who is the niieen of IJabyland ? Mother, kind and sweet ; And her lo\e, 15()rn aliove, Guillen the little feet. ("iEOKi;k Coopei^ THE LITTLE CUP-BEARER. Ill'", little L.ip-hearer entered the room, After tlie l)ani[iiet was tlone ; Mis ejes were like the skies of May, Aglow with a cloudless siiii ; Kneeling beside his master's feet, The feet of the noble king. He raisetl the goblet, " Drink, my liege, The offering that 1 bring." "Nay, nay," the good king smiling said, " Hut first a taithful sign That thoti briiigest me ni) poison draught : Taste thou, my page, the wine." Then gently, firmly, s])oke the lad, " My dearest master, no. Though at thy lightest wish my feet Shall gladly come and go." " Ri^e u|>, my little cup-bearer," The king astonishetl cried ; " Ri'.e uj) and tell me straightway, why Is my reipiest denied?" The young page rcse up slowly. With sudden paling cheek. While courtly lords and ladies Waited to hear him siieak. " My father sat in princely halls, .\nd tasted wine witli you ; He died a wretched drunkard, sire — " The brave voice tearful grew, " I vowed to my dear mother Beside h(.r dying bed. That for lur sake 1 would not taste The tempting jtoison red.'' " Away with this young upstart I " The lords impatient cr\-. Hut spilling slow the jiurple wine, The good king made reply ; "Thou shalt be my cup-bearer, .\nd honored well," he said, " i5ut see thou bring not wine to me Hut water j)ure instead." DO RIGHT. DO what conscience sa\s is right; Do what reason says is l)e>t ; Do with all your mind and might; r»o your duty and be blest. 24 THE EiOV WITH THE LITTLE TIN HORN. Wl i A'l" care we for skies that are snowing ( )n lields that no rosis adorn ; I'or bliz/iards so icily blowing. When the boy with the little tin horn So merrily blows As he goes, as he goes — \\ ith eyes like the violet, checks like the rose? lie's the iierald of Christmas — thi^ fellow Who rouses the dreamer at morn ; The notes are not soothing or mellow T'hat come from his little tin horn, Hut he blows just tlie same Hy the firelight's llame, And we love him and so there is no one to blame. He summons the soldiers, reclining In corners great soldiers w ould scori^ ; They rise, with their little guns shining. And march to the little tin horn ! T'hey are stiffer than starch, 'Xeath the chandelier's arch, IJut they move when their curly-haired captain cries ■' March !" P'or there never was music in battle, Where the ilags by the bullets are torn. As brisk as the holiday rattle Of the toy drum antl the little tin h.orn ; \V'ith a rubbing of eyes All the sokliers arise When the little tin horn sends a blast to the skies. Hlov.-, blow, little tiii horn ! No summer Of song is as sweet as your notes ! And inarch, little rosy-faced drummer. With the soldiers in little tin coats 1 " Hep-hep! to the right 1" With your regiments bright. And a kiss for the ca[)tain who wins in the fight. Frank I,. St.vnton. D THE WAY TO SUCCEED. RIVIO the nail aright, bo}s, Hit it on the head ; Strike with all your might, boys, While the iron's red. lys, lOVS, When you've work to do. Do it with a will ; Th 'v who reach the to]), First must climb the hill. Standing at the foot, bo\s ( lazing at the sky. How can nou e\er get up, boys. If you never try? Though you stumble oft. bows. Never be downcast : Try, and try again, boys — You'll succeed at last. I ^ 370 CHILDHOOD AND YOb'T/f. I f A GENTLEMAN. KNl'^W liim tor a gentleman By signs lliat never fail ; His coat was rough and rather worn, 1 lis ciieeks were tiiin and pale — A lad who iiad his way to make, With little time for jilav ; I knew him for a gentleman ' By certain signs to-day. He met his mother on the street ; Off came his little cap. My dtjor was shut ; he waited there Lntil 1 heard his rap. He took the bundle from my hand, And when 1 droi)i)ed my pen, He sprang to pick it up fur me — Tliis gentleman of ten. He does not i)ush and i rowd along His \()it:e is gently jiilchet! ; He does not lling his books abo'jt As if he were bewitched, He stands aside to let you pass ; He always shuts the door ; He runs on errands willingly To forge and mill and store. He thinks of you before himself, He serves yoii if he can ; For, in whatever company, The manners make the man. At ten or forty, 'tis the same; The manner tells the tale, y\ntl 1 discern the gentleman By signs that never fail. Makcaret K. Sancster. DOWN IN THE STRAWBERRY BED. JAYS in the orchard are screaming, ?.nd hark ! Dow 1 in the pasture the blithe meadow lark Floods all the air with melodious notes; Robins and sparro.vs are straining their throats — " Dorothy, Dorothy," out of the hall Kclioes the sound of the music call ; Songbirds are silent a moment, then sweet " Dorothy," all of them seem to repeat. "Where is the truant? No answer is heard. Save the clear trills of each jubilant bird ! Dawn-damask roses have naught to unfold. Fresh with the dew and the morning's bright gold. "Dorothy, Dorothy," — still no reply, None from the arbor or hedgerow a-nigh. None from the orchanl. wliere the grasses are deep — " Dorothy," — surely she must be asleep! r, iver has seen her ; his eyes never fail ; Watch how he sabers the air witli his tail ! Follow him, follow him ! where has he gone? Out toward the garden and over the lawn. "Dorothy, Dorothy," plaintive and low, Up from the paths where the holl)hocks grow, Comes the soft voice with a tremor of dread, " Dorofy's down in 'e stwawberry bed !" Curls in a tangle and frock all awry, Bonnet, a beam from the gold in the sky. Eyes with tiie sparkle of mirtli brinnning o'er, Lap filled with ruby fruit red to the core. Dorothy, Dorothy ! rogue that thou art; Who, at thee, sweet one, to scold has a heart? Ajjrons and fingers and cheeks stained with red, Dorothy, down in the strawberry bed ! ONE LITTLE ACT. I .SAW a man, with tottering steps. Come down a graveled walk, one day; The honored frost of many years L'pon his scattered thin loc:ks lay. With trembling hands he strove to raise The latch lliat held the little gate, When rosy lips looked i:p and smiled, — A silvery child-voice said, " Please wait." A little girl oped wide the gate. And held it till he jiassed (piite through, Then closetl it, raisin^,- to his face Her modest eyes of winsome blue. "May heaven bless yon, little one," The old man said, with tear wet eyes; "Such deeds of kindness to the old Will be rewarded in the skies." 'Twas such r. little tiling to do — A moment's time it took — no more; And then the dancing, graceful feet Had vanished through the school- room door. And yet I'm sure the angels smiled. And penned it down in words of gold; 'Tis such a blessed thing to see The you.ig so thoughtful of the old. SIX YEARS OLD. O.SUN ! so far up in the blue sky, (), clover ! so \ hite and so sweet, 5 O, little brook ! shining like silver. And running so fast past my feet, — You don't know what strange things have hap- pened Since sunset and starlight Inst night ; Since the four o'clocks closed their red ].et;!ls To wake up so early and bright. Say I what will you think when I tell you What mv dear manuiia whispered to me, When she kissed me on each cheek twice over? You don't know what a man you may see. O, yes ! I am big and I'm heavy ; I have grown, since last night, very old. And I'm stretched out as tall as a ladder; Mamma says I'm too large to hold. j| ft i twice over f 'fiLDifOon Axn Yorrii. 371 Sweet clover, ht.iiul >.till ; tlu not blow so ; I shall whisper 'w.iy tlowu in your ear, 1 was six years okl early this mnriiiiii;. Would you lliiiik so to see me, iii\ dear? l)(i you niiti( e uiy pants and two ])()( kets? I'ni so old I nnist dress like a man ; I must learn to read books antl write letters And I'll write one to you when 1 can. My pretty gold lintterflies ll.\ing, Little bird, and my buss' brown bee, I shall ne\er be too old to hne you, And I liDpi.' you'll alwa\s lose nie. o lo HANDS AND LIPS. 1 1, what cm little hands do To please the King ol Heaven ? 'I'he little hands some wcirk ma\- try, lelp the jioor in miserv. Suih grace to mine be gi\en ! ( )h, what can little lii)s do To piaise the King of Heaven? The little lips can praise and pray, And gentle words of kindness say. Such 'Tac e to mine le given A JEVVEL5 OF WINTER. Mlld.lOX little diamonds Twinkled on the trees: And all the little maidens said, '•A jewel it' )()U please !" THE A\AN IN THE AlOON. T' '111', man in the moon wiio >.iils tl, rough the sky. Is till' most Courageous sk'pj.er; lint he maile a mistake when he tneil to take A drink ol" milk irom the '"dipiier." Hut while they held their hands outstretched, To catch the diamoiuls gay, A million little sunbeams came, And stole them all away. THE BLUEBIRD. IKXOW the song that the bluebird is singing. Out in the apple tree where he is swinging. l!ra\e little fellow ! the skies mav be drearv, Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. Hark ! how the music leajis out from his throat ! Hark ! 'was there e\er so merry a note? Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying, l p in the apple tree, swinging and swaying: " Dear little blossoms, down und-'r the snow, N t)U must be weary of winter, 1 know ; Hark I while I sin;_; you a message of cheer, Siiiiuner is coming, and spring time is here! "Little white snowdrop, 1 i)ray yon arise; Briijht yellow crocus, come, open \oiir eyes, Sweet little violets hid Irom the cold, I'ut on your mantles of purple and gold ; I'alfodils, daffodils! say, do you hear? Summer is coming, and spring time is here !" He dip|)ed it into the •' milky way," And slowly, ( anlioiisly llUed it ; But tlie-'Clreat IVar" growled and the " Little Hear" howled. And scared him so that he --pilleil it. A ROGUE. GRANDALV w.is nodding, I rather think; I Lirry was sly and (piick as a wink ; lie climbed in the back (if her great arm- chair, .\nd nestletl himself very snugly there: (handma's dark locks were mingletl with white, And(|uick this fact came to his sight; .\ sharp twinge soon she felt at her h.iir, And woke with a start, to fiiul llarrv there. •MVhy. what are you doing. m\- (hild?" she said. He answereil, " I'se pulling a basting fread !" GRANDPAPA'S SPECTACLES. GRAM )1'A I'A'S spe( tacles cannot be l'(jun(l ; He has searched all the ronins, high and low, 'rouiul and 'round ; Now he calls to the young ones, and what does he say ? ' "Ten cents to the child who will find them to- ; clay-" I Then Henry and Nelly and I'.dwartI all ran. And a most thorough hunt for the glasses began. And dear little Xell, in her generous way, Said: •• I'll look for them, grandjia. without any pay." All through the big Bible she searches with care That lies on the table by grantlpapa's chair ; They feel in his pockets. the\- peep in his hat. They pull out the sofa, they shake out the mat. Then down on all fours, like two gootl-natured bears, CiO Harry and Ned under tables and chairs. Till, ([uite out of breath. Ned is heard to declare, He believes that those glasses are not anywhere. !!ut Nelly, who, leaning on grandpai)a's knee. Was thinking most earnestly where they could be. Looked siidilenly up in the kind, faded eyes, And her own shining brown ones grew big with surprise. m M 372 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. \\ '1 Slie slaiiped botli her luinds— all her dimples came out — She turned to the boys with a briglit, ro^'lli^h shout ; " \'oii iiiny leave oil' your h.okiiig, both Hairy and Ned, For there are the glasses on grandiiajia's head !" THE LITTLE MATCH-OIRL. Ir was very (old, the snow fell, and it was al- ln()^t i|iiite d.irk ; lor it was evening — \ cs, the last evening of the year. Amid the (old and the darkness, a jxior little girl, with bare head and naked leet, was roaming through the streets. It is true she had a pair of slijiijers when she left home, but the\- were not of much use. They were very large slippers ; so large, indeed, that they had hitherto been used bv her mother; besides, the little creature lost them as she hurried across the street, to avoid t.vo carriages that were driving very (pnckly past. One of the slippers was not to be found, and the other was p.)unced upon by a boy who ran away with it, saying that it would serve for a cradle when he ^Imuld have children of his own. So the little girl went along, with her little bare feel that were red and blue with cold. She carried a num- ber of matches in an old apron, and she held a biimlle of them in her hand. Nobody had bought anything from her the wliole livelong day ; nobody had even given her a ]ienny. Shi\erinj; with cold and hunger, she creiH along, a ])>Tfe('t picture of misery — jioor little thing ! The snow-llakes covered her long fla.\en hair, whi( h himg in pretty curls round her throat; but she heeded them iiut now. Lights were streaming from all the windows, and tliere was a savory smell of roast goose ; for it was New Year's J'.ve. And this she (//(/heed. She now sat down, cowering in a corner formed by two houses, one of whic h projected be\ond the other. She had drawn her little feet inukr her, but she felt colder than ever ; yet she dared not return home, for she had not sold a match and could not bring home a penny ! She would cer- tainly be beaten by her father ; and it was (old enough at home, besides— for they had oidy the roof above them, and the wind came howling through it, though the largest holes had been stopped with straw and rags. Her little hands were nearly frozen with cold. .Mas ! a single match might do her some good, if she might onlv draw one out of the bundle, and rub it against the wall, and warm her fingers. So at last she drew one out. Ah ! how it sheds s- aiks, and how it burns! It gave out a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as slie held her hands over it — truly it was a wonderfid little light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she weresit- [ ting before a large iron stove, with jiolishcd brass feet, and brass shovel and tongs. The fire burned so brightly, and warmed so nicely, that the little ( reature streti hed out her feet to warm iheni like- wise, when lo ! the tlame expired, the stovc van- ished, and left nothing but the little half-burned match in her hand. She rubbed another match against the wall. It gave a light, and where il shone ujioii the w.dl, t'lf hitter became as transparent as a veil, and Miy ( ould see into tne room. A snowy-white tabic cloth was spread upon the table, on which stood a splendid diina dinner service, while a roast go^se stuffed with applis and prunes, sent forth the nu)>t savory fumes. And what was more delightful >till to see, the gocjse jumped down from the dish, .11, d waddled along the ground with a knife and f.irk in its breast, up to the jjoer girl. 'I'he mat{ h timi went out, and nothing remained but the tliii k, damp wall. I She lit \et another match. She now sat undir the most magnificent Christmas tree, that w.is larger, and more siiiierbly decked, than even the one she had seen thrcnigh the glass door at the I ri( h merchant's. A thousand tapers burned (ni its green blanches, and gay jiictures, su( h as one sees on shields, seemed to be looking down liiim her. She stretched out her hands, but tlie match then went out. The Christmas ligiits kept ri>ing higher and higher. They now looked like stars in the sky. One of them fell down, and Kft a 'jiig streak of fire. "Somebody is now dyinjj," thought the little girl. — for her old grandmother, the only person who had ever loved her, and wl.o was now dead, had told her, that when a suir falls, it is a sign that a soul is going up to lua\en. She again rubbed a match upon the wall, aiul it was again light all around ; and in the brighinc-s stood her old grandmother, clear and shining like a spirit, yet looking so mild and loving. " (inuul- mothcr," cried the little one, "oh. take me with you! I know you will go a\\a\- vhen the match goes out — you will vanish like the warm stove, and the delicious roast goose, and the fine, large Christ- mas tree!" And she made haste to rub the wIk>1c bundle of matches, for she wished to hold he; grandmother fast. And the matches gave a light that was brighter than noonday. Her grand- mother had never appeared so beautikil nor .^o large. She took the little girl in her arms, and both flew ujjwards, all radiant and joyful, fir. tar above mortal ken, where there was neither (old, nor hunger, nor care to be found ; where there was no rain, no snow, or stormv wind, but calm, simny days the whole year round. But, in the cold dawn, the poor girl might he seen leaning against the wall, with red cheeks and snnling mouth ; she had been frozen on the la-t night of the old year. The new year's sun .shone girl mi,i,'ht lie ed cheeks and ;n on the la-t ar's sun shone CIIILDIIOOD AXn VOCT/f. 3V3 upon tlie little (lead f.:irl Siie sat still lioMim; the (Ircaiiied ul" ilic fine thin;;s slie h.id seen, nor iii Miatclies, one l)nn(Uf of which was Imrned. IVo- what splenilor she had entered, alon^ with lier pie said : " Siie tried tu warm liersell'.'' Xolxjdy graiKhnuther, upon the jo\s of tiie New \'ear. Hans Chkisiian Anuek^en. THE BABY'S PRAYER. l * : I i ' il !.( 374 CHILDHOOD AM) yoCTII. \ I Hdw fill) the mood the chihl his drawn And |ire.sst(l upon a ninsin^' heart ! Amid the happy lionschuhl chat I sit liko one apart. My ihoiij^hts. like prayers, move solemnly: "D l,(ird," I say, " the j^reat, the wise. The weak, the niiseralijc, are All ehiklren in Thine lyes. " We take the name ol'l'hy clear Son Harin^t, niioii a tremhliiij; lip; 'I'lU' Clip 'I'ilDll L;i\cst ll~. \Vf lilt And shrink, and taste, and siji, " And try to say, • \\n Jt-ns' sake;' |)iar Lord, the liahe i> widest \\hen, Fearless and clear, she pleads with Thee ' For I'ity's sake. Amen.' " (). truer tlum the sacred phrase 'i'hat time from C'liristian \c.ns has spun, Is he who prays, nor questions it" I'ity and Chri>t are one .'" I'll.l/AIIF.TII .SllAKr I'llKI.PS. THE CHILDRHN. I'lPIM 1 1)1 Ml l.N I HI lil-.sK III ( IIAKII IIIM I)I-,,MII. ■• I'll KhN-, AIUK w A CHILD'S WISH. HFN the siiidi,:;hl fell with radiant udorv O'er the little bed. ' ' And the wiml, with gentle fin-ers, moved The tresses on her head. With fainter voice slw whispi d, while The anL;el wiii^s drew niglier. And loving ones had hushed their sobs, "Oil, Father, lift me liigher." But her dim sight looked yet further 'I'han our weejjing e\es could see, Far beyond the land of sunsets, Into innnortaiily ; She heedeil not the crimson mist That crowned the hills with fire, I5iit only breatheil. in gentle tones, " Dear Father, lift me higher." Yet v.hile she s])oke the color died From out the evening sk\, Ami twilight, (lad in ashen robes, I'assed slow ami silent by; Aiul death liad shut the door of life, Smitten the golden 1\ re. And answered the sweet childish wish But to be "lifted higher." Father, we thank Thee ! for the child Treads now th' eternal hills. Her footsteps falter not beside The ever-flowing rills ; Lifted above all grief and care, From trial liorne away. She has exchanged the twilight gloom For never-ending day. Clio Stanley. W 11 ION lessons and tasks are all ended. And the school for the day is di^n.i-,-, d, .And the little ones gatlu r around nif To bill me "good night," .md be ki>sed, O the little white arms that eiK ircle My neck in a tender embrace I O the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine and love on my fate! And when thev are gone I sit dreaming Of my childhood, too lovely to List; Of love that my heart will remember When it w.ikes to the jiulse of the past, ICre the world and its wickedness made me A partner tif sorrow and sin — When the glory of (iod was about me, And the glory of gladness within. O my heart grows weak as a woman's, And the fountain of feeling will flow. When I think of the paths steep and stony. Where the feet of the dear ones must ^o ; Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them, Of the temjiests of fate blow ing w ild — O there'.s notiiing on earth half so hoh As the innocent hea'-t of a child. They are idols of hearts aiul of household, They are angels of Ood in disguise — His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses. His glory still beams from their e\es — those truants from earth and tiom heaven, They have made me more maiil\and mild, And I know now how Jesus could Iken 'l"he kingdom of ( Iod to a ( hild. Seek not a life for the dear ones All radiant, as others have done: But that life may have just as much shadow To temjier the glare of the sun. 1 would pray God to guard them from evil. But my prayer would bound back to myself. Ah ! a seraph may ]iray for a sinner. But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod ; I have taught them the goodness of knowledge. They have taught me the goodness of God. My heart is a dungeon of darkness. Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frc.vn is sufficient correction. My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more ; Ah ! how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door. i- ,'! cm I. nil 00 1) .1X1) yoctii. .'{7') III KKN-. Anm I eiidcil, is ili>ii,i.,.c,l, iMiiiil UK' Ild lif kbbCil, e •n, 11} fate ! uini; .ist; tr f past, ladf me lie, n s, fluw, (1 stony, must ^o ; IT tlRDl, aild— lioly sL-liold, sc — sses, ■\ es — II licavcii, ind mild, ken sliadow om evil, to myself. It". ■od ; unli^ht shone on w.dls of stone And towers suhlinie and tall ; Kiii,L; Alfred sat iijion his throne Within his council hall. tumn, nes oor. .\nd glancint; o'er the splendid throng, With grave and solemn fac e. To where his nohle vassals stood, He saw a \acant place. "Where is the Marl of Tlolderness? " With anxious look, he saitl. " Alas, () King ! " a courier crieil, "The nohle ICarl is deatl !" Before the monarch could ixjiress The sorrow that he felt, A soklier with a war-worn face .Approachetl the throne and knelt. ' My sworil," he said, '• has ever heen, () King ! at thy command, .\nd many a jinnid and haughty Dane Mas fallen hy my hand. " I've fought beside thee in the field. And 'neatli the greenwood tree; It is but fair for thee to give Yon vacant place to me." " It is not just," a statesman cried, "This soldier's prayer to hear, My wisdom has done more for thee Tnan either sword or spear. "The victories of the council hall Have made thee more renown Than all the triumphs of the field Have given to thy crown. " My name is known in every land, My talents have been thine, Bestow this earldom, then, on me, For it is justly mine." Vet, while before the monarcii's throne 'rhe->e men contending stood, .\ woman crossed the lloor who wore The weeds of widowliood. .\n'l -lowlv to Kin,.; .Mfred's feet .\ faii-h.iired boy she I'd — "<) King! this is the rightl'iil heir ( )f lIold'Tiiess." she said. " Helpless he comes to claim his "wn, !,et luj man do him wroiiL', For he is weak and latheriess, .\nd thou art just ami strong." " What strength of power." the st.;te man cried, •'('oiild such a judgment bring? Can siK h a feeble ' umi," >ays tin- fort-- tnost .Mill till- l.ir>;i'r Imv. " Nur I ain't skcfrtd o' yon," n-iorts ilic otiicr; " l)iit \i>\\ luedn't -^.ly )'(iii meant to In k nic." And sn I tlinn^ht. An iitluT, less an|iiaintt'd with i liddreii, ini^lit not lie al.K- to M'l- ilir ( onnt'itioii ; Imt 1 loiild — ituuN worthy of Ari-^ioik- lmn>fll or Jolm l.otkc. " I diiln't say I nioanl l.i lick yc," rejoined the first; " 1 H.iid 1 could liik ye. and so 1 (un." 'I'o which tlic oilier replies, ({lam ing thst at my window and then all n|> and down >treet, " I should like to sec yoi try it." Wiieriiipon the liiyer hoy |pej;iiis to move .iway, h.dl-h.iekw.iids, hail-sideways, mutter- ing; jii-'t loud enough to hj heard, •' ;\h. \oii want to fi;;ht now. jest 'eatise you're rlose by your own house " .\ml here tlie 'T h.id j;ot to;.;eihcr to pla\- hall, hut one ol them haviiiL; tound a hirihd.i}, and imt only the birth- day, b It the very boy to whom it belonged, they all gathered about him as if they had ne\er wit- nessed a ( onjuiution of the sort before. The very fellows for a (oiiimittee of imiuiry ! — into the af- fiirs of a natinnal bank, if you pKasc-. .Never shall I forget another incident \\hi( h oc- curred in my presence between tws of justice and the halls of legislation. I saw three children throwing sticks at a c ow. She grew tired of her share in the g.mie at hist, and holding down her head and shaking it, demanded a new deal. They cut and run. /\fter getting to a jilace of comparative si-cmity. they stojjped, and holding by the to|) of a board fence began to recon- noitre. Meanwhile, another trooj) of chililren hove in sight, and arming themselves with brickbats, "began to apjiroarh the same cow. Whereupon two of the others called out from the fence. " Vou, Joe! you better mind! that's our cow!" The ]>lea was admitted without a demurrer ; and the row was left to be tormented by the legal owners. Hadn't these bovs the law on their side? But children have other characters. At times they are creatures to be afraid of. Mvery case I give is a fact within my own observation. There arci liildreii, and I have lud to dowiih them. w||,,„e very t yes wtre terrible; i liihlren, who alter M.irs ot v.iti hfiil .111(1 an.\iuiis div ipline, were sh(t. And we scarcely get a "Thank you," if We do our very best. But never mind, boys — we will be The grown men by and by ; Then I suppose 'twill be our turn To snub the smaller boy. P LOST TOMMY. RAY, have you seen our Tommy? He's the cutest little fellow, With cheeks as round as apples, And hair the softest yellow. -\ f M MP 1 . I. , a « ff M i' ' ■) i J-'. -1 ' ^ l:\'' 1 i i ^ 1 ' 9 -- 1 ^ M ' ' 8| \ 1 B~ ^M^ n, : f W' Wa ^ f mB \ ' p 11 ! u m H' ' i ai'l: ■^'1 t< Mjii: i il?. ^^MM|_ 378 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. Yuu see, 'twas quite a while age All huur ur tui), [lerliaps — Wlieii giaiicima heiit liiiii oil' tu buy A pound of yiiiLjei-^naiis. We lia\o traced him m the halter's, And i-art way i)a( k ayain ; We Ibund a little [laiier sai k I>yin,u empty in the lane. But Tommy and tlie t;inger-snii)is Are missing totalh ; I hope they both will reappear In lime enough for tea. We have t liniljcd up to tlie ,i.ariet. .\nd seoLired tlie cellar through; We have ransacked everv cln-et, And the barn and orchard to.:) ; We have hunted through the kiichen, .\nil the i)antry? Oh! of ( our>e — We liave screamed and shouted "'I'ommy' I'ntil we're fairly hoarse. Toor mamma goes tlistracted, And jiretty Auntie May Is sure the darling cherub Has somehow lo>t his way. Well, well, I'll give another look Into the nursery ; I haidly think the little rogue C m hide away from me. All ! Iiere's the laundry basket, Within I'll take a peep. Why— what is this curled up so tight? ' Ti'j Tommy, fast asleep. O ni tmma, auntie, grandma ! ('ome and see the fun. 'ronuny, where's the ginger-snaps ? " I'iatcn ■ — every one ! " " Bless my heart ! " laughs auntie; '• Dear, dear, I shall colla])se ; Where could he stow them all away? .■\ pound of ginger-snaps ! " But mannna falls to kissing. Forgetting fright and toil, \\ hile grandma bustles out to fet( h A dose f : castor oil. J^LI.^ M. Dana. THE LITTLE BOY WHO RAN AWAY. a T 'M going now to run auay." I Said little .Sammv (Ireen one day, * ''Then I can do just what 1 choose, I'll never have to black mv ^hoes. Or wash my face or ccr.ih m\ h:'ir. I'll fnid a place, 1 know, somewhere And r.ever have again to fdl That old chip basket — S'-" 1 will. "Good-bye, mamma! " he said, "Ciood-by He thought his mother then would crw .She oidy said, '• \'ou going, dear?" And didn't shed a single tear. "There now," said Sammy (Ireen, " 1 know- She does not care if 1 do go. But Bridget does. She'll have to fill I'hat old chip basket, so she will. But Bridget only said : " Well, boy, You're off for sure. 1 wish you joy." And Sammy's little sister Kate. Who swung upon the garden gale, Said anxiously as he- passed thiuugh: " To-night whatever will you do. When you can't get no 'lasses spread At su[)])er time on toji of bread ?" One block from home, and Sammy (Ireen's Weak little heart was full of fear. He thought about Red Riding Hood, The wolf that met her in the wood, The beanstalk boy wiio kept so niinii When he heard the giant's " lee, to, funi," Of the dark night anil the policeman. Then poor Sammy homeward ran Quick through the alley way he sped. And crawled in througli the old woodshed. The big chip basket he did fdl. He blacked his shoes up with a will, He washed his face and combed his hair; He went up to his mother's chair And kissed her twice, and then he said ; "I'd like some 'lasses top of bread." Mrs. S. T. Perry. THE FLAG ON THE SCHOOLH JLSE. P with the starry banner ! Let it float over roof and tower ! Let it greet each ])ui)il and teacher When Cometh the morning hour ! Let the first thought in the morning Be aye of the star-bright flag, Of the heroes who fought in its honor, Of the courage that could not lag. And all through the daily lessons. Wherever our duties call, Remend>er the star-bright banner Is floating over us all. If history is the lesson, Never forget the flag That waved through a hundred battles, From the sea to the moimtain crag — The flag of a hundred battles. Stars brighter for each and all, With a glory ever growing, As its folds now rise, now fall. i>i u )LH3USE. CIllLDIIOOl) AXP )\^r/!f. Wliat if a pine-tiuc liaiiner Floated at IJiinkcr Hill? Its L;lory was transmitted To the lla;; that's tloating still. So, from lA-xinutoii and Concord, l'"roni Boston's nave-washed shore, I'roni each spot where free- dom striiL'gled, There conieth a i;l'Jry more. So, each state shall see em- blazoned U[)on our standard fair. The sum of all local f;lory In a national glory there. Vorklown and Saratoga .\re in each stripe and star ; Trenton and Princeton flash and glow Like beacon-lights afar. And all of tho naval glory, \V(jn by sea-faring sires, Glows with an ageless lustre, Whose splendor never tires. " ( )ld Ironsides " I see there. Whose captain could do and dare, As he showed the British sailors. When he silenced the Ciuerriere. And a splendid motto glis- tens, A motto for every lip, Columbia's naval watchword Of " Don't give up the ship!" And another close beside it. Shall be known for ages hence, It is : " Not one cent for tribute. Hut millions for defence." Forth from the smoke of battle, Hnghter than noonday sun, Flashes the nation's motto: "Out of many — one." So, all through the daily lessons, Wherever our duties call, Remember the star-bright banner Is floating over us all. Frederic Ai-lison TfpPKu A (ilRL. OS\Vi;i'; r, sh\ girl, with rose^ in her heart, .Viul love-light in her lace, like those upgrown ; Full of still dreams and thoiigiits thai, \. I 1! I I. 1? 11' S 380 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. MnghXen her mornings. Through the earth shall move Her child-sweet soul, not far from heaven the while ! John James Piatt. CUDDLE DOON. THE bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' niuckle fash an' din ; "Oh, try and sleep, ye waukrife rogues ; Vour father's comin' in." They never heed a word I speak, I try to gie a froon ; But aye I hap thim up an' cry, " Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon ! " Wee Jamie, wi' the curly heid — He aye sleeps next the wa' — Bangs up an' cries, " I want a pitce " — The rascal starts them a'. I run an' fetch thim pieces, drinks — They stop awee the soun' — Then draw the blankets up, an' cry, " Noo, weanies, cuddle doon ! " But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab Cries oot, frae 'neath the claes, " Mither, make Tarn gie ower at once, He's kittlin' wi' his taes." The mischief's in that Tarn for tricks ; He'd bother half the toon. But aye I hap them up an' cry, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon ! " At length they hear their father's fit; An' as he steeks the door, They turn their faces to the wa'. While Tam jjretends to snore. " Hae a' the weans been gude? " he asks, As he puts off his shoon ; " The bairnies, John, are in their beds, An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel's — We look at oor wee lambs ; Tam has his arm roun' wee Rab's neck, And Rab his arm roun' Tam's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed, An' as i straik each croon, I whisper till my heart fills up, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon." The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht, Wi' mirth that's dear to me ; But soon the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet come what will to ilka ane, May He who sits aboon, Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, "Oh, bairnies, cuddle doon." Alexander Anderson. THE DEAD DOLL. YOU needn't be trying to comfort me — I tell you my dolly is dead ! There's no use in saying she isn't with a crack like that in her head; It's just like you said it wouldn't hurt mutii to ; have my tooth out that day, i And thf>n, when the man 'most pulled my luad \ off, you hadn't a word to say. And I guess you must think I'm a baby, wlien you say you can mend it with glue. As if I didn't know better than that! Why, just suppose it was you ; You might make her look all mended — but '.\ hat do I care for looks? Why, glut's for chairs and tables, and toys, and the backs of books ! My dolly! My own little daughter! Oh, but it's the awfulest crack ! It just makes me sick to think of the soimd when her poor head went whack Against that horrible brass thing that holds up the little shelf. Now, nursey, what makes you remind nie? I know that I did it myself. I think you must be crazy — you'll get her another head ! What good would forty heads do her? I tell you my dolly is dead ! And to think I hadn't quite finished her elegant new spring hat I And I took a sweet ribbon of hers last night to tie on that horrid cat 1 . When my mamma gave me that ribboi. — I was playing out in the yard — j She said lo me, most e.xpressly, ' Here's a ribbon for Hildegarde." And I went and put it on Tabby, and Hildegarde saw me do it ; But I said to myself, "Oh, nevermind, I don't believe she knew it." But I know that she knew it now, and I just be- lieve, I do. That her i)oor little heart was broken, and so her head broke too. Oh, my baby I My little baby ! I wish my head had been hit ! For I've hit it over and over, and it hasn't craiked a bit. But since the darling is dead, she'll want to he buried, of course ; We will take my little wagon, nurse, and you shall be the horse ; And I'll walk behind and cry; and we'll ]-ut her in this, you see — me — I tell I't witl\ a I much to my lu:ad , when you Why, just — \)ut what d toys, and Oil, but it's sound wlien liolds up the ind uie? I ; her another ? I tell you her elegant night to tie l)boi. — 1 was Ire's a ribbon Hildegarde [lind, I don't [id I just be- L and so her t'ish my head lasn't cracked want to be land you shall I we'll i.ut her CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 381 This dear little box — and we'll bury her there out under the maple tree. And papa will make me a tombstone, like the one he made for my bird ; And he'll put what I tell him on it — yes, every single word ! 1 shall say, " Here lies Hildegarde, a beautiful doll who is dead : She died of a broken heart, and a dreadful crack in her head." Margaret Vandergrift. A LITTLE BOY'S TROUBLE. I THOUGHT when I'd learned my letters That all of my tnjubles were done; But I find myself nuich mistaken — They only have just begun. Learning to read was awful, liut nothing like learning to write; I'd be sorry to have you tell it, But my copy-book is a sight 1 riie ink gets over my fingers; The pen cuts all sorts of shines, And won't do at all as 1 bid it ; The letters won't stay on the lines, But go up and down and all over, As though they were dancing a jig — 'J'hey are there in all shapes and sizes, Medium, little, and big. The tails of the g's are so contrary, The handles get on the wrong side Of the d's, and the k's, and the h's, Though I've certainly tried and tried To make them just right; it is dreadful, I really don't know what to do, I'm getting almost distracted — My teaclier says she is too. There'd be some comfort in learning If one could get through: instead Of that there are books awaiting Qiute enough to craze my head. There's the multiplication table. And grammar, and — oh ! dear me, There is no good place for stopping When one has begun, I see. My teacher says, little by little 'i'o the mountain tops we climb ; It isn't all done in a minute, Bit only a step at a time ; She says that all the scholars, All the wise and learned men, H id each 'o begin as I do ; If that's so, where's my pen ? Carlotta Perry. A FROM "BABE CHRISTABEL." ND thou hast stolen a jewel, death ! Shall light thy dark up like a star, A beacon kindling from afar Our light of love, and fainting faith. Througli tears it gleams perpetually. And glitters through the thickest glooms, Till tilt eternal morning comes To light us o'er the jasper sea. With our best branch in tenderest leaf. We've strewn the way our Lord doth come ; And, ready for the harvest home. His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. Our beautiful bird of light hath fled : Awhile she sat with folded wings- Sang round 'is a {cw hoverings — Then straightway intu glory sped. And white-winged angels nurture her ; With heaven's white radiance robed and crowned. And all love's iiurjile glory round. She summers on the hills of myrrh. Through childhood's morning-land, serene She walked betwixt us twain, like love; While, in a lObe of light above, Her better angil walked unseen, Till life's highway broke bleak and wilti ; Then, lest her starry garments trail In mire, heart bleed, and courage fail, The angel's arms caught up the child. Her wave of life hath backward rolled To the great ocean ; on whose shore We wandered up and down, to store Some treasures of the times of old : And aye we seek and hunger on For jirecious jiearls antl relics rare, Strewn o^- the sands for lis to wear At heart for lovc of her that's gone. O weep no more ! there yet is balm In Gilead ! Love doth ever shed Rich healing where it nestles — spread O'er desert iiillows some green i)alm ! Strange glory streams through life's wild rents, And through the open door of death We see the heaven that beckoneth To the beloved going hence. God's ichor fills the hearts that bleed ; The best fruit loads the broken bough ; And in the wounds our suffering jiloiigh, Immortal love sows sovereign seed, Gerald Massey. !h W\ Bill "■- *i «' •, .1 . CHILD HOOD AM) YOUTH. ONK niglit a well-know ill tile West, who liaii lieen wall^inu' lor >uiiiu time in the duwinvard path, came out of his house and started out lor a night of carousal with some old coin|)anions he had ];r{)m ised to ni'.et. AS QUICK AS THE TELEPHONE. 1 imrcliaii nf a town When lie was some distance from his house, he His young wife had besought him with implor- ing eyes to spentl the evening with her, and had reminded him of the time wiien e\enings passed in h'^r com])any were all too short. His little daugliter had clung about his knees and coaxed in her i)r-Jtty willful wa\ for papa to tell her some bed- time stories ; but habit was stronger than love for wife or child, and he eluded her tender (piestioning by the deceits and excuses which are the convenient refuge of the intemperate, and so went on his way. found that in changing his coat he had forgotten hi-i purse, and he could not go out on a drinkiiig- bout without any money, even though his family needed it, and his wile was econom i zing every day more and nujreiii order to make up iiis deficits. So he Vm. ried back rnd crept softly past the window of his own home, in order that he might steal in and obtain it without running the gauntlet of other (|ues- tions or caresses. But as he looked through the window something stayed his feet. There was a fire in the grate within — for the night was chill — and it lit up the pretty little parlor and brought out in start- ling effect the pictures on the wall. J5ut tli'.^e '« were nothing to the pictures on the hearth. There, in the soft glow of the fire- light, knelt his child at her mother's feet, its small hands clasped in prayer, and its fair Jiead bowed ; and as its rosy lips whis- pered each word with, childish distinctness, the father listened, spellbound, to the words wliich he himself had so often uttered at his own mother's knee : " Now I lay me down to sleep." Mis thoughts ran back to boyhood hours; and a-1 he compressed his bearded lips, he could see in memory the face of that mother, long ago gone to her rest, who taught his own infiint \\\)S prayers which he had long forgotten to utter. The child went on and coni])leted her little verse, and then, as prompted by her mother, con- tinued : "(]od bless mamma, papa, and my own self" — then there was a pause, and she lifted her trou- bled blue eyes to her mother's face. " God bless papa," promjjted the mother, soltly. " Ciod bless ])apa," lisped the little one. " And i)lease send him home sober." He could not hear the mother as she said this; but the child followed in a clear, inspired tone— i liouse, he i forgottL-n I drinkiii^- his taniily Lud his wite ■ iziugevcry ,nd nujre in .lake uj) liis So ho l;ur- I'ud ciept ihe window n home, in t he mi^hl ^d obtain it running the if othtniues- aresses. he looked the window g stayed his icre ^^as a fire rate witliin — .ight was cliiU t lit up the :tle parlor and out in starl- et the pictures -all. 15utth<>e pthing to the [earth. Tliere, of the fire- child at her small hands _d its fair head rosy lips wliis- with childish ilher listened, ords which he uttereil at his m to sleep." hood hours; rdcd lips l>e that niodicT, rught Ids own long forgotten eted her little er motlier, con- my own sell" lifted her trou- mother,soldy. tie on. )er." s she said this ■> nspired tone— CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 383 " God bless papa — and please — send iiim — home sober. Amen." Motlier and child sprang to their feet in alarm when the door opened so suddenly; but they were not afraid wi^en tliey saw who it was returned so soon. B'.it that night when little Mary was being t'lckcd up in bed, after sucli a romp witii pa])a, she said in the sleepiest and most contented of voices : •• Mamma, God answers almost as quick as the telephone, doesn't he?" WHAT SHE Said. SHE told me sum fin' defful ! It almost made me cry ! I never will believe it, It mus' be all a lie ! I mean she mus' be 'staken. 1 know she b'oke my heart ; 1 never can forgi .^e lier ! That horrid Maggie Start. Tuesdays she does her bakin's ! An' so I fought, you see, I'd make some fimble cookies For Arabella's tea. An' so I took my dollies An' set 'em in a row, Where tliey could oversee me When I mi.xed up my dough. An' when I'd wolled an' mixed it Free minutes, or an hour. Somehow I dwopped my wolier, An' spilt a lot of flour. An' I was defful firsty. An" fought I'd help myself To jes' a little dwop of milk Off from the pantry shelf. So I weaciied up on tip-toe, But, ([uicker tiian a flasli. The horrid i)an turned over. An' down it came ker-splash ! O, then you should have seen her Rush frough tliat ])antry door ! " An' this is where you be !" she said, " O, what a lookin' floor! " You, an' your dolls —I'll shake you all — I'll shake you black 'n blue!" " You shall not touch us. Miss," I cried, " We're jes' as good as you ! An' I will tell my mofer. The minute she gets home. An' I will till ole Santa Claus, An' I'll tell every one." 0, then you should have heard her laugh! '• Tell Santa Claus, indeed ! I'd like to have you find him first ; The humbug ne\er lived !" " What do you mean, you Maggie .Start? Is dear oUi .Santa dead?" " Old Santa never lived," she cried. And that is what she said. S. I). W. (iAMWELL. UNSATISFIED. THERE was a little chicken that was shut up in a shell, Me thought to himself, " I'm sure 1 cannot tell What I am walled in here for — a siiocking c;oop I find, Unfittotl for a chicken with an enteri)risiiig mind." He went out in the barnyard ^.le lovclv morn in May, Ivich hen he found spring-cleaning in the only proper way ; " Til is vard is much too narrow — a shocking coop i find. Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind." He crept \\\> to the gateway and slipped betwi.xt a crack, The world stretched wide before him, and just as widely back; " This workl is much too narrow — a siiocking coop I finti, Unfitted for a chicken with an enterprising mind. " I should like to have ideals, 1 should like to tread the stars. To get the unattainable, and free nr; ■^nul from bars ; I should like to leave this dark earth, and some other dwelling find More fitted for a chicken witli an enterprising mind. "There's a place where ducks and pleasure boats go sailing to and fro. There's one world on the surface and another world below." The little waves crept nearer and, on the brink inclined. They swallowed up the chicken with an enterpris- ing mind. A. G. Waters. o A PLEASANT PUNISHMENT. l.D master lirown brought his ferule down; His face was angry and red ; " Anthony Blair, go sit you there. Among the girls," he said. So Anthony Blair, with a mortilied air. And his head hung down on his breast, Went right away and sat all day With the girl who loved him best. \ 11 ; f.'.i i > ,1 384 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. TABBY G«AY. I 'M a pretty little kitten, My name is Tabby Gray; I live at I'rof,'ley Faniilioiise, Soiiv. twenty miles away. My little eyes are hazel, My skin is soft as silk, I'm ied each night and morning With a saiicerlul of milk. The milk comes sweet and foaming, I'rtsh from the good old cow, And, after 1 have lapjjed it, I frolic you know how. I'm petted by the mistress And cjiildren of the house. And sometimes when I'm nimble I catch a little mouse. And sometimes when I'm naughty I clim!.> i:iion the stand, .•\nd eat the cake and chicken. Or anything at hand. Oh, then they hide my saucer, No matter how I mew ; And that's the way I'm punished For naughty things I do. T BABIES AND KITTENS. HERl", were two kittens, a black and a gray, And grandma said with a frown : " It never will do to keep them both, The black one we had better drown." I L " Don't cry, my dear" to tiny ]>ess, " One kitten is enough to keeji, Now run to nurse, for 'tis grow ing late And time you were fast asleej)." The morning dawned, and rosy and sweet, Came little Hess from her nap, The nurse said, •' Go in mamma's room, And look in grandma's lap." " Come here," said gr.uidma. with a smile. From the rocking-chair, where siie sat, " (rod has sent you two little sisters. What do . u'tiiink of that?" Bess looked at the babies a moment. With their wee heads, yellow and brown, And then to grandma soberly said : "Which one are you going to drown ?" L. M. Hadi.ey. A STORY OF AN APPLE. ITTLF2 Tommy and Peter anil Archv and Bob AVere walking one day, when they fouiui An apple; 'twas mellow and rosy and red. And l\ing alone on the ground. Said Tommy : " I'll have it." Said Peter : " 'Tis mine." Said Archy : " I've got it ; so there ! " Said bobby: " Now let us divide in four ])arts, .\nd each of us boys have a share." "No, no I " shouted Tommv, "I'll have it n.v- self" Said Peter; " I want it, I say." Said .Vrchy : " I've got it, and I'll have it all .: I won't give a morsel away." Then Tonnny, he snatched it, and Peter, In- fought, ('Tis sad and distressing to tell !) And .Vrchy held on with his might and his man. Till out of his fingers it fell. .•\way from the i[iiarrelsomc urchins it Hew. .■\nd then down a green little hill That apple it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled As if it would ne\er be still. \ I % i. APPLE. r and Archy and hen they fouiui 1(1 rosy and red, roimd. Said Peter: " Tis I'll have it ii'.y- i'U have it al it, and Peter, he ell !) niiiht and his nuiiii. chins it flew, le hill lied, and it rolled CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 385 A \xi\' old brindle was nippint,' tlie ^rass Anil swiichin;,' her tail at the llie>, W'iien .ill III' a huddeii the apple rolled down And stopped just in front of her eyes. She u.ive hut a bite and a swallow or two — riiat a|ii)le was seen nevermore ! " I wish," whimpered Archy and I'eter antl Tom, •• We'd kept it and cut it in four." SVDNI'.V I )AVRE. THE UNFINISHED PRAYER. . ^., ()\V 1 lay"— s;iy it darlin- : " Pay me," lisped liie tiny lips )f iiiv daughter, kneeling, bending ( )'er folded linger tips. '■ Down to slee[)" — " to sleep." she murmured And the curly head dropjied low; " 1 pr.iy the Lord" -I gently added, '• Vou can say it all, 1 know." " I'r.iy the Lord " — the words came faintly, F.iinter still — " ni\- soul to keep ; " When the tired head fairly nodded, .■\nd the ciiild w.;st fast asleep. But the dewy e\es half o])ened, When I clasped her to my breast, Anil the dear voice sofdy whispered, '• Mannna, (lod knows all the rest." WHICH LOVED BEST? U T LOVE you, mother," said little Ben, I Then forgetting his work, his ca]) went on, •*■ And he was off to the garden swing. And left her the waterand wood to bring. " I love you, mother," said ros\- Nell — " 1 love you better than tongue can tell; " Then she teased and ])outed full half the day. Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play. " 1 love you, mother," said little Fan, " To-day I'll help you all I can; How glad ! am school doesn't keep: " So she rocked the babe till it fidl asleep. Then stepping softly she fetched the broom And swept the floor and tidied tin.' roonr; Hus\- and happy all dav was -^he, Helpful and happy as child could be. " 1 love you, mother," again they ^aill, Three children going to bed; How do you think that mother guessed Which of them really loved her best? Fov .\uJSoK. THE DISCONTENTED BUTTERCUP. D( )WN in a held, one day in Jime, 'i'he llowers all bloomed together, Save one, who tried to hide herself, .Vnil ilrooped that pleasant weather. A robin who had soared loo high, .And felt a little la/.y, Was resting near a buttercup. Who wished she were a daisy. For daisies grow so big and tall; She always had a jiassion For wearing frills about her neck, In just the tlais)'s f.ishion. And buttercups must always be Tlie same old. tiresome color, ^Vhile daisies dress in gokl and white, Although their gold is duller. " Dear robin," said this sad young llo /er, " Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me Some day when you are flying.' " You silly thing !" the robin said , " I think you must be cra/.y ; I'd rather be my honest self Than any made-up daisy. " You're nicer in your own bright gown; The little children love you ; Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. " Though swallows leave me out of sight. We'd better keep our ] daces ; Perhajis the world would all go wrong With one too many daisies. " T-ook bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here where you are growing." Sarah O. Jewetv. OFF FOR SLUMBERLANJ. P URPLIC waves of evening i)Iay Upon the western shores of day, While babies .sail, so safe and free, Over the mvstic Shunber sea. Their little boats are cradles light ; Tlie sails are curtains pure and white ; The rudders are sweet lullabies; The anchors, soft and sleepv sighs. They're outwarc' bound for Slumberland Where shining drean.^ lie on the sand, Pike whisp'ring shells that murmur low The pretty fancies babies know. ,1 I l| I: *i Hi :1 fi ;i 5 'I i^ ii 1. I 1:^ :-, ill i.l 38(5 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. Anil there among the dream-shells bright The httle ones will ])lay all nii;lu, I'litil the sleepy tide turns — then They'll all tome sailing home again! s SUPPOSE. rri'()>i;. my little lady, N'onr doll should hreak her head, ('(Uikl you make it whole by crying Till your nose and eyes were red? f 1 INNOCKNCE. And wouldn't it be jileasanter To Heat it as a joke. And say \ou're glad twas I'.olly's, And not _\our own he, id that's broke? Sup]iose Nou're dressed fur walking And the rain comes pouring down, \Vill it ( I ar off any s. oner liecausc \c)u scold and irown ? And wciiildn't it be nicer I'or \ on to smile than j'out. And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without ? Suijpose your task, my little man, Is \ery liard to get. Will it make it any easier for von to sit and fret? And wouldn't it be wiser Than waiting like a dunce, To go to work in earnest And learn the thing at once? .Suppose that some boys have a horse, .■\nd some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less while walking To say, •' It isn't fair?" And wouldn't it be nobler To keep you temper sweet, And in your heart be thankful Vou can walk upon your feet ? Suppose ?he world doesn't please you, Nor the way some j)eople do, — Do \ou think the whole creation Will be altered just for you? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan. Whatever comes or doesn't come To do the best you can ? PiKKHF. Cary. THE DEAD KITTEN. ON'T talk to me of parties. Nan 1 really cannot go ; AVhen folks are in affliction they don't go out, you know. I have a new brown sash, too, it seems a pity — eh ? That such a dreadful trial shouki ha\e come just }esterda\' ! The play-house blinds are all jjulled doivn as dark as it can be ; It looks so very solemn, and so [iroper, don't you see? And I have a y)iece of cri])e pinned on every dolly's hat ; Tom says it is ridiculous for only just a cat — But boys are all so horrid ! They always, ever\ one. Delight in teasing little girls and kitties, " iust for fun." The way he used to pull her tail — it makes me angry now — And scat her up tli-' cherry tree, to make the dar- ling " meow!" I've had her all the summer. One day away last spring, I heard a frightful barking, and I saw the little thing In the corner of the fence; 'twould have made u)i: lau^h outright To sec h(nv every hair stood out; and how she tried to fight. ' t il should ha\e always, everv tties, "just tor •it iiiaki-s mo make the dar- day away last saw the little liave made \or. 1 liowshc tried CI 1 1 l.n 1 100 1) AM) YOUTH. 1 .liiiHic 1 the dii;; a\\a\'. and slic jiuiipcd upon in\ arm ) 'riu' prctt) croatiirc knew I wouldn't do licr any lunni 1 liii^^eii luT(dosc and carriLd licr to mauinia, and ^^he said She should be my own wee kitty, if I'd see lliai she was fed. A cunning little tiot slie was, with silky, soft f;ray fur ; Slic'il lie for hours on my lap, and I could hear her ])urr ; And then she'd frolic alter when I pulled a siring ahout, 'X try to catcii lier tail, or roll a marble in and out. Such a comfort she has hi'cn to me, I'm sure no one could tell, Unless some other little girl who loves her i)ussy well. \\ e heard ahout a nialtese cross, but my dear little kit Was always sweet and amiable, and never cross a bit ! But oil ! last week I missed her. I hunted all aroimd. Mv darling little pu^s\' cat was nowhere to be found. I knelt and whispered softly, when nobody could see : "Take car; of little kitty, please, and bring her back t(j me !" I found her lying, yesterda\-, behind the lower shed ; I thought my heart was broken when I found that she was dead. Tom promised me another one, but even Iw can see No other kitty ever will be just the same to me ! I can t go to your i)arty, Nannie — Macaroons, you say ? .And ice cream ? — I know I ought to try and not give way ; And I feel it woidd be doing wrong to disappoint you so ! — Well — if I'm equal to it by to-morrow — I may go ! Sydney D.wke. JOHNNY'S OPINION OF GRANDMOTHERS. I'm ^urc I can't >ee it at all W li.ii a poor fellow ever coidd tlo Fur apple-' and pennies and i akes Without a grandmother i>r two. (iraudmotliers >peak softly to '• ma's" I'o let a boy have a good time ; %! G RANDMOTHERS are very nice folks; They beat all the atmts in creation ; They let a cliap do as he likes And don't worry about edu-^ation. Sometimes they will whisper, 'tis true. T'other way when a boy wants to climb. Grandmothers have muffins for tea. And pies, a whole row, in the cellar. And they're apt (if they know it in time) To make (diicken pies for a feller. And if he is bad now and then, And makes a great racketing noi^e, They onlv look over their specs And say: "Ah, these boys will be boys! II ' % % 1 *! •i li tfr i ! AFTERNOON TEA. 388 CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH. 389 " Life is only so short at the best ; l,et the cliildreii In- liappy to day." Then tlu'V look tor awliile at ihf sky, And the hills that arc tar, tar auay. Quito often, as twilight comes on Cirandinothcrs sinj,' liyinns very low To tlieiusL'lvcs, as they rot k l)y the fire, About lieaven, and wlu-n tiicy sliall ^q. ONLY A BOY. ONLY a boy with his noi-^c and fun, The veriest iii\ster\ uiuier the stni ; .\-> linintiil (if HUM hie! ami wit and f^lee As e\er a limnan Iraine can lie. And as hard to inana^^e — wliat ! ah me ! "I'is hard to tell, N'ct we love him well. And then a bov. stoppinjf to think, Will find a lu)t tear iu his eye, To know what must come at the last, For grandmothers all have to die. I wish they could stay liere and pray, For a bov needs their prayers every night Some boys more than others, I s'pjrase; Such fellers as me need a sight. E. L. Beers. Only a boy with his fearful tread, Wiio can not be driven, nuist l)e led I Who troubles the neighbors' d igs and cats, And tears more clothes ami sjjods more bats, Loses more kites and tops and bats Than would stock a store For a week or more. Onlv a l)oy with his wild, strange ways, With his idle hours or his busy days, !l I'l 'I „ ■i«-' ?; 1 \ i . H • :| ^' ' lit !) 390 Cllir.DHOOD AND YOlTf/. U itli lu> i|iitir ri'iiiiirks rind hw odd K'plics, Sdiiu-iiiiit ■> liiolisli and soum tiiiii'< wise, Uitcii ludli.int lor mu' of lii.^ si/f, As a iiuleor hurl' d l''rniii thv plaint uorld. ( )iily a lio\ , who may be a in.ni If iKitmi.' ^ofs on uiili luT fir^l j;i«mi plan — If intcuiiicraiiix- or sonic fatal snare, ('onspirrs not lo rol> ns of thi^ oiir htir, ()iir Ml- sin^,', onr troiiMi', our rcsi, onrt try," said she, '• I low had 1 can be ; At pri( kiiif,' and scrat(liing, there's few can inatcii me." .,ittle M. s i'.rier was IkuuIsoiiic and bright, Fler leaves were dark green and her flowers were pure white ; Hut all who canie nivli In r Were so worried by her They'll go out of their way to keep clear of the Brier. Little Mii.s Drier was looking one day At her neighbor, the Violet, over the way, '• I wonder," said she, " That no one jiets nie. While all seem so glad little Violet to see." .\ sober old Tannet, who sat on a tree, Heard the speech of the Brier, and thus answered he; — " 'Tis not that she's fair, l'"or you may compare lu beauty with even Slis.s \'iolet there; '• Hut \'iolot is always so pleasant and kind, So gentle in manner, so humble in mind, I'.'en the worms a' her feet ."-^he would nevi r ill treat. And to Bird, Bee, ami ISuttertly always is sweet." The gardener's wife just then the p.itliway c-uv.' down, And the misthievous Brier caught hoKl of lur gown ; '• Oh, ilear! what a tear! My gown's s|ioiled, 1 declare! 'i'hat troublesome Brier I — it has nti business there; Here, John, pull it up, throw it into the fire, And that was tiie end of the ill-natured Brier Anna Bac he. THE BOY AND THE PROQ. Si:i; the iro.,. the slimy, green frog, Do/ing aw.iy on that old rotten log, Seriously wondering What caused the sundering Of the tail that he wore when a wee poUywog See the boy, the freckled schoolboy. I'lled with a w icked love to annoy, W.itching the trog i'ercheti on the log With feelings akin to tumultuous joy. See the rock, the hard, flinty roiii^ liriel' llie record of tliiiic agu, I'lioii ha^t a name tli.it darkL-ns all on history's wiiic laj^e! I.ft all iIk- lila>;-> o: lame rin^ out — thine shall lie l()iule-.t lar : Let other"! ho.isi tiieir satellites — thou hast the pi. met star. Thou hast a name whoso < haracters of li^ht shall iie'ei- licpait; "I'is stanii)etl iiiion the iltiUcst hrain, and warms the coldest he.irt ; A war-cry lit fur any land where freedom's to he won, I^iid of the West! it stands alone — it is thy Washi.i ton! Rome had its Caesar, ^'reat and brave; hut stain w s on his wreali Me lived t' heartless (oni|ueror, and died the lyraiit's death. Krance had it.s Magle; hut hi^ wiiij^s, thou-h lolly t ey nuL^ht soar. Were spread in false amlution's tli,L;ht, aiul dipijed in murder's gore. Those hero-f,'ods, whose mi,L;lity s.\ay would lain h:i\echai.)e 1 tlu' waves— Who tlashed their blades with ti ;er ze.d, to make a worl 1 of -lives — Who, though their kindred barred the jMth, still fienclv waded on — Oh, where shall be their "j^lory" by the side of W.ishin,!.;ton? He stood the firm, the calm, the wise, the juUriot and sa.ue ; He showed no deep avenging hale — no burst of despot rage. He st0(jd for liberty and truth, and dauntlessly led on, Till shouts of victory ga"e forth the name of Wa-hington. He saved his land, but did not lay his soldier trai)pings down To change them for the reg.,1 vest, anil don a kingly crown; Fame was too earnest in her joy — too proud of suc'i a son — To let a robe and title mask a noble Washington. El.I/.\ ("ODK. NAPOLEON AND THE SAILOR. k IKI'K slllKV. NAPOLEON'S banners at Houlogne Armed in our island every freeman, His navy chanced to capture one Poor British seaman. They suffered him — 1 know not how — Unprisoncd on the shore to roam ; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home. His eye, mcthinks, pursued the fliirht Of birds to Britain h:ilt'-wa\ over, ^\'ith env\-, they could reach the white Dear cliffs of Dover. A stormy midnight watch, he thought. Than this sojourn would have been dearer, It but the storm his vessJ brought To England neaier. At last, when ( aie had banished -Icl-', He saw one niiirinn;; — heamini/ — lioating, An empt\' lurjshead f;-o;n the de [) Come shoreward Hoatin;,' ; He hid it in a cave, and wrouidii The livelong day laborious; lurking Until he laiuiehed a tiny boat By mighty working. Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing be\ond Description wretclK d : sik h a wherrv Perha|is .le'er ventured on a jiond. Or crossed a ferry. 391 M Pi! I i W liU l! I'liii 'II 1 '■ !i I 77//:' CROWN OF GEXIUS. I'or plougliing in the salt sea-field, It would have made the boldest shudder; UiUarred, inicompassed, o,.d %iikeeled, No sail — no rudder. From neighboring woods he interlaced llis sorry skiff with watlled willows; Anil thus equipiied he would have passed The t'oaming billows — But Frenchmen caught him on the beach, His little Argo sorely jeering ; Till tidings of him chanced to read) Napoleon's hearing. With folded arms Napoleon stood, Serene alike in peace and danger; And in his wonted attitude, Adtlressed the stranger : — '■ Rash man that wouldst yon channel pass On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned ; Thv heart with some sweet British lass Slust l)e impassionetl." •■ 1 have no sweetheart," said the iid ; '' But — absent long from one another — Great was the longing that I had To see my mother." " And so ihou slialt," Napoleon said, '• Ye've both my favor fairly won ; A noble mother must have bred So brave a son." He gave the tar a piece of gold. And with a flag of truce commanded He .should be shijiped to luigland Old, And safely landed. Our sailor oft could scantly shit't To find a dinner iilain and hearty ; But never changed the coin and gift Of ISonaparte. Till IMA-- (AMl'nF.I.I,. IHE PORTRAIT OF SHAKESPEARE. T HIS figure that thou here seest jiut. It w.as for gi. ntle Shakesi)eare cut. Wherein the graver had a strife With nature, to outdo the life: O ( ould he but have drawn his wit, As well in brass, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surjjass .All that was ever writ in brass: But since he cannot, reader, look, Not on his picture, but his book. Ben Jonson. MARY MORISON. 0\L\RV, at thy window be \ It is the wished, the trysted hour! Those smiles and glances let me see That make the miser's treasure poor; How blithely wad 1 l>ide the sloure, A weary slave frae sun to sun, C'ould 1 the rich reward secure — The lovely Mary Morison. Yestreen when to the trembling string The dance gaed through the lighted ha', To thee my fancy took its wing— I sat, but neither heard nor saw ; Though this was fair, and that was braw And ) on the toast of a' the town, I sighecl, and said amang them a', " Ye are iia Mary Morison." O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace Wha for thy sake wad gladly dee? Or canst thou break that heart of his, Whase only fuit is loving thee? If love for love thou wilt na gie, At least be ])ity to me shown ; A thought ungentle canna be The thought o' Mary Morison. ROHKK r BuuNS. CHARLES DICKENS. We would meet and welcome thee. Preacher of humanity : Welcome fills the throbbing breast Of the symi)athetic West. W. H. \'l N'AlU.E. ADAMS AND JEFFERSON. NO, fellow-citizens, we dismiss not .Adams and Jefferson 'o the chambers of f 'iget- fiilness and death. What we aiimired, and prized, and venerated in them can //rrw die, j nor, dying, be forgotten. 1 had almost said that \ they are now beginning to \\\\ — to live that lile of unimpaired intUunce, of unclouded fame, of unmingled happiness, for which their talents and services ■■■ere destined. They were of the sekct ! few, the least portion of whi se life dwells m their physical existence; whose hearts have watched I while their senses slept; wliose souls have Lrowii j up into a higher being ; whose j)! asuie is to be use- ' ful; whose wealth is an unblemishetl re|utation; who respire the breath of honor.ible fame; who have deliberatelv and consciously i)ut what is called life to hazard, that they may live in the hearts of those who come after. Such men do not, fan not die. EUWAKI) liVEKr.lT. rUE CROWX OF GILYfUS. ;>.!)3 Kl> I'.VEKF.IT. VAMDERBILT IS DEAD. THH news comes whispering o'er tlie wire, Vanderbilt is dead. The press rolls out the message dire, Vanderbilt is dead. And the newsboys cry along the street. Through the driving storm and wintry sleet, Vanderbilt is dead. A king dethroned sleeps low in dt ath, Vantlerbilt is dead. The rich men speak with bated breath, Vanilerbilt is dead. And the clanging trains go out to-night O'er the icy rails in a ghostly flight, Vanderbilt is dead. The [)alace grand is now a tomb, Vanderbilt is dead. Its splemlors grand are veiled with gloom, N'anderbilt is deatl. Where joy was known the mourners weep, Where the laugh was heard is sorrow deep, Vanderbilt is dead. Sleej) on, () King, in thy ro\al bed, X'antlerbilt is dead. The wealth of the world doth crown thy head, N'anderbilt is dead. Til'- sigh is o'er, thy deeds are done. And God shall judge them, one by one — Vanderbilt is dead. Sherman D Ru hardson. GEORGE WHITEFIELD. HI-; loved the world tluit hated him ; the tear That dropped upon his llible was sincere: Assailed by scandal and the tongue of strife, His only answer was a blameless life ; And he that forged and he that threw the dart Had each a brother's interest in his heart. Paul's love of (Christ aiid steadiness unbribed Were copied close in him, and welt transcribed. He followed Paul ; his zeal a kindred llame. His apostolic c harity the same. Like him crossed clieerfully tempestuous sea-^, ^'or^aking country, kindred, friends and ease ; LiKC him he labored, and like him. content To bear it, suffered shame where'er he went. Rlush, calumny ! and write upon his tomb, If honest eulogy can sna'c thee room. Thv deep repentance of thy thousand lies. Which, aimed at him, have jiierced the offended ^kies ; .\nd say, blot out my >in. confessed, deplored. Against thine image in thy saint, O Lord ! William Cowpf.r. WILLIAJVl CULLEN BRYANT. THL gifted authcK of " Thanatopsis " has ailorned the literature of our later times. 'l"he poem just reierred lo was written b\- Bryant when a very young man. ami w-e fuui in it the keynote to all his suhseipient sonu';. 'I'he chief charm of his genius c )nsists in a tender pensiveness, a moral melanchol)-, breathing ovtr all his contemplations, dreams and reveries, even 1?RV.\N1". such as in the main are glad, ar.d gi\iug a surance of a pure spirit, benevolent to all human creatures, and habitually pious in the felt omni|)reseuce of the Creator. His poetrv overlliws with natural religion — with what Wadsworih calls "Tin- re- ; ligion of the woods " 1'r(UF.smik Wilson. THE OLD ADMIRAL. AUNUKAI, hiTKWAKi , V. S. N. GONE at last. That brave old hero of the p.ist! His spirit has a secoiul birth, .\n unknown, grander life ; All of him that was earth Lies mute and cold. Like a wrinkled sheath and old Thrown off forever from the shimmering blade That has goixl entrance made Ipon some distant, glorious strife. From another generation. A simpler age, to ours Old Ironsides came ; The morn and noontide of the nation Alike he knew-, nor yet outlived his fame — O, not outlived his fame ! il I Ij ifr '■i> 394 THE CROW.V OF GENIUS. 'I'hc dauntless men whose service guards our shore l.L-ngthcn still their glory-roll Wiih his name to lead the scroll, As a flagship at her fore Car'-ies the Union, with its azure and the stars, Symbol of times that are no more And the old heroic «ars He was the one Whom death had spared alone Of all the captains of that lusty age, Who sought the foeman where he lay. On sea or sheltering bay, Nor till the prize was theirs repressed their rage. They aie gone — all gone : They rest with glory and the undying jjowers ; Only iheir name and fame, and what they saved, are ours ! It was fifty years ago, I poll the Oallic Sea, He bore the banner of the free. And fought the fight whereof our children know — The deathful, desperate figlit ! I'nder the fair moon's light The frigate scpiared.and yawed to left and right. I!vcry broadside swept to death a score ! Roundly j)layed her guns and well, till their fierx ensigns fell. Neither foe replying more. All in silence, when the night-breeze cleared the air, Old Ironsides rested there. Locked in between the twain, and dreiK hed with blood. Then homeward, like an eagle with her jirey ! O, it was a gallant fray — That fight in liiscay Bay ! Fearless the captain stoocl, in liis youthful hardi- hood : He was the boldest of them all. Our brave old Admiral ! And si ill our heroes bleed, Taught by that olden deed. Whether of iron or of oak The Hhi])s we mars'.ial at our country's need, Still speak their cannon now as then the\ spoke; Still floats our tmstruck banner from the mast As in the storm}- past. Lay him in the ground : Let him rest where the ancient river rolls ; Let him slee|) beneath the shadow and the sound Of the bt 11 whose i>ro( lamation. as it tolls. Is of freediini and the gift our lathers gave. Lay him gently down : The claim ir of the town Will not break the slumbers deep, the beautiful rijic sleep. Of this lion of the wave, Will not trouble the old .\(hiiiral in hi:> grave. Earth to earth his dust is laid. Metliinks his stately shade On the shadow of a great ship leaves the siiorc; Over ( loudless western seas Seeks the far Hesperides, The islands of the blest, Where no turbulent billows roar — Where is rest. His ghost upon the shadowy (piarter stands Nearing the deathless lands. There all his martial mates, renewed and strong, Await his coming long. I see the liajip)' lleroes rise With gratulalion in their eyes: "Welcome, old comrade," Lawrence cries ; " All, Stewart, tell us of the wars ! Who win the glory and the scars? How floats the skyey flag — how many stars? Still speak they of Decatur's name, Of Bainbridge's and Perry's fame? Of me, who earliest came? Make ready, all : Room for the .Admiral ! Come. Stewart, tell us of the wars ! " E. C. Stf.dman. ROBERT SOUTH EY. Hl'^ said (I only give the heaiis) — he said He meant no harm in scribbling; 't was his way Upon all topics ; 't was. besides, his bread, Of which he buttered both sides; 't w( uld delay Too long the assembly (he was ])leaseil to dieail), And take up rather more time than a day, To name liis works— he would but cite a few — " Wat Tyler "— " Rhymes on Blenheim "— "Waterloo." He had written praises of a regicide ; He had written praises of all kings whatever; He had written for re|.ublics far and wide, And then against them bitterer than ever; h'or jjantisocracy he once had cried Aloud, a scheme less moral than 't was clever; Then grew a hearty anti-jacobin — Had turned his coat — and would have turned his skin. He had sung against all battles, and again In their high jiraise and glory ; he had calkii Reviewing " the ungentle craft," and then Become as base a critic as e'er crawled — Fed, i)P.id, and pampered by the very men By whom his muse and morals had been mauled ; He had written much blank verse, and blnnkei prose. And more of both than anybody knows I.(U<1) r.\ KdN. Stf.dman. THE CROWX OF GEy/US. .",!).-> TO THE MEMORY OF BEN JONSON. THE POET CAMPBELL. T' ill'', muse's fairest li-;ht i:i no dark tiiiK', The wonder of a Icariic.i ;!g.' tlie lini,' W'hii li non'.' can pass; ihc most pr^por- tioncil wit — To nature, liie Iju^t judge of \\]i,;t was fit ; TIk* dei'pe-t, plainest, iuyhe-t, < larest pen ; Tiie voice most ec:lioed l)y consentinj; men ; riie soul whicl) an-iWL'tc'd l)e^t to all well said My others, and which must re([ lital mule ; Tuned to the hi Jiest key of ancient Rome, Returniiiir all her music with his own ; In whom, with nature, study claimrd a ]).irt, Aiui yet who to himself owetl all his art : Here lies lien Joiinson ! every age wdl look With sorrow here, with wonder on his hook. John Ci.evkland. B I'lST known liy liis rcmarkaMc poem, •' '1 he leasures o f Ho; );-," Campl) .h's lame rests upon other prod;i(li )ns wii < h do not seem to lose their charm. 1 le wrote m the taste of tlie time, yet wii!i ^m 11 ;ree of origi- u HENRY KIRKE WHITE. XIIAPPY White! while life was in its spring, And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing, The sjjoiler came, and all thy ] ' 'inise fair Mas sought the grave, to sL ej) lure\er there. O what a noble heart was there undone, When science self-destroyed her favorite son ! \'es, slie tot) much indulged tliy f)nd pursuit ; She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped tlie fruit. 'T wxs thine own genius gave the fatal blow, .\nd helped to pl.mt the wound t'lat laid thee low. .So the struck eagle, stretched upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar a^:ain, Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, .And winged the shaft that (juivers at his heart. Keen were his Jiangs ; l)ut keener far t.i feel He nursed the jiinion which impelled the steel, While the same jilumage that had warmed his nest Drank the last life-drop fioni his bleeding brea^t ! l.OKD IJVRON'. ITALY'S KING. () VicTOK K.MMANfEi., the King, The sword be for /hcf, and the deeti ; And nought for the alien, next s|)ring. Nought for IIap-,burg and Dourbon agreed; I'ut, for us, a great Italy freed, With a hero to he.ad us — oui King. lil.lZAnKTIl I'. BkhWN'INi;. TO THE MEMORY OF HOOD. Herio lies a poet. .Stranger, if to thee His claim to memorv be obscure. If thou wouldst learn how truly great was he, Go, ask it of the poor. TllOM.VS CAMI'iUa.L. nality, and he h indle>l to])ics of inim diatc though not e](hemeral interest His battle-pieces on names and subjects known to all had the true popular ring, a bold tramp of metre. Little matters how ("ampbell managed to ])ro- duce his most ins])iring poems. He h.ad the touch, that is what is certain. Many of his short poems had the nnmistak.ible stamp of the artist upon then. Compared as lyrical writers. Camp- bell seeais to have a finer touch than Scott or liyron, the former of whom is a])t to berou ;h, the latter t irgid. lint in whatever rank oae or an- other reader may place the poetry of t"ampbell all will agree th.it he mad.,' genuine aJdtions to I'higlish literature. " It is on his Ivrics," says Professor Aytoiin, "that the fitiive re|nitation of Campb.'ll nnist princi]).illy rest. I'hey ha\e tiken their place, ne\er to be disturbed, in the popular heart ; and. until tlie language in which thev are written perishes, they are certain to endure." William .\LLI^■(;llA^L I ' !if III I 1^ » ' 396 THOMAS HOOD. AS a poet and humorist Hooil has touched the universal heart. His two productions, "Song of the Sliirt " and "Bridge of Sigiis " are sufficient to give hiui inui.ortal lame. even if he had written notiiing else. It has been well said that the i)redQminant characteristic of Hood's genius are humorous lancies grafted ujmn melancholy impressions. Yet the term " grafted" TNB CROWN OF GENIUS. THE LAST HOURS OF SOCRATES. S' THOMAS HOOD. is hardly strong enough. Hood appears by natural bent and permanent habit of mind to have seen and sought for ludicrousuess under all conditions; it was the first thing that struck him. On the other hand, his nature being poetic, his sympathies acute, and the condition of his life morl)id, he very frequently wrote in a tone of deep ffriu/. melancholy feeling, and w;is a master both of his own art and of thereadt'r's emotion. Sometimes, not very often, we are allowed to rea( h the close of a ])oem >^f his without having onr attention jogged and called off by sometliing grotescpie, and then we feel how ex(|uisite a poetic sense and choice a cunning of hand were his. t)n the whole v;e can pronotmce him the finest English poet be- tween the generation of Shelley and the generation ofTennvson. W. M. Rossetti. OCRATES was the reverse of a skeptic. No man ever looked upon life with a more posi- tive and practical eye. No man ever pur- sued iiis mark with a clearer perceptioii of the road whicii he was traveling. No man ever comliined in like manner, the absorbing eiiihusiasm of a missionary, with the actiteness, the originality, the inventive resources, and the generalizing conipie hension of a philo.sopher. And \et this nan was condemned to death — condemned by a hos- tile tribunal of more than five hundred citizens of Athens, drawn at hazard from all classes of society. A majority of six turned the scale, in the most monientous trial that, up to that time, the world had witnessed. And the vague cliar^es on wiiich Socrates was condemned were, tliat he was a vain babbler, a corrupter of youth, and a setter-forth of strange gods ! It would be tempting to enlarge on the closing scene of his life — a scene which I'lato has invested with SIR h immortal glory: on tlie affect- ing farewell to the Judges; on the long thirtv da\s which passed in prison before the execu- tion of the verdict ; on his playful equanimitv, amid tlie tmcontrollahle emotioi s of his ((ini- pai.ions ; on the gathering in of that soleiim evening, when the fading of the sunset hues on the tops of the Athenian hills was the signal that tlie last hour was at hand ; on the introdiu - tion of tlie fatal hemlock, the immovable coun- tenance of Socrates, the firm hand, and then the burst of frantic lamentation from al' his frienils, as, with his habitual ea>e and cheerful- ness, he 'irair.ed the ci:p to its dre;s; thin the solemn silence enjoined by himself ; the pacing to and fro; the strong religious persuasior.s attested by his last words; the cold ])als\ of the jioison creeping from the extremities to the heart ; the gradual torpor ending in death ! 15ut I nnist forbear. () for a modern spirit like his I O for one hour of Socrates ! O for one hour vi that voice wl.ose (piestioning would make men see what they knew, and what they did not know; what they nieant, antl what they only thous^ht they meant ; what they believed in truth, and what they only l)elieve(l in name; wherein they a:^reeJ, and wherein tjieyr///"- rhat voice is, indeed, silent ; but tin re is a voice in each man's heart and conscience which, if we will, Socrates has taught us to use riihtly. That voice still enjoins us to give to ourselves a reason for the hope that is in us — both hearing and asking (juestions. It tells us that the fancied re- pose which self inquiry disturbs is mote tlian com- pensated by the real repose which it givt.i ; tl.at a wise questioning is the half of knowledge ; ;;nd that a life without self-examination is no lile at all. THE CROWN OF GENIUS. ;i!)7 GENERAL GRANT. AS ont. by one withdraw the lofty actors p'rom that great i)lay on liistory's stage eterne, That hirid, partial at t of war and j.'cace — of old and new contending, F.Miglu out through wrath, fears, dark dismays, and many a long suspense ! All pisi — and smce, in < ountless graves receding, mellowing. \'i(tor's and vanquisiied — Lincohi's and Lee's — now thou wi;h them, Man of the mighty da\s— and ei|ual to the days 1 Tluiu from the prairies! tangl;il and many-veined and hard has been thy part. To ad.niratlon lias it been enacted ! And still shall be — resume again, thou hero heart I Strengthen to firmest day () rosy dawnof hojie 1 Thou\lirge I started first, to joyful shout reverse — and thou, O grave. Wait long and long ! Wai.t Whi iman. TO J. Q. VVHITTIER ON HIS SEVEN- TIETH BIRTHDAY. SXOW-ROUXl) for earth, but summer-soulcd for thee, Thv natal morning shines: Hail, friend and jioet. (iive thy hand t ) me, And let me read its lines! For skilled m fancy's jialmistry am I, Wlien years have set their crown; When life gives light to read its secrets by. And deed explains renown. So, looking backward from thy seventieth year On service grand and free, The jiictures of the spirit's past are clear. And each interprets thee. I sje thee, first, on iiills our Aryan sires In time's lost morning knew. Kindling as priest tlie lonely altar-fires That from earth's darkness grew. Then wise v/ith secrets of Chaldajan lore, In high Akkadian fane ; Or pacing slow by Egypt's river shore, In Thothmes' glorious reign. I hear thee, wroth with all ini(iuities That Jndah's kings betrayed. Preach from Ain-Jidi's rock thy God's decrees. Or Mamre's terebinth shade. And, all '. most piteous vision of the past, Drawn by thy being's law, I see thee, martyr, in the arena cast. Beneath the lion's paw. Yet, afterwariis, how rang tliy sword upon The paynim helm and shield I How shone with Oodtrey, and at Askalon, Thy white iilume o'er the field Strange contradiction ! where thesaml waves spread Tiie boundless desert sea. The Ikdouin spearmen found their destined head. Their dark-eyed chief — in thee I And thou wert friar in (lluny's saintly cell, .\nd Skakl by Norway's fo m, I'.ro fate of poet fixeil thy sonl to dwell In this New ICngland home. Here art thou jioet — more than warrior, priest ; And here thy ipiiet years Yield more to ns than sacrific e or feast, Orcl.ish of swords or spears. The faith that lifts, the courage that sustains, Tliese thou wert sent to teach ; Hot blood of battle, beating in thy veins. Is turned to gentle speech. Not less, bnt more, than others hast thou striven ; Thy victories remain : The s. ars of ancient hate, long since for- given. Have lost their ])ower to jiain. Apostle ])ure of freedom and of right, Thou hast tliy one reward ; Thy prayers were heard and flashed upon thy " Hi:;lit The coming of the Lord 1 Now, sheathed in myrtle of thy tender songs, Slumbers the blade of truth ; But age's wisdom, crowning thee, prolongs The eager hope of youth. Another line upon thy liand 1 trace .\ll destinies above ; Men know thee most as one that loves his race. And bless tliee with their love ! liANARD Taylor. ON THE DEATH OF PRESIDENT TAYLOR. Wl'^l'^P not for him ! The Thracians wisely gave Tears to the birth-couch, triunipii to the grave. Weep not for him ! Go, mark his high career ; It knew no shame, no folly, and no fear. Nurtured to jn'ril. lo ! the jieril came. To lead him on from fiekl to field, to fame. Weep not for him whose lustrous life has known No field of fame he has not made his own 1 l^ftii ; 1 1 i ; li ; ■ I' '■ i .- ■ ; I 398 THE CROWN 01' GENIUS. ■ 1 In many a fainting clime, in many a war, Siill l)rii;lit-liiowe(i Victory drew tlie patriot's car. Whether lie met the (hisix and prowlint; Ibe By oceanic Mississippi'h How ; Or where the Southern swamps, witii steam)' brealii, Smite the worn warrior witli no warrior's deaiii I Or wiiere, like siirL;es on the rolling main. SijiKuiron on siiuaclrcon sweep the prairie plain — Dawn — and the field the haughty Ibe o'erspreail Sunset — and Rio Orande's wa\es ran red ! Or wlierc, iVoin rock-ribbed safety, Monterey Frowns death, ami dares him to tiie untqual fray; Till < rashin- wails and slippery streets bespeak How frail the fortress win re the he.irl is weak; How vainly numljers menace, rocks defy, Men sternly knit, and firm to do or die ; — Or where on thousand thousands crowding rush, (Rome knew not siirh a day) his ranks to crush, The long day paused on liuena Vista's height, Abo\e tlie cloud with Hashing volleys bright, Till angry freedom, ho\ering o'er the fray. Swooped down, an.! made a new Thermopyla; ; — In every scene of peril and of jiain, His were the toils, his country's was the gain. From field to fieUl — and all were noblv won — lie bore, with eagle flight, her standard on: New stars rose there — but never star grew dim \\'hile in liis jiatriot grasp. Weep not for him. He was a spirit simple, grand and pure, (ireat to conceive to do. and to endure; Yet the rough warrior was, in heart, a child, Rich in love's afllutflice, mercifiil and mild. His sterner traits, majestic and anticiue. Rivalled the stcjic Roman or the Oreek; lOxcelling both, he adds the Christian name. And Christian virtues make it more than fame. To coiintr}-, youth, age, love, life — all were given In death, she lingered between him and heaven ; Thus sjxike the ])atriot, in his latest sigh — "Mv 1)1 TV DONE 1 DO NOT 1 EAR TO DIE ! " RoMEKT T. Conrad. WILLIAM PENN. PiONN, despairing of relief in Europe, bent the whole energy of his mind to accom- plish the establishment of a free govern- ment in the New World. For that "heavenly end," he wns ])repared by the severe discipline of life, and the love, without dissimulation, \\hi(h formetl the basis of his character. The sentiment of cheerful humanity was irrepressiblv strong in his bosom; as with John Eliot and Roger Wil- liams, benevolence gushed prodigally from his ever-flowing heart : and when, in his late old age, his inte'Kct was impaired, and his reason jiros- trated by apoplexy, his sweetness of disposition rose serenely over the clouds of disease. Possessing an extraordinary greatness of mii.d, vast conceptions, remarkable for their uiuversalin ami pierivnui, and "surpassing in speciilaii\e en- tlownieiiLs; " ( oiivers.iiit uiih men, aiui books, and governments, with various language, and the tonus of political comi)iiiations, as they existed in J';ii-- land and France, in Holiaiul,antl the princi] ahiies and free cities of Cjermany, he \et sought the source of wisdom in his own soul. Hi.inaiie by nalme and by suffering ; familiar with the royal lamily; intimate with Sin derland and Sytlney; acipi.unted with Riis^el, Halifax, Shaftesbury, and ISuckingl.am ; as a member of the Royal Societv, the peer ol Newton and the great scholars of his age — he valued the promptings of a free iniiid more than the awards of the learned, and re\er- enced the single-minded sincerity of the Notting- ham shepherd more than ihe authority of colleges ami the wisdom of philosophers. Geok(;k Uancroi 1. CLEOPATRA. THE barge she sat in, like a burnished throne. Hiirnt on the water : the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so jierfumed that The w iiuls weie lo\ e sick with them : the oars were silver ; W hich to the tune of flutes k'.-pt stroke and iiaiie The water, which tliey beat, to loliow fastei. As amorous of their strokes. For her own pi rson. It beggared all description: she did lie In her lavilion (( loth of gold, of tissue), O'erpicturing that Venus, where we see The faiu y out-work nature: on each side her Stooil pretty dim])led bo\s, like smiling Cupids, With divers-( (jlored fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, And what they undid, did. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaiils, tended her i' the eyes, And made their bends adornings : at the helm A seeming mermaid steers; the silken tackle I Swell with the tou( lies of those flower soft hands, That rarel\ frame the office. F>om the barge A strange invisible ])erfume hits the sense Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast Her people out upon her ; and Antony, Enthroned in the market-place, did sit alone. Whistling to the air: which, but for vacancy, Had gone to ga/e on Cleopatra too, .And made a gaj) in nature. Upon her landing. .Antony sent to her, Invited her to sui^per : she rei>lied, It should be better he became her guest ; Which she entreated : our courteous .Antony, I Whom ne'er the word of "No," woman heard I speak, ; I'.ANCROI 1. THE CROWN OF GENIUS. ;}y9 Ik'ing barijcrcd ten times o'er, goes to the feast; And, for his ordinary, pays liis heart, For what his eyes eat only. Wii.i.iAM Shakespkake. PRESCOTT'S METHOD OF LIVINQ. THAT Mr. I'rescott. under iiis disheartening infirmities— I refer not only to Ids imper- fect siglit, im. to the rheumatism from wiiich lie was seldom wholly f n e — should, at the age of five and twenty or thirty, with no he';) but this simple ajjparatus, ha\e aspired to the eharacter of an historian dealing with events that happened in times and tountries far distant from his own, and that art recorded chiellyin foreign languages and by authors wiu)^e couilieting testun n\' was often to be rec onciieii bv laborious comparison, is a remark, ;l)lc lact ill literary history It is a pmblem the solu- tion of whicli was, 1 believt', never before undertaken ; certainly never before accom- jjlished. Nor do 1 < onceive that he himself elf, indeed, in this last re-pect, under the general directions of his wise medi' al adviser, but carry- ing oMt these direc'tions with an ingenuity and fidelity all his own. G. H. TicknuK. TO COLE, THE PAINT 2R, DEPARTING FOR EUROPE. TniNI-; eyes shall see the liglit ot distant skies : Yet, Cole 1 thy heart shall bear to iMirope's str.uul A living image of th\' native laiul. Such as on tldne own glorious c.inv.is lies ; l.one lakes — savannas where the bison roves — :arlanils — solemn l\- and II. rRi:si'( il'T. Rocks rich with summer streams, Skies, where tlie desert e; screams — S])'-ing bloom and autiii nil bla/eof bouiull ss groves. i""air scenes shall gret t thee where thou goest — fair. Hut dilferent — everywhere the trtueofmen. Paths, homes, graves, ruins, from the lowest glen To where life shrinks from the fierce .\lpine air. (laze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight, But keep that earlier, wilder inume briLdit. W. C. P.KV.\NT. ^i|(1 ! 'i \ "' .i ( I i}-: \ ^! i; Tim CROWN OF GENIUS. THE SEMINOLE'S DEFIANCE. BLA/M, uilli yuu serriid cohiinns! I will not bend tlic knee; 'I'lie shackle ne'er again shall bind the arm which now is free! I've mailed it witli the thunder, when the tempest nuitteied low. And wliere it talis, ye well may dread tlie lightning of its blow. I've scared \un in tlic city ; I've scalped \ou on tiie plain ; Go, count your chosen w liere tln) ted l)entaih my leaden rain ! I scorn your prolTercd treaty; the jiale face 1 dify ; Revenge is stamped upon my s] eai , and ■ blood " my battle-cry ! Some strike for hope of booiy : some to dit'uid their all ; — 1 liattle for tiie joy 1 have to see the white man lall. 1 love, among the woumled, to hear his dying moan. And cat( ii, while chanting at his sitie, the nub'c of his groan. Ve've trailed me tiuungh the forest; j'e've tracked me o'er tiie strt'iin And struggling througli tiie everglade \onr bristling bayonets gleam, J5ut I stand, as slioukl tlie warrior, with iiis rille and his sjKar ; The scalp of vengeance .'till is red, and warns }ou — " Come not here !" Think ye to find my household ? — 1 gave it to the il.c. M)- tawny houjcl old do )e S( ck ? — 1 am a cliiUlltss siie. ]5ut, should ye crave life's nourishnunt, i nough 1 have, and good; 1 live on hate — 'tis all niy bread ; )et light is not my looil. 1 loath you \\ ith ni\' bosom ! I scorn you witli mine e)e ! And I'll taunt you with my latest l)reath, and fight you till 1 die ! I ne'er will ask for quarter, and I ne'er wi'l be your slave; But I'll swim the sea of slaughter tdl 1 sink beneath the wa\e ! Vi. \V. Pattok. FATE OF CHARLES THE TWELFTH. th e warrior s ON what foundation stands pride, How just ftis hopes, let Swedish Cliarles decide 1 A frame of adamant, a soul of fire. No dangers fright him, and no labors tire; O'er love, o'er fear extends his wide domain, Unconcpiered lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield, War sounds the trimip, he ruslies to the field ; Behold surrounding kings their jjowers combine, And one ( apitulaie, and one resign ; Peace courts is hand, but spreads her charms in vain. "Think nothing gained," he cries, "till naught remain ; On .Moscow's walls till Crothic staiulards fly. And all be mine beiieatli the polar sky." The march l)egins in military state, .\nd nations on his e\e suspended wait; Stern famine gnauls the solitary coast, And winter barricades the realms of frost; He comes — nor want nor cold his course delay ; Hide, l)lushing glory, hide Pultowa's day! The vanipiished hero leaves his broken bands, .And shows his miseries in distant lauds ; Condemned a needy suppliant to wait. While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not chance at lengtli her error mend ? Did no subvened empire mark his end? Did rival monarclis give the fatal wound ? Or hostile millions ])ress him to the ground? His fall was (lesiined to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dtibicns hand ; He left the name, at which the world grew p.de, To point a moral, or adorn a tale ! S-AMTEL Johnson. WENDELL PHILLIPS. ALON(r tie streets one day witii that swift tread He walked a living king — then "He is dead." ; The whisper flew from lip to lij), while still i Sounding within their ears, the echoing thrill Of his magician's voice we seemed to hear. In notes of melody ring near and clear. So near, so clear, men cried, " It cannot be ! It was but yesterday he spoke to me ; I)Ut \esterday we saw him move along. His head above the crowd, swift-paced and strong; But yesterday liis plan and pur])Ose sped, It cannot be to-da\' that he is dead." A moment thus, half dazed, men met and spoke, When first the sudden news upon them broke; A moment more, with sad acce])tance turned To face the bitter trutli that they had spurned. ch raiii u till 1 die! :aiuiot be 1 THE CROWN OF CliXfdS. 401 Frienils said through tears " iluw I'lniity seems the luwii." Aiiil waniiiii,' critics laid their weapon^ ilowi.. lie luul his fjiilts, tiicy said, but tiif)- were l.uilis ()i head and not of heart — his sharj) as>aiili> i'lung sciMniiig heedless from iiis ijiiivering liow, Ami needless striiiing either Iriend or for. Were launched \vil!i eyes tiiat saw not fne or friend. I3al only shininj; far, some goal >ir end. That compassed oace, should hring (Iml's saving grace I'o purge antl jiurify the huniau race — '{"he measure that meted out he took, An I bio.v for \Aow received without a look, Witliout a sigh of ( onscions liurt or luite, I'o stir tlie trampiil calmness ol' his state. iiiirn on the lieighis and in th^ jMiiple bred, He ch(jse \o walk the lowl\' wa\s instead. That ho might lift the wretched and defend The rights of those who languished for a friend, So many years he spent in listuiing To these sad cries of wrong and suffering. NoKA 1'ekkv. MARTIN LUTHER. y N' the solemn lonelines-;. in wiii( h Luther foand I liiuiself, he (ailed around hiui not so much ^ th^ ma-.ters of the Greek ami Latin wisilom through the study of the ancient la;i uage^, as he (iiil the mass of his ow i countrvmen. by his trans- litiou of th,; iiible. It woul 1 have been a matter of tardy iuipiession and remot • efficacy, had lie doae no more than awake from the dusty alcoves of the lihrari.'S the venerable shades of the c'assic teachers. Hj roused up a p:)! ulation of living, sentient men, hi-; count; ymen, his brethren He might have written aiul jireachcd in Latin to his living day, and the elegant Italian scholars, cham- pions of the church, would have answered him in Litin better than his own; and with the mass of the peoi)le, the whole affair would have been a con- test l)L-tween angry an 1 loquacious priests. " Awake all inti(iuity from the sleep of the libraries!" He awoke all Crermany and half Eurojie from the scholastic sleep of an ignorance worse than death. He took into his hands not the oaten i)ipe of the classic muse; he mos ' to his great work, not * * * To the Dorjaii niixxl Of llutes and soft recnrder.s : — He ijrasped the iron trumpet of his mother tongue — the good old Saxi^n from which our own is de- scended, the language of noble thought and high resolve -and bl-w a blast that shook the nations Iroin Rome to the Orkne\s. Sovereivm, citizen, and peasant, started at the sound ; and, in a few- short years, the poor monk, who had begged his 26 bread for a pious canticle in the streets of Kisen- ach — no longer irirndless — no longer solitary — was sust.nned \t\ victorious ,irmie.>, counteiianceil by |)rinces. and, what is :•. ihousand times more precious than the brightest crown in Christendom, revered as a sage, a benefactor, and a spiritual ])areiit. at the liiesides of millions of hi-, humble and grateful (ountrymeii. LliWAKl) IIVEKETT. H ROBERT BURNS. IS is that language ot the heart In wiiich the answering heart would sjjcak. Thought, word, that luls the warm tear .start, ( )r the smile light the cheek ; ! And his that music to whose tone I 'I'l.e common pulse of man keeps time, j In 'ot or castle's mirlh or moan, i In cold or sunn\' clime. 'I'hrouuh (are and paii, and want and woe, W'i'ii wo'inds that only death could heal, Tortures the poor alone can know, The proud alone can feel, He kept his honesty and truth. His inilepeiulent tongue and ])en. And luoved, in manhood as in youth. Pride of his fellow-men. Strong sense, deej) feeling, passions strong, ;\ hate of tyrant and of knave, A love of right, a .scorn of wrong, ( )f coward and of slave ; A kind, true heart, a sjjirit high, That could not fear and would not bow, Were written in his manly eye And on his manly brow. Praise to the bard ! his words are drisen, Like f.ower-seeds by the tar winds sown, Where'er beneath the sky oi' heaven The birds of fame ha\e lloiv n. Praise to the luan ! a nation stood Reside his coffin with wet eyes — Her brave, her beautiful, her good — .-\> when a loved one dies And still, as on his funeral day. Men stand his cold earth-couch around. With the mute homage that we pay To consecrated ground. And consecrated ground it is — The last, the hallowed home of one Who lives u])o:i all m(Miior'(.s, Though with tile buried gone. Fitz-Grkknk Halleck. |i [ I 1,' -f I i, H 1 V| i i 1 I I 402 THli CROWN OF CHNWS. H COPERNICUS. IC is d>ing, l)iit he leaves a j^lorioiis trutli as liisdyiiij; iKciiicst to the world. Ik- Wids the friend wlio has l)r()iinht it plac e him- self between the window and nis hedsiile, that the sun's rays may fall iijion the precious vcjhime. and he may heholil il on^e more before his eye grows dim. He look> upon it, takes it in his hands, presses it to iiis breast, and expires. Hut no, he i> not wholl> i;one. A smile lighis up his dying countenance ; abeam oi returning intelli- gence kindles in his eye; his lips move; and tiie fresh lo du- eye of memory ; he yearns after and covets what soothes ihe Iraihy of human nature. Th; t touciies iiiin mo.it nearl) which is withdrawn to a ce'iain distance, whicii verges on the borders II*" oiiiivion 'I'he streets of London are his fairy- land, ureming with wonder, with life aim interest to his retrospective glance, as it did to the eager eye of ( hiklliood ; he has contrived to weave its tritesl traditions into a bright and endless romance. As an essayist, l.aiiib will be remembered with the best of his class. He has wisdom and wit of the highest oriier, exipiisite humor, a genuine and CIIAKl.l friend who leans over him can licarliiin fair.tly niiir- nuir the beauiiiul sentiments whic h the Cliristi:ui lyrist of a later age has so linely expressed in verse : •'Ye golden lamps of heaven, farewell, with all your fet'ble light ; Farewell, thou ever ciiangi/ig moon, pale empress of the night ; And thou, effulgent orb of day, in brigluer flames arraved ; My soul, which springs beyond thy Sjihere, no more demands thy aid Ye stars a'-e but the shining du^t of my divine abode, The jjavement o^ those heavenly courts where 1 shall reign with Ciod." So died the great Cohimbus of the heavens. lUJWAKI) ICVEKKTT. CHARLKS LAMB. AMB'S stvle runs pure and clear, though it may often take an underground course, or be conveved through old-fashioned con- duits. He delights to dwell on that whirl, is L .\Mli. (ordial vein of pbasantry. arid tiie most heart- touching p.ithos. His thoughts are abvays his own. Even when his wori.s seem ( ast into the very mould of others, the ];eMect originality of his thinking is felt and acknowledged. An in- stance of this is Ins delightful essay on " Roast Pig" — an essay that is lairly succulent with the juii cs of the oven, and is enough to tickle the palate of even a man who is not fond of tliis j jiroduct of the larm-yard. The sweet stream of thought bi'bbles and sparkhs with witty fancies such a'-. I do not rememiier to have elsewhere met ; with, except in Shakespeare. Wll.M.AM 1Ia/i,itt. THE PRINCESS CHARLOTTE. WOR unto us. not her ; for she sleeps well; The fickle reek of popular breatli, the ton, lie Of hollow counsel, the false oracle. Which from the birth of monarrh\ hath rung Its knell in ]iriii( ely ears, till the o'erstung Nations have armed in madness, the strange late •■'^ , •nf /'///: lROWN ('/• C EN I US. W6 Whicli tmnhles inif,'hticst sovereignH, and liatli llung Against tlirir liliiid omiiipotciicL' a wciylil Within tlu- ()|i|i()siiif^ scale, whicli i riishrs soon or late— 'I'lu'si' niiglu havf been licr (lestin\ ; luit no, ( )iir hearts den , ii : and so \(nnij;, so fair, (lood withont elVort, great without ;i foe; ISiit now a hride and niotlicr. — and now I lie re ! How many tics did tii.it stern moment tear ! I'riim thy sire's to his humblest s;l>jt( t's breast [s linked the electric, ( hain ol' that des| iir, Whose siiock was as an urthciuake's, and t>l)I)rcst The land wh ch lovctl tliei' so that none ( ould love tiieo best. I, (IK 1 1 I'lVKON. HENRY CLAY'S POPULARITY. OF our imhlic: ui^n of tiie sixty \i-ars pre- ceding the war, Henry ( 'lay was certainly the most shining figure. Was there ever a public man, not at the head of a slate, so beloved as he? Who 'jvjr heard such cheers, so hearty, distinct, and iinging, as those whii h his name evoked ? Men shed tears at his defeat, and women went to bed sick from pure s) ni- patliy with his disappointment. He could not travel during the last thirty years of his lie, but only make progresses. When he left his home the public seized him and bore him ailing over the land, the committee of one State pissing him on to the committee of another, ;uid the liurrahs of oni 'nvn dying away as those of the next cauglit i..., ear. The country see.ned to place all its resources at his disposal ; all commodities sought his acceptance. Fussing through Newark once, he tiioughtlessly orilered a carriage of a certain pattern: the same evening the carriage was at the door of his hotel in New \'ork, the gift of a few Newark I'riends. It was so everywhere aiid with everything. His house became at last a museum of curious gifts. There was the counterpane made for him by a lady iiiiieiy-three years of age, and Washington's cainp- goblet given him by a lady of eighty ; there were jiistols, rifles, and fowling-pieces enough to defend a citadel ; and, among a bundle of walking-sticks, was one cut for him from a tree that shaded ("icero's grave. There were gorgeous jjrayer- hooks, and Bibles of exceeding magnitude and splendor, and silver-ware in great profusion. On one occasion there arrived at Ashland the substantial i)resent of twent\'-three barrels of salt. In his old age, when his tine estate, through the misfortunes oi his sons, was burdened with mort- gages to the amount of thirty-thousand dollars, and other large debts weighed heavily iijion his suul, and he t'earecl to lu compelled to ell the home of fifty \ears and seek a str.inge abode, .1 lew old friends secretly raised the needful s;im, ■ecretly paid the mortgages and disch.irged tin- debts, and then c.iiised tlv aged orator to be informed of w h.it had be.'i dime, but not of the names of the diuiors. "Could my life insure the success of Henry Clay, I would freely l.iy it down this day," ex- claimed an old Rhode isl.ind si ,i-captain on the morning of the I'resiilential electiim of i.s.}.}. Who has lorgotten tlie jiassion of (lisai)poiiitment. HENRY CLAY AT LKXIXGTON, KY. the amazement and despair, at the result of that day's fatal work? I-'atal we thought it then, little dreaming that, while it preciiutated evil, it brought nearer the day of deliverance. J.\Mi;s 1'ario.v. JOHN HOWARD. THE prisons (jf Ivirope previous to Howard's great reformatory work almost surjjassed description. They were dungeons without a ray of light to cheer. If human in- genuity had set itself to work to inflict the most abject misery ujion condemned criminals it could not have achieved a greater success. Man was .Jll \ I ifr I i ( 404 THE CROWN OF C EN I US. notliiiiK luore than a brute. 'I'lierc was no juty lor liis chains, no sMnpathy lor liis sorrows. The inld walls of liis I ell wen- no niori' imri'ding than the (ircat Hriiain and Ktiru|ie were grander than triumphal niari Iks. It the victims of the dark (linij^eon^ (oiild have been released for a nionuiit hearts of his judicial tormentors. One loud groan went up to heaven from every ])rison in Murope. John Howard came. He was liuman, sympa- thetic, wise. He heard the moan of the jirisoner ; if he did not turn it into music he at lea-^t made it less dolorous. Howard's journeys through they would have strewn palm-branches in his way. The sun rose upon a night of darkness. Uplifted eves and broken hearts hailed tl-e coming of John Howard, the jirisoner's friend. I'etter to have the blessings of the poor and oppressed than to live in bronze and granite. THE CROWS Oh' (.HMl'S. 400 Ntver bi fi>re had heeii heard siu h music — the claiikiDK ot . his halt-omnipo- tent haiul. A new era h.iii dav^ned in < i\ ili/.a- tiiin. Not that tiierc wa-. any tituri t(t |irevciit the rigul exert iscMiljiiiticc, Imt tl>eanjj« lot piiy, almost a stringer in tlie larili, t)ent ilown over the weak, the .sullVring, the almseil, the il loined, and tiiere was heaven in hi.r eyes. IIknkv Davkni-oki. HENRY WADSVVORTH LONGFELLOW. MAN is tile j;riei ot' tiiose wilo^e faitii Is i)ouMt tlie re>t, Thou oft shall be a welcome guest. Again the nnstery will be ( lear: The august Tusc m's shades appear ; Nbived by thy impulse, we shall feel New longings for thy high iileal ; And under all th\- forms of art Feel beatings of a human heart. .\s in our dreams we follow thee With longing eyes beyond the sea. We see thee on some loitier heig'.t Across V hose trembling bridge of light Our voices of the night are born ■. CI isp with white haiul the stars of morn. O happy poet ! Thine is not A portion of the cf)iiimon Kjt ; Thy works shall f )llow thee ; thy verse Shall still thy living thoughts rehearse ; The ages shall to tliee belong — An immortality ( f song. Francis F Browne. RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE. Oil, Mother Earth! ujion thy lap Thy weary ones receiving. And o'er them, silent as a dream. Thy gra-sy mantl • we.iving — Fold softly in thy long embrace That heart so worn and broken, And cool its jmlse of fire l-eneath Thy shadows old and oaken. Shut out from him the bitter word .And serpent hiss ot scorning ; Nor let the storms ot yesterdav Disturb his <|iiiet morning, breathe over him lorgetl'uliu'ss Of all s.ivi' deeds ot kindnos, And, save to smiles of gratehd eyes, I'ress down his lids in blindness. There, where with living ear and eye lie heard I'otomac's (lowing, .'\nd, through his tall, an< estral trees S iw autumn's sutiset glowing, lie sleejis -still looking to tlw west, liiiieath the d.irk wo(jd shadow, ,\s if he still would see the sun Sink down on w.ive and meadow. Hard, sage, and tribime ! — in himself .Ml moods of mind contrasting — The ten(lere>.t wail of human \\(ie, Tlv.' siorn like liglitiimg blasting; The pathos \vhi( h from rival eves I'liwilliiig tears couUI summon, 'I'he stinging taunt, the llery burst Of hatred scarcely himan ! Mirth, sparkling like a diamond-shower, Ironi li|is of life-long sadness , Clear i)i( tiirings of majestic thought Ipon a ground of lu.idncss ; Aiu. over all, romance and song .V classic beauty throwing, And laurelled Clio at his side Her storieil pages showing. All jiarties feared him : eacli in turn llcheld its schemes disjointed, As right or left his rat,d glaiKe And spectral linger poinied. Sworn toe of cant, he smol' it down With trenchant wit, uns|iaring. And, mocking, rent with ruthless hand The robe pretence was wearing. Too honest or too ])riiu I to feign .\ love he never c erished, beyond Virginia's border line His patriotism ])erishcd. While others hailed in distant skies. Our eagle's dusky jiinion, He oidy saw the mountain bird Stoop o'er his Old Dominion ! Still through each change of fortune strange, Racked nerve, and brain all burning, His loving faith in mother-land Knew never shade of turning: bv Britain's lakes, by Neva's wave. Whatever sky was o'er him, He Ivnrd her rivers' rushing sound. Her blue i)eaks rose before him. J. G. Whither. : v I I Is tl !H Mil THE CROWN OF CRN/ US. HENRY WADSWORTH LONQhELLOW. NIC of tlie t;rccnust ol laurels adorns the brow of this lavor ite AniLritan poet, who, it has been said, is even n.ore extensively nad and ailinired iti luigland than at home. Many of his iirodiictions are as familiar in the homes of the people as the old-tiMie almanac used to he in ihc homesteads of onr i:ra:iclfuhers. Loiii; ellow studied che principles of verbal melodv. and ren- dcreil himself master of the mysterious affinities \vhi(h exist bet veen sound and sense, wonl and thought, feeling; and t x- prcssion. There is an aptiiude. gracefulness and vivid beauty in many of his stan/as which at once impress the memory ami win ear and heart. There is in tlie tone of his poetrv little jia.s- sioii, but much (piiet earnestness. His ideas and metaphors are often striking and jioetical, but there is no aflluence of imagery or wontierfnl glow of eniitii/n such as take us captive in I.yron or Shelley ; the claim of Long- ler ii the wi.se and tasteful use of his materials than in their richness and their histrates the gentler themes of song, and pleads for justice, hiimanitv, and partic ti- witli apoet'sdeep conviction of their eternal claims upon the distinctive recognition THE GREAT SENATORS. Ol'R gre.'.t triumvirate — Clay, Webster, C'al- hoiin — last a])i)eared together in public life in the Senate of 1S49-50; the two former figuring consiiicuously in the debates which preluded and resulted in what was termed the Com- ])romise of that }ear — Mr. Calhoun dying as they IkhI fairly opened, and Messers. Clay and Wi'bster not long after their close. 'J'hese lines are, there- fore, in some sort, my humble tribute to their genius and their just renown. I best knew and loved H nry Clay ; he was by naturegenial, cordial, courteous, gracious, magnetic, ^vimliI1g. When (lencral (ilascock, ( f (ieorgia, took his seat in Congress as a Representative, a mutual friend asked, "(ieneral, may I introduce you to Ifemy Clay?" " No, sir !' was the stern I am liis r 'versars , and choose not to subject myself to liis fasi ination." I think it would ha\e been iianl to constitute for tlu\e or four vears a legislative body whereof Mr. Clay was a member, anil not more than four-sevenths were liis pledged, implacable oi)p()nenls, whereof he would not ha\e been the master-spirit, and the author and iiispircr of most of its measures, alter the first or sccontl \ear. Mr. ^\'ebster was coliler, gra\er, sl'Tiier, in his g iieral bearing: though he could unbend and be sunnv and blithe in his intercourse witli those ad- mitteil to his intimac). There were few ga\er (■r more valued associates on a fishing or sailing partw His mental calilire was mui h tln' larger; I judge that he hail read and studied more ; ihouuh neither could boast much erudition, not evi'n in- tense application. 1 brlic\'e each was aiioni thirtv years in Congress, where Mr. ("lay identified his name v\ ith the origin or success of at least half a dozen important measures to every one thus blended with Mr. Webster's. Though Webster's was far the more massive intellect, Mr. Clay as a legisla- tor evinced far the greater creative, ( onstriicti\e power. I once sat in the Senate Chamber when Mr. Douglas, who had just been transferred horn the Hou.--e, rose to move forward a bill in whi( h he was interested. " ""Ve have no such jjractice in the Senate, sir," said Mr. Wibster, in his ('eeji, so lemn voice, fixing his eye on the mover, b\ir with- out rising from his seat. Mr. Doi ghis at oik e varied his motion, seeking to acliie\e his end in a somewhat different way. "That is not the way we do business in the Senate, sir," njoiiud Mi. Webster, still more decisively and sternly. •• The Little C.iant" was a bold, ready man, not ea.sily over-awed or disconce.ted ; but, if he did not (piiver under the eye and voice of Webster, tjuii my eyesight deceived me — and I was very mar him. Mr. Calhoun was a tall, spare, earnest, evidently thoughtful man. with stiff, iron-gray hair, wl ii ii reim'nded \ ou of Jackson's about the time ot lii.s accession to the I'residency. He was eminently a logician — terse, vigorous, relentless. He c lurted the society of clever, aspiring young men who in- clined to fall into his views, and ixert'd great i'!- tluence o\er them. As he had ; bandoned the political faith which I distingush anil cherish ns National while f was yet a school bov, 1 never nut him at all intimately; \et once, whil" 1 was ci n- nected with mining on Lake Superinr. 1 calhd nn him, as on other leading members of Congress, to exjilain the effect of the absurd policv then in vogue of keeping mineral lands out of mnikei, aiui this tavor even u,i)re 1 at home, ines ot tlie uc^teads uf V, and reii- ivhich exist ng and t x- iv'id \)eanty ncuiory and ry little" li'^^- (Oflical. lii'l of enicitinn ,iin of Long- ss and tlieir and i«rti(U- j recognition ilhnslilended ster's was lar V as a U-gisla- ', ionstnicti\e ler when Mr. rrc'd fioni the 1 in wliii h lif ■h vraLli<'e in n his ('eeji, so- lver, ^ni ■i\ idi- i gl.,s at <'n(e e Ids end in a lis net tl'e way rijoimd Mr. ernly. •''I'li^ lan, not easily if he did not Welistir. dun was very nun rnest. eviden.tly Jay liiiir. ^^''''* Itlu' time of 1''^ |vas eininenlly a He courted men wli" '"' iNcrt' d i^reat i''.- bardoned tlie land (herish as l„v. 1 never met l-hd- 1 Nvas c""- iov. I « aU. <1 on lof Con^i'*-"^' '" poliev then ni of mnrkei.aud THE CROWN OF GENIUS. 407 attempting to collect a per centage of the mineral as rent accruing to the Oovernnient. He received me courteously, and I took care to make my statement as compact and persjjicuous as 1 could, showing inm tiiat, even in the lead region, where the system had attained its fidl(leveloi)ment, the Treasury ilid not receive enough rent to ])ay the salaries of tlie ofticers employed in collecting it. "Enough," said Mr. Calhoun; " youare clearlv right. 1 will vote to give away these lands, rather than perpetuate this vicious system." 'We only ask, Mr. Calhoun," 1 rejoined, " that Congress fix on the lands whatever ])rice it mav deem just, and sell them at that price to those lawfully in ])osses- sion ; they failing to purchase, then to whomsoever will buy them." •' That plan wdll have ni\ heartv support," he responded ; and it did. When the (lue--tion came at length to be taken, I believe there was no vote in either House against selling the mineral lands. Horace (Jrkki.kv. T NAPOLEON. IS done — but yesterday a king ! And armed with kings to strive — And now thou art a nameless thing ; So abject — \et alive ! Is this the man of thousand thrones. Who strewed our earth with hostile bones, And can he thus survive? Since he, misc.dled the Morning Star, Nor man nor fiend hath faUen so far. lU-minded man ! why scourge thy kind Who bowed so low the knee? By gazing on thyself grown blind, 'Phoii taught'st the rest to see. With might uncjuestioned — ])ower to saT-e — Til i lie only gift hath been the grave To those that worsiiipped thee; Nor till thy fall could mortals guess Ambition's le.ss than littleness! Thanks for that lesson - it will teach To after warriors more Than high philo.sojjhy ran preach, .\nd vainly preached before. That spell upon the minds of men Breaks never to unite again. That led them to adore Those I'agod things of saiire sway, With fronts of brass and feet of clay. The triumph and the vanity, The rapture of the strife ; Th- eartlK[uake voice of victory, To thee the breath of life ; The sword, the sceptre, and that sway Which man seemed made but to obey, Wherewitli renown was rife — All quelled! — Dark spirit ! what must be The madness of thy nuuiiory ! ' The desolator desolate ! The victor overthrown ! The arbiter of others' fate A su|iplianl for his own ! Is it some yet imperial hope, That with such change can cahnly cope? Or dread t)f dc'atli alone? To die a ])rince, or li\e a slave — Thy choice is most ignobly brave! He who of old would rend the oak Dreamed not of the rebound; Chained by the trunk he vainly broke — Alone — how looked he round ? Thou, in the sternness of thy strength, An ecjual deed hast done at length. And darker fate hast found : He fell, the tbrest-prowlers' prey; Hut thou must eat thy heart away ! Thine evil deeds are writ in gore, Nor written thus in vain ; Thy tiiimphs tell of fame no more, Or (lee|ien every stain. If thou liadst tlied as honor dies. Some new Napoleon might arise, To shame the world again ; But who woukl soar the solar height, To set in such a starless night? Weighed in the balance, hero dust Is \ ile as vulgar clay ; Thy scales, mortality ! are just 'To all that pass away: But yet methouglit the living great Some higher spark should animate, To dazzle and dismay; Nor deemed contempt could thus make mirtk Of these, the conquerors of the earth. Lord Bvkon. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. KROM THK "COMMKMDKATION OHK." LIFE may be given in many ways. And loyalty to truth be sealed As bravely in the closet as the field, So bountiful is fite ; But then to stand beside her, When craven churls deride her, To front a lie in arms and not to yie Kl, This shows, melhinks, Cod's plan .\nd measure of a stalwart man. Limbed like the old heroic breeds, Who stantl self-poised on manhood's solid earth. Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, Fed from within with all the strength he needs. \\ n |i " ! Ii1> li ' i ' Ifi , 45. f it Il J m n \\ i i \ : THE CROWN OF GENIUS. Such was he, onr iiuirtyr-chief, Whom late tlie nation he h;?.! led, With ashes on iier liead, VVe]it with tiie passion ol' an angry j;iiel': I'orgive me, it t'n.im present tilings 1 turn i'o speak wiiat in my heart will I nut and burn. And liL'ig my wreath on his \\oi Id honored urn, Nature they say, doth dote, And cannot make a man Save on some worn-oiit i)lan. Repeating us hy rote: For him her Old W orld moulds aside she threw. And, choosing swett clay from the breast Ot'the unexhausted west. With stuft untainted shaped a hero new. Wise, steadlast in the strength of (loil, and true. How beautiliil to see Once more a sheiiherd of mankind indeed, Who lo\ed his cliarge, but never loved tt) lead ; One whose meek (lock the jjcople joveii to be, Not lured by any cheat of birth. But by his clear-grained hmnan wui Ji, And brave old \\ i.-doni of sine erity ! '1 hey knew that outward grace is dust ; 'i hey could not c hoi.sc l)Ut trust In that siue-footed mind's unfaltering skill, And su]>ple tempered will That bent like ])erfe't steel tt) s] ring again and thrust. His was no lonely mountain-], eak of mind, Thrusting to thin air o'er our cloudy bars, A sea-mark no . r.ow lost in \a]ors i>lind; Broad |irairie radier, genial, level-lined, Fruitful and friendly for all human kind, Yet also nigh to hea\en and lo\ed (jf loftiest stars. Nothing of Furopc here. Or, then, of I'lurope fronting nioniward still, Ere any names (jf Serf and Teir Could Nature's equal scheme deface; Here was a tyjjc of the true elder rat e, And one of I'lutarch's men talked with ns fice to face. I praise him not ; it were too lat.- ; Ami some innalive weakness there must be In him who condescends to victory Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait. Safe in himself as in a fate. So al\va}s fu nd)- he : He knew to bide his time. And can his fame abide. Still patient in his sim])le faith sublime. Till the wise years I'ecide. Great laptains. with thei" gims and drums, Disturb our judgment for ;he hour, Hut at last silence comes : These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, Our chi'dren shall behold his fame, The kiiidiy-earnest, brave, loreseeing man, Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame,' New birth of our new sod, the first American, J, R. LOWKI.L, NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. IN his style he early developed that maturity of dignified composure, free from constraint, or affectation, and that lucid expression' which are among its most characteristic .raits. With little faculty for the harmonies of ,erse, he had a singular connnand over the musual qualities of prose, enabling him to proiince periods remarkable for their sonorous richnos and delicate cadences, that sometimes raised them almost to the plane of poetry, yet never HAWTHORN!-: destroy their character as prose b\ intirj-rting the actual rhythms of ver.se. Abhough e.\i ep- tionall}- fittetl for conveying subtleties of laiicy ami thought, his st\le is ecpially adapted lo the comprehension of children, being invariablv clear and strongly marked by common sense. Another noticeal le peculiarity is that in the entire range of his writings c|notati(ni is alniust never resorted to, tie author's miiul a] ])aien;l\ feeling no need of aid or illustration Ironiuilur writers. The sujierlative merits of Hawihoriv. '> style were but slowly recognized in his own country, but his fame has ra])idly and stiadil- increased since his death, and he is now gene- rally esteemed as one of the greatest imaginati\i-' minds of the ceiiturv, holding a plai e in ihc first rank among masters of modern Fngli>li prose. The jjersonal appearance of Hawthoine was tall, vigorous and commanding. Powerful |ili\>i- cally, and in e\ery way a strong specimen ol manhood, he yet, in his manner and presence, showed the gentleness of a woman. His intimates rirE CKOiv.v of gen /us. 409 were few, but with tlicm, he was a genial com- raiie, as he was also a ticlightriil companion in his houseliold. I'lie union in him of strengtii and sensitiveness lias been well described by [aines Russell Lowell : l''irst, he from sympathy still held apart By shrinking, over-eagerness of heart — New I'higland's poet, soul-reserveil and deep, Xovember nature with a name of M.iv. Cr. P. Lathkop. LORD BYRON. Wiril nature's self He seemed an old at ipiaintance, free to jest At will with all her glorious majesty. He laid his hand upon " the (Jeean's mane," And played familiar with his hoary locks; Stood on the Alps, stood on the .Vpennines, And with the thunder talked as frientl to friend; And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, In sportive twist — the lightning's fiery wing, Which, as tlu; footsteps of the dreadful God, Marching u;i m the stoma in vengeance seemed ; Then turned, and with the grassliopper, who sung His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. Suns, moons, and stars, and clouds his sisters were ; Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds, and storms His brothers, younger brothers, whom he scarce As eiiuals deemed. All passions of all men, Tiie wild ami tame, the gentle and ■ vere; All thoughis. all maxims, sacred and profane; All creeds, all seasons, time eternity; All that was hateil, and all that was dear; All that was ho])ed, all that was feared, by man,— He tossed about, as lemjiest-withered leaves; Then, smiling, looked upon the wreck he made. With terror now he I'ro/e the cowering blood, .\ud now dissolved the heart in tenderness; Yet would not tremble, would not weej) himself; But bark into his soul retired, alone, Dark, sullen, i)roud, gazing contem])tiiously On hearts and passions prostrate at Iiis feet. So oiean, from the plains his waves had late To desolation swept, retired in pride. Exulting in tlie glory of his might, And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought, .■\s some lierce comet of tremendous si/e,. i'o which the stars diil reveren.'-e as it passed, So he. through learning and through fmcy, took His flights sublime, and on the loftiest top Of fame's dread mountain sal : not soiled and worn, As if he from the earth had labored up. But as some bird of heavenly plmnage t'air He looked, which down from higher regions came, And perched it there, to jee what lay beneath. The nati(jns gazed, and wondered much .md jjraised. Critics before him fell in lunn', ile plight; Confounded fell; ami made tleba^ing signs To catch his eye; and stretciied and swelletl them- selves To bursting nigh, to utter bulky uords Of admiration vast; and maiiv t^x). Many that aimed to iiiitate hi^ Ihg'il. With weaker wing, u!iearthl\- fluti ring made. And gave abundant sport to alter days. Great man! the nations gazed and wondered much. And praised ; and many called his evil good. Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness ; And kings to do him honor t(jok delight. Thus full of titles, flattery, honor, fame; Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full — He died — he died of what? Of wretchedness; Drank every cu]) of joy, heard everv trump Of fame ; drank early, deeply tlrank ; drank draughts That common millions might have (juenched, then died Of thirst, lieeause there was no more to drink. His goddess, nature, wooed, embraced, enjo\ed. Fell from his arms, abhorred; his passions died, Died, all but dreary, solitary pride; And all his sympathies in being died. As some ili-gu (L-d bark, well built and tall, Which angry tides cast out on desert shore, And then, retiring, left it there to rot And moulder i:i the winds and rains of heaven ; ■So he, cut from the sympathies of life. And cast ashore from ])leasure's boisterous surge, A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched tiling, Scorchetl and desolate anil blasted soul, A gloomy wilderness of dying thought — Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth. His groanings filled tiie l.uul his number-; fdled ; And yet he seemed ushamed to groan, — Poor man ! Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed I^elp. RollKkl- I'OI.LOK. ALFRED THNNYSON. LORD ALFRlll) TENXYSOX has been called the Shakespeare of his time. It is some- wliat invidiou-. to compare him with any poet who ever li\ed. He is a mountain summit liy himself, standing alone, majestic and grand, yet anything but cold and forbidding. He is sujjerior in intelle tiial grasp, original expression, and subtle emotion. Mr. Tennvson was an artist before h" was a poet. I suppose it is in some respects this lavish native strength which has given him his delight in i \[ i ^_ o^ 410 THF CROWN OF GENIUS, f I !i 'I I :Sl great variety and richness of materials, showing a tropical luxuriance of natural gifts. What liis poetical lacult)- delights in nio^t are rich land- sca[)es, in which either nature or man has accu- mulated a lavish variety of effects, it is in the scenery of the mill, the garden, tiie chase, the rich p.'stures, the harvest lields, the piilace plea- sings the praises of holy and exalted friend>liip more than the warmer ])assion of love. He may be characterized a.s an elevated philosopher with a jH.et's expression, which a delicate perception of the beautiful and true has gi\en him. His harp is not strung with strings whose wild, loud notes shall first awaken, and then petrify the _ snoring world, but with silken, silvery, goss;niier chords, wiiose fairy melody is heard only l.y the delicate spiritual ear. Yut keeps he perhaps too close to the shores of time, and dares not, or will not, sail the mightv oceansof mind, and bring us, likegohien fruit, from beyond their distant shores sulijinie and inspiring ideas of futurity. He keejis his wings too closely furled, when we consider his poetical powers. R. H. Hun ON. ALFRED TENNYSON. sure-grounds, fair ]iarks and domains, ghjwing with sylvan beauty, that !M;-. TennNScn mo;t delights. He has a strong fascinatioii for okl legeid^, as well as for those counnon tales of ;i(h;e\enKnt and adventure which delight the j)opular lie.irt. There is always the movement of real life in his poems, a kind of sta!el\ tread and marching for- ward, which seizes the reader as the nnght\ tide lays hold of the floating skill and carries it awa .■ on its heaving bosom. His pen-jjicturcs, it may be said, succeed each other too rapidly, yet for the most part his style ripples along with ])erfe(t ea^e and grace. Nut exactl)' cypress, but a wreath of weeping willow, should er.circle Lis nam'\ He is enam- ored with ideal beauty and purity of toul, and he c CAMP-BELL. CHARADE. OMIC from my first, ay, come! The battle dawn is aigh ; Anil the si reaming trump and the thun- dering drum Are calling thee to die ' Fight as thy father fought ; Fall as thy father fell ; Thy task is taught; thy shroud is wrougnt; So forward and farewell ! Toll \e my S' cond 1 toll ! Fling high the fianibeau's light. And sing the hymn for a parted soul Ikneaih the silent night ! The wreath upon his head, Tiie cro s ujion his breast; Let the prayer be said and tiie tear be shed, i:.>- take hirn to his rest ! C'all ye m\- whole — a)', call '1 lie lord of lute and la\-; And let him greet the sable pall With noble song to-day. CiO, call him by his n; n.e ! No filter hand may crave To liuht the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf I fa soldier's grave. \V.' M. I'KAKD. M THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. OIRN, lor to Us he -eems the las;. Remembering all his greatness in the past. No more in soliiier fashion will he greet W'ith lifted hand the gazer in tlie street. () friends, our chiet stale-oracle is n'ute; Mourn for the man of lung-enduring blood, The statevmau-warrior, moderntr, 'colute Whole in himself, a con vnon imkhI /< i.v KED Tennyson. friend>lup i. He uvjLy Hiher with a .Tception o( whose wild, 1 j)etrify tlie rv, gusKiiner ird only l>y to the shores lot. sail the ,, like golden ores siiMime le keeji^ his consider his . HUTION. le! md the nmn- is wrougiit; light, rl soul tear be shed, 's fame yrave. " M. Traed. «irjTCN. he las; . less in the past, will he greet e street, is u'lite ; iring blood, T'olnte, Tennyson. 7/y/:' U^OlVy 01' GHNIUS. CARoLIM; AM) SIR WILLIAM IIERSCIIEL. TWO CELEBRATED ASTRONOMERS. TIIK name of Ilerschel is as bright as tiie stars in coMipanv with which those wlio bore tiie 111 name spent agood iiartofth ir lives. Their look seemed to be njnvard, ahva s ex] .hiring the nly^l(-rles of the heavcs. ISriiliant discoveries otme within range of their vision, and the great volumes in the librarv of science are nioro nuinei- oiis to-day than as if the Ibischels liaci never lived. They held companion>hip with ilic starry heavens, and were on the best of terms with di-tant worhls. Caroline was tlie sister of Sir Willjnni Ilerschel, whom she assisted in his astronc mii al observa- ''I I ■ii^ ii i|! M THE CROWN OF GEN 'US. tions and computations. There have been several women who liavt excelled in the science of astro- It is a science which appeals to their love of the beautiful and the sublime, while at the same time many are giltcd with mathematical talent equal to the study. In 1798 Caroline puiilished a valuable catalogue of over 500 stars. Her brother William distinguished himself by many important discoveries, which created a profound impression uium the scientific thought of his time. He was the first to behold the planet Uranus floating in the far de|)ths of space. This was one of the must important dis- coveries of modern times, and gave to Herschel a name henceforth to be held in honoi. PRISCILLA. 1\ li ILP:S STANDISH, the famous . %/ I captain of Plymouth Colony, ■* ' *• feeling the desolation of his bachelorhood, resolved to taKe unto himself a wife, and also resolved that this wife should be the fair Puritan maid Priscilla. Standish senc his dutiful sec- retary, John .Vlden, to make known his wishes and to do the courting. Stand- ish himself felt that he was more skillful in the arts of war than in those of (ourt- ship. Maidens are known sometimes to liave minds of their own, and I'ris- cilla, not being lost in admiration of Miles Standish, and knowing a good chance when slie saw it, executed a flank movement, and said, "Why don't you speak for yourself, John?" John was not slow to speak alter receiving such encouragement, and Captain Miles Standish was comiielleci to doff his i)lumes to the man w ho had been commissioned to do the courting. It was not long before there werv \\ ed- ding festivities, the termination of which is beautiftdly describetl by Long- fellow : Onward the britlal ] roces.^ion now moved to their new habitation, Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing together. Pleasantly nuirmured the brook as they crossed the ford in tiie forest, Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream of love through its bosom, Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the azure abysses. Down through theg( Iden leaves the sun was pouring his sjjlendors, Gleaming on imrjjle grajjes, that, from branches above them suspended. Mingled their odorous breath with tlu' balm of the ])ine and the fir-tree, Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in tiie valley of Eschol. Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral ages, Fresh with the youth of the world and recalling Rebecca and Isaac, t of his le planet zti. This rtant dis- and gave urth to he the famous ih Colony, tion of his taKC inito solveil that iiritan niiiid dutiful sei:- .' known his ng. Stand- iiore skillful oseof < ourt- 1 sometimes n, and I'ris- imi ration of nng a good executed a "Why don't ihn?" speak alter Tcnient, and [as compelleci nan \\ ho had he courting. irewerv wed- minatic'U of led bv Lung- )ces^ion now abitation, and friends he f irook as they le forest, atpasseil, like gh its bosom, air, o'er abysses. the leaves the sun •ndors, ,)es, that, from 11 suspend 1(1. reath with lh(^' d the fir-tree, Lt grew in the litive, pastoral and recalling THE CROIVX OF GENIUS. ll;« s Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers. So through the IMyiuouth woods passed onward jhe l>ridal procession. ON A BUST OF DANTE. ' P^E, from this counterfeit of him Wliom Arno shall remember long. How stern of lineament, how grim, 'i'he father was of Tuscan song ! There but the burning sense of wrong, Perpetual care, and scorn, abide — Small friendship for t'le lordly throng, Distrust of all the world beside. Faithful if this wan image be. No dream his life was, but a fight ; Could any Beatrice see A lover in that anchorite? To that cold Ohibelline's gloomy sight Who coidd have guessed the visions < ame Of beauty, veiled with heavenly light. In circles of eternal flame? The lips as Cuma^'s cavern close. The cheeks with fast and sorrow thin. The rigid front, almost morose. But for the ]iatient hope within. Declare a life whose course hath been Unsullied still, though still severe, Which, through the wavering days of sin. Kept itself icy-chaste and clear. Not wholly such his haggard look When wandering once, forlorn, he strayed. With no comjianion save his book. To Corvo's hushed monastic shade; Where, as the Benedictine laid His palm upon the pilgrim guest, The single boon for which he prayed The convent's charity was rest. Peace dwells not here — this rugged face Betrays no spirit of repose ; The sullen warrior sole we trace, The marble man of many woes. Such was his mien when first arose The thought of that strange tale divine — When hell he peojjled with his foes, The scourge of many a guilty line. War to the last he waged with all The tyrant canker-worms of earth ; Baron and duke, in hold and hall. Cursed the dark hour that gave him birth ; He used Rome's harlot for his mirth ; Plucked bare hypocrisy and crime; But valiant souls of kingly worth Transmitted to the rolls of time. O i'ime ! whose verdicts mock our own. The only righteous judge art tlioii ; That poor, old exile, sad and lone, Is Laiiimi's other Virgil now. Before his name the nations how ; His words are parcel of mankind. Deep in whose hearts, as on his brow. The marks have simk of Dante's mind. Thom.as William Parson--. LADY HENRY SOMERSET. OF noble birth, yet nobler in heart and soul, Lady Somerset is one of 'he lamous women of our tune, by virtue of her broad charity, her arduou-. labors in the cause of reform, especially that of temperance, and that LADY SOMERSET. spirit of self-sacrifice which has devoted fortune and noble birth to the uplifting of the ])0or and degraded. Her name is known in both hemi- spheres. In America she has shed the light and glow of her great heart and nature from ocean to ocean. Of rare personal .•.tractions, cultured manners, graceful and forcible sjieec h, untiring labor and enthusiasm, she illustrates vividly what can be accomplished by woman when inspired by a great aim and moved by a holy purpose. Lady Somerset in no degree loses her dignity and refinement liy her public life. There is no appearance of coming down; of stepping from ' 1 i 1 1 1 1 . 1 1 \ 1 \ 1 > i \ 1 tit 1 1 1 ii :lf 1 ; :n THE CROWN OF GJLMUS. some lofty peilestal ; of aliaiidoniny a sacred splicrc, s li as iIr- world has al\va\s conceded til \V()ni,ui She lifts up, adorns, piirilies, /^lori- fas what slie touches, and like the aroma of flowers is the intliience of lur life. ill'NKN |)A\ KNI'ORT. THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. KXKCl TKIJ 1650. HI-; morning dawned full daikl . The rain came flashing; down, And the ja^'<^'ed streak of tiie k'vinl.\ : Lit up the i^looniy town. The thunder trashed across the iieaven, The fatal hour was come ; Yet aye hroke in, with muflletl beat. The 'larum of the drum. There was maihiess on the earth below And anger in the sky. And yomig and old, and rich and po"r, Came fortli to see him die. Ah (lod ! that ghastly gibbet ! How disn al 't is to see Tie great tall spectral skeleton, The ladder and the tn;e ! Hark ! hark I it is the clash of arms — The " He is coming ! he is coming ! Ciod's mercy on his sold ! " One last long peal of thunder — The clouds are cleared away, And the glorious sun once more looks down Amidst the dazzling day. " He is connng ! he is coming I " Like a bridegroom from his room Came the hero from his prison To the scaffold and the do(;m. There was glory on his forehead, 'I'liere was lustre in his eye, And he never walked to battle More proudly than to die. There was ( olor in his visage, Though tlie cheeks of all were wan ; And diey marvelled as they s..w inm pass, '1 hat great and goodly man ! He mounted up the S( affold. And he turned him to the crowd ; Hut they dared not trust the people, So he might not spi.ak aloud. JJi.t he looked upon the heavei s. And the\ were < lear and blue. And in the liquid ether The eye of (lod shone through ; '*'et a black and murky battlement Lay resting on the hill, A.'i 1' ough the thunder slejit within — All Ise was calm and still. The grim (lene\a ministeri With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens tlo< k Around the dying deer. He woidd not deign them word nor sign, Ilui alone he bent tlie knee; And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace beneath the gallows-tree. Then, rndiant and serene, he rose, And cast liis cloak away ; For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sun and day. A beam of lifiht fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder As it were the ])ath to heaven Then came a Hash from out the cloud, And a stunning thunder-roll ; And no man ilared to look aloft, For fear was on every soul. There was another heavy soimd, A hush, and then a groan ; And darkness swept across the sky — The work of death was done ! W. E. Aytoun. m i>a&s, d; le, >t un- k nor sign, i dear grace jse, en, i cloud, THOUGHT AND SENTIMENT: CONTAININ*; CHOICE PRODUCTIONS FROM MASTER MINDS THE VILLAGE WEAVER. HI'", weaver is sitting before his loom, All day long in a curious room, Weaving a carpet of various hues; Here and there is a shade of green, With l)rigliter colors woven lietween, And various tints of lir'iwns anil lilues. Strangers and neighbors visit the room, And cliildren, as well, to see the loom, Wlio ponder awiiile and go away. Of the visitors that kindly call, The little ones please him best of all. With rapturous songs of mirth and play. Forward and oackward tlie shuttle goes, Followed by loud and creaking blows, While the laithful weaver works away. He turns a selvedge with skillful hands, Shaping a ])attern of various brautls, Out of black and a mixture of gray. His back is bent and his hair is white, For many a year has taken flight Since he on the loom began to weave. During that time, I may safely say, The wo if that has crossed the warp each day Could encircle the world, I believe. sky — Aytoun. I often watch him plying his trale, Bi 'uding with harmony every shade, And forming a carpet quaint and fine. On much ths same as the weaver i)lanned Each life is wrought with a filmy strand, ■Vnd deeds, like colors, form some design. Time is a weaver whose shuttles hum. Until the end of our life has come, And the soul parts from its dusty loom. Youth is bright color that fades away, Age and years are the dark and gray, And the world is the curious room. George S. Johnson. A JEWEL IN DISGUISE. I'VE met with a good many people In jogging over life's varied wav — I've encountered the clever, the sinii)le, The crabSed. the grave and the gay. I have traveled with lieaut)-, with \ irtue, I've been with the ugly, the bad, I've laughed with the ones who were merry, And wei)t with the ones who were sad. One thing I have learned in my journey, Never to judge one bv what he appears — The "ves that seem sparkling with laughter Olt battle to keep back the tears ; And long sani timonious faces Hide often the soids that are vile, Wiiile the heart that is merry and cheerful Is often the freest from guile. And I've learned not to look for perfection In one of our frail human kind ; In hearts the most gentle and loving Some blemish or I'ault we can find. But yet I have not found the creature So low, or depraved, or so mean, But had some good im])ulse, some virtue That 'mong his bad traits might be seen. 415 rli i; 1 > in li •i; THOUGHT AND SENTIMENT, A DRHAM. Oil' \va> l>ul a diiMiii 1 had While the mii>ici;.ns jilayed — — 1 Ai'.il hero ihc ^kyaud licrc the (,'lad I) il ocean kissed the ^laiL' ; And licre lie laughing' ri|)|ilcs ran, And lierc ihc roses grew 'I'liat threw i ki-s to every man I'liat voyaged witli tlie t:rew. <)iir silken sails in la/y lolils iJroppei' in the hiealhkss liree/.e As o'er a Held of marigolds Our e_\i s >wani o'er the seas ; While here ihe edilies li>|)'"d and purled Around tin. island's rim. Ami ii[) froui ont die nnderworkl We saw l!u.' mermen swnn. And it was dawn and middle day And mid;.i.;ht — for the moon On silver roniids across tlie hiiy Had clindied the skies of June — Antl iuie the ulowin^L;, gloricnis king Of day ruled o'er the reahn, ^\'ith stars of midnight glittering About the iliadem. The sea-gull reeled on languid wing In circles round the mast ; We heard the songs the sirens sing As we went sailing past, And \\\) and down tlie golden sands A thousand fairv throngs Flung at us from their flashing hand The echoes i)f their songs. James Whitcomh Rilf.y. THH DAYS OF THE MODERN BELLE. On, lor the time of the minii'"tte tVhen stately niovenicnt on movement swa\ed, And soft e\es spoke some fjnaint regret; Clone are t!ie days of the old brocade; In the tripi)ing time of the wait/, is made Some deft enchantment, and 'neath its spell Her ilainty heart on his sleeve is laid, These are the da\ s of the modern belle. When Hetty was pietty in homespun yet. And everx- told her grace betrayed — Ah, sombre jewels of coral and jet ! Gone are the da} s of the old brocade. From the shops of Paris, we find obeyed The hints tint ^'irol and Worth may tell, And gentle simplicity flees dismayed, These are tlie days of the modern belle. 'Till now grave memories anxiotisly fret At the glittering splendor and gay parade, .'\nd sigh for the times of I'olly and Met — ( lone are the d.iys of the old brocade. When soltol bhiMhe>, in beaut) straved, Anil briimning ihmples would come — ah well' Those gentle years were meant to fade - 'I luse are the ilay> of the modern belle. Ah, menu;r>' listens to laiu \ 's aid. f ione are the da\s of the old bioiade ; .Ami their very follies our loves impel, These are the ila\s oi the modern belle. THE FORTUNATE ISLES. YOU sail and you seek for the Fortimate Isles. Tlie old (Ireek Isks ol the \ellow bircl's M.n- ? Then steer straight on through the watery miles, Straight on, straight on, and you can't go wronj; Nay, not to the left, nay, not the right. Hut on, straight on, and the Isles are in sight, The l'ortun.,te Ishs where th.e \ellow birds sing, And l:l'e lies girt with a golden ring. These Fortunate isles tluv are not so far, They lie within reach of the lowliest door; Vou can s^e them gleam by the twilight star; You can hear them sing by the moon's whiteshore. X.i\', never look back! Those le,'eled grave-ston(•^, They were landing-steps; they were steps luito thrones Of glory for souls that have sailed before, And have set white feet on the fortunate slujre. And what are the names of the Fortimate Isles ? A\'hy, duty and love and a large c(juteut. Lo I these are the Isles i f the watery miles That (iod let down from the firmament ; Lo ! duty and love, and a true man's trust ; Your forehead to God, and your feet in the dust; Lo ! dutv and love, and sueet babe's smiles. And these, O friend, are the Fortimate Isles. J(iA(,)lIN MlI.LER. T IT NEVER COMES AGAIN. IIERF are gains for all our losses, There are balms for all our pains : Hut when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts. And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, I'Uder manhood's sterner reign; Still we teel that sniuething sweet Followed yout); with flying feet. And will never come again. Something beautifid is vanished. And we sigh for it in vain ; We behold it everywhere. On the earth and in the air : But it never comes again. R. II Stoddard. ^ ♦ II Stoddard. 'UiOUGUr A.\D SIiXT/M/:XT 417 MIK binl tluit soars on liigliest wing, IJuikls on the ground its lowly nest, And she that doth must sweetly sii ■^, Sings in the shade when all things rest. J. M. Bentley. GLORY. THE crumbling tombstone and the gorgeous mausoleum, the sculptured niarlile.and the venerable cathedral, all bear witness to the instinctive desire within us to be remembered by comiUp, generations. lUit how short-li\ed is the immortality which the works of our hands can confer ! 'I'he noblest monuments of art that the world has ever seen are covered witli the soil of twenty centuries. The works of the age of Teri- ck's lie at the foot of the Acropolis in indiscrim- inate ruin. 'I'he ploughshare turns nji the marble wliich the hand of Phidias had ctiiselletl into beautv, and the Mussulman has folded iiis flock beneath the falling columns of the temple of Minerva. But even the works of our hands too frcnjuently survive the memory of those who have created them. And were it otherwise, could we thus carry ddwn to distant ages the re(ollection of our exist ence, it were surely childish to waste tlie energies of an innnortal spirit in the effort to make it known to other times, that a l)eing whose name wah written with certain letters of the alphabet, once lived, and flourished, and died. Neither 27 sculptured marble, nor stately column, can reveal to otlier ages the lineaments of the spirit; and these alone can embalm our memory in the hearts of a grateful posterity. As the stranger stands beneath the dome of St. Paul's, or treads, with religious awe, the silent aisles of Westminster Abbey, the sentiment, which is breathed from every object around iiim, is, the utter emptiness of sublunary glory. Fkancis Wayi.anu. • \ I SOMETIME. AM waiting for the shadows rotmd me lying 'I'o drift auay ; I am waiting for the sunlight, always flying, To come and sta\' ; I know there's light be\ond the cloudy curtain, A light sublime ! That it will shine on me 1 now am certain, Sometime ! sometime ! I am waiting for the summer's golden lustre — Now far away — When golden fruits around my life shall cluster Each sunny day ! « r j 1 i ■ ' i I ' I i , I 1 1 I' j ■ li 1 i ' 1^ 01 r li •118 IHOVGIir AND SLNTIMliST. We read of fadelfss (lowers in f.il>li.(l storv, III lai'iiH' < litiic. \ih1 I shall |ilii( k ihfiii III thfir pristine ^lory. SoiiK'tmie ! soiiieliiiie ! riiL'ii I sliail liear the Nui(C ol loved ones call inc To their dear side ; And 1 shall ilicii, wli. never nui) hei'.ill iiie, Rest s.itislied ! I'or on my e.ir sweet nntes ol" love shall treiiiMe In niat< iiless rhyme, I'lom hr.iit and lips that never can dissemble, S. iiiietinie ! sometime I I am waiting ; hut at limes I grow so weary — I'ar seems the ilay When all the pain wiiieli makes our life so dreary Shall pass a\Nay. I know the heart oft lilKd with tones of sailness, Like funeral eiiiiiie, Shall eeho with songs of love and gladness, Sometime ! sometime I IliiSF.A (J. Ill.AISDEI.l,. AN OLD VAOABOND. HK was old and alone, and he sat on a stone to icsl lor awhile from the road ; I lis heard was white, and his eye was bright, and his wrinkles overflowed With a mild content at the way life went; and I < losed the hook on my knee: "I will venture a look in this living book," I thought, as he greeted me, And I said; "'My friend, have you time to spend to tell me what makes you glad?" " Oh, ay, my lad," with a smile; " I'm glad that I'm old, yet am never sad !" " I'lit why?" said I; and his merry eye made answer as much as his tongue : "IJecatise," said he, "I am poor and free who was rich and a slave when young." Jdum Bovi.k O'Rf.ili.v. THE PITY OF THE PARK FOUNTAIN. J*" I "WAS a summery day in the last of May — I Pleasant in sun or shade ; •^ And the hours went by, as the poets say, Fragrant and fair on their (lower)' way; And a hearse crept slowly through Broadway — And the lountain gaily ])layed. The fountain played right merrily, And the world looked bright and gay ; And a youth went bv, with a restless eye, Whose heart was sick and whose brain was dry ; And he jiraved to dod that he might die — A.nd the fountain played away. Uprose the spr.iy like a diamond throne, ;\nd the tirops like mu>i( tang— And of those who m.irselled how it shone, Wis a |)i()iid man, left, in his shame, alone; .And he shut his teeth with a smotlund groan And the fountain sweetly sang. And a rainbow spanned it changeltillv, Like a i)right ring broke in twain ; And tile pale, fair girl, who stopped to sec, Was sick with tiie |),ings ol |iovertv — And from hunger to guilt she chose to flee As the raiidiow smiled again. And all as gay, on another day, 'l"he mor'Miig will have shone ; And at noon, unmarked, through bright Broadway, .\ hearse will take its silent wa\ ; And the bard who sings will have passed away — And the fountain will jilav on ! N. 1' Willis. UNDER THE LEAVES. INTO the lap of the bare brown earth. Stripped of her beautilul golden sheaves, As if in sympathy for her dearth, l-'lutter and nestle the autiinm leaves; And the lonely landscape hides away Her face, deep-lined with sad decay, I'nder the leaves ! Down from the tall old forest trees The leafy showers gently fall. And, taking the wings of the jiassing breeze, Softly they cover the earth like a pall. Ah, would that we the past might fold. Of bliglited hopes ami dreams untold, Under the leaves! Under the leaves of the flying years Oh, strive, thou weary soul, to lay The care and sorrow, the bitter tears. The dreary burden of yesteiday — AwMv (liop down in the heart's recess, Under the Uaves of forgetl'ulness, Under the leaves. Bl..\NCHE lU'.SWELL. THE WATER THAT HAS PASSED. LISTIOX to the water-mill. Through the livelong dav, How the clanking of tlie wheels Wears the hours away ! Languidly the autumn wintl Stirs the greenwood leaves ; From the fields the reapers sing, Binding u[) the sheaves. And a proverb haunts my mind, As a s])ell is cast ; "The mill will never grind With the water that has passed." UiiK' ; 1 grniin— I sec, J tke u Uroailway, scd away— i'. Wii.i.is. jUlfii slieaves, arih, mn leaves ; way :ay, ing breeze, a pall luld, litold, es! irs lay [.ars, "cess, Ives. ],K r,r SWELL. PASSED. Iniill. slonj; dav, I of the wheels away ! ^d les ; y sing, mind, passed. rilOVGHT AM) SHNTIMHX'L 419 Take the lesson to thsselt, Loving iieart and true; Golilen years are fleetiuL,' liy, \'outh is p.i>>ini,' too ; W(»rk wiiilc yet the dayli>{lit shines, Man ot' strinf^tli and will; Never does the strciniK ' i^iide I'sejess hv the mill . tv.- t. ■ i* — ' . i'. ■■ Learn to make the most of life, Lose no happy day ; Time will never brini; thee hack Chances swept away. Leave no tender weird imsaid ; Love while life shall last — "The mill will never grind With the water that has passed." Wait not till to-morrow's "-iin Beams upon the way ; All that thou canst call thine own Lies in thy to-day. Power, intellect and he.tlth May not, can not last ; "The mill will never grind ^/ith the water that has passed." ■M I !■ ■l, -, % I iH !| '<■ 42U THOUGHT AXD SENTIMENT. I < Oh, the wasted hums of Hfe Tliat have driUcd by ; Oh, the good \vc iniglit have done, Lost witliout a sigh, Love that we iniglit once liave savtd By a single word ; TlioiiglUs con( cived but never penned, Lerisliing nnlieard. Take the proverb to tliine heart, Take 1 oh, lioUl it fast! — " Tiie mill will never grind With the water that has jiassed." COURAGE. COURAC;!'; : —Nothing can withstand Long a wronged, mulaunled land; If the hearts within her be True unto themselves and thee, Thou freed giant, liberty! Oh ! no mountain-nymph art thou, A\'hen the helm is on th\' brew, Anil the sword is in thy hand, Fighting for thy own good land ! Courage ! — Nothing e'er withstood I'leemen fighting for their good; Armed with all their father's fame. They will win and wear a name, That shall go to endless glory. Like the g(-(_Is of old (irrck story, Raised to heaven and heavenly worth, I'or the good they gave to earth. Courage ! — There is none so poor, (None of all who wrong endure,) None so humble, none so weak. But may Hush his father's clieek; And his maiden's dear and true, A\'ith the tleeds that he may do. Be his days as dark as night, He may make himself a light. What though sunken Ijc the sun ! There are stars when da\- is done ! Courage! — Who will be a slave, 'i'hat have strength to dig a grave, And therein his fetters hide, Antl lay a tyrant by his side? Courage ! — Hope, howe'er he ily For a time, can never die ! Couragf, therefore, brother men! Cry " Ciod ! and to the fight again !" Bakrv CoKN'WALL. D THE FIRESIDE. EAR Chloe, while the busy crowd, The vain, the wealthv, and the prc-ud, In folly's maze advance ; TliOiigh siiigidarit> and pride lie called our choice, we'll step aside, Nor join the giddy dance. l'"rom the gay world we'll oft retire To our own family and fire. Where love our hours em|)loysj No noisy neighbor enters here, No intermecklling stranger near, To spod our heartfelt joys. If solid ha])|iiness we prize. Within our breast this jewel lies, Ai;d they are lools wlio roam ; The world hath nothing to bestow — From our own seKcs our bliss must tlow. And that dear liut, our home. Our ])ortion is not large, indeed ; But then how little do we need. For nature's calls are few; In this the art of living lies, To want no more than may suffice. And make that little do. We'll therefore relish with content Whate'er kind Providence has sent, Nor aim beyond our jjower; For, if our stock be vei\ small, 'Tis prudeme to enjoy it all. Nor lose the present hour. To be resigned when ills betide, I'atient when favors are denied. And pleased with favors given — Dear Chloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart Whose fragrance smells to heaven. Naihaniei- Cotton. ROVING NED. DIVORCED, did they say? What I, Roving Ned, Divon ed in disgrace from the woman I wed In the wealth of her beauty, five summers to-night, 'Mid the chiming of bells and hajjpiness bright; O God, can it be? Have I fallen so low? Divorced from that bride — and 1 loved her so? Was thai Lden a tiream ? Was that husbiiid's first kiss But an ai)ple of Sodom in the feast of mv bliss? Were those vows that 1 sjjoke but the words jf untruth — A perjurer's lie to the love of his youth? Were tliose visions I saw but a mirage of f^ite And the words of endearment the .seeds ot a hate? Was that life in the cottage a dream of the past? And the joy that it brought us too precious to last? Did the child that was sent us return in its flight To esca])e the dark shadows now clouding this night? Were our hopes, then so bright, to be shrouded in gloom. And the roses so sweet but the bloom of the tomh? more, I IT Axn s/;:\''/v.u/:\'7: 421 BouikI helpless in sin ! All. I seo it now, |ilain. I sec a lone wanderer o\vr the earth, And thou, damninj,' j,'l,iss, liath eiwovf 1 ilie cliaiii ! Now sliunned and diso.Micd \<\ I ;e kin of his (), sparkle and ^k-anu but 1 kno«' thee too well ; , hirtii, Thy diamonds of jov ar- t e jewels of hell. So weary of life, l)i!t too sinfnl lo die, What I, Roving n :turn in its flight low clouding this to be shrouded in loom of the tomb? The wealth of ihv pleasure is sorrow and care ' With the luui.us of remorse 'neath the frowns from And tiie spell of tliy eliarm but tlie gall of despair. on hi-h. l''ar downward he sinks till his oaths sound the Ah, spirkle and ^limnier, I see in thy tide knell The hand that was raised to a once-worsliipt'd bride. , ,,• ;i ^onl that is totterin^on ilievergeofa hell. Ah, sparkle and flitter! I see a dread lliglit From a drunkard enr.iged through a cold winter's Cursed be thee, ulass '. Is thy ctUKpiest complete? night. I No ! I will grind tlee. fiend vet 'neath my feet ! That husband so proud but a wre< k is now left, ' By a mother's last praver, by the home of my Of love and affection and manhood bereft, I birdi. i li 1 f ■ V^ i^ i, -, 1 422 T//0UG/7T AXD SENTIMENT. I will dash thee in fragments down swift to the earth ! By the love of tliat woman that once my name Ixjre I will rise from a slave to my manhood once more. Come, friends of my youth, there's a soul to be saved. Give me of thy strength, there are storms to be braved. Come back, O my will, with all of thy might And. make me a giant to battle for right. To earth and to heaven again I will tall Anu s.iatch even life from the fo'ds of a pall. God help me to stand by the vo'vs that I make ; God help me, if any, in weakness I break ; Leaf me not to the tempter, but guide me in right Until I am strong in thy mercy and might. Then lead back my bride to her husband again And link with tl-y blessing the now parted chain. Sherman 1). Richakusu.n. SYMPATHY. SYMPATHY has never a harder task that when it .^nids itself in the presence of suffering which it is powerless to alleviate, and it never is of greater value or greater helpfulness than just there and then. It is comparatively a ligli*: task to bend in sympathy over the suffi.-ring, when one's every touch takes away some of the ])ain, and the hopeful eyes of the patient follow with gratitude every motion of him that ministers. But when tiie wound is beyond human skill, and all that one can do, is to stand by in silent or in softly spoken sympathy, and sec a loved one racked with jiain vvhich none can remove, then comes the truest test of the worth of sympathy. The kindly offices of sympathy are then most precious, simply because they cost so largely, anu can effect so little. But there are deeper needs in the human soul than the alleviations of either bodily i)ain or mental anguish ; and it is these needs which are met by the presence of that sym- pathy which is so ])ower!ess for things merely material. Though the pain may be no whit the less, a new strength comes to the sufferer when he knows that a fellow-heart is iiffering with him, and is sending up aspirations, though seemingly in vain, for his quick deliverance. The wounded beast may have no other need than to crawl away into some dark spot and moan its life out in loneliness ; b'lt from cradle to grave no man lives to himself alone, ami none has a right to refuse, when need comes, to fulfill the kindly duty of comforting his l)rother. Alleviate bodily and mental jiain when you can ; but when the call of duty comes for your sympathy in a case where vou can do neither, know that vmir ready answer to that call will fio more for the sufferer than the outward eye will see; for by your pres- ence you will share the burden which you cannot lift, and your strength will strengthen the weak- ness which you cannot remove. VICTORIA'S TEARS. U /^~\ MAIDEN, heir of kings, I I .\ king has left his place; ^-^ The majesty of death has swe[)t All others from his face. And thou, upon thy mother's breast. No longer lean adown — ]5ut take the glory for the rest, And rule the land that loves thee best." The maiden wept ; She wept to wear a crown ! They decked her courtly halls — They reineii her hundred steeds — They shouted at her palace gate, " A noble queen succeeds ! " Her name has stirred the mountains' sleep, Her praise has filled the town ; And mourners GolI had stricken deep Looked hearkening up, and did not weep! Alone she wept, Who wept to wear a crown. She saw no ]Hiri)le shine, Fo" tears had dimmed her eyes : She only knew her childhood's flowers Were happier pageantries ! And while the heralds jilaycd their part I'or million shouts to drown — "God save the Queen," from hill to mart — She heard, through all her beating heart, And turned and wept! She wept, to wear a crown. God save thee, weeping queen I 1 !;oii shalt be well beloved. The tyrant's sceptre cannot move .\s those ]iiire te;.rs have moved ; The nature in thine eye we see, \V hich tyrants cannot own — The love that guardeth liberties; Strange blessing on the nation lies, Whose sovereign wei)t, Yea, wept, to wear its crown. God bless thee, weeping queer With blessing more dis ine ; And fill with better love than earth's. That tender heart of thine : That when the thrones of earth shall be As low as graves brought down, A pierc^il hand may give to thee, The crown which angels wept to .see. Thou wilt not weep To wear that heavenly crown. Elizabeth B. Bkow ing %'' Y your pres- you cannot n the weak- THOVGflT AND SENTIMEXT. 423 DUST FROM THE ROAD OF LIFE. SOME of the dust frum the rud of life Has fallen upon iny hair. And silver tliieads from my raven locks Are gleaming out here and there ; And, oh, these meshes of silver gray Tell of the moments flown — For threatening clouds o'erspread the sky, And the night seems very near. By faith I tmii — in tiie rosy East A beautiful -itar I see Stand o'er the manger in Bethlehem, And it seems to shine for me ; And from the city of golden spires, Whose gates just now arc ajar, I catch a radiant beam of light From the bright and morning star. And when upon Jordan's restless wave I shall launch my way-worn bark. The "dust from the road of life" shall fall From my tresses long and dark ; And the lines of care upon my brow. And the pain within m>- breast. Shall pass away as my bark draws near This beautiful land of '/*'. ^^^Br Mrs. Louis Bedford. M^ Of the day that's draw- ing to a close. And the night that's cominLi on. But the coming night seems cold and dark And my licart is filled with fears, fis thought flies backward on weary wings, O'er the waste of vanished years; And in the castle of memory Few jewels are treasured there ; But dross and rubbish that tell of earth Are visible everywhere. Even on the faithful register. That hangs in memo. y's h-^U, I find only worthless deeds are traced — They are dark and blotted all ; Hence, as apjiroaches the eve of life, My spirit shrinks back with fear, THE CROWN OF LIFE. FOR every leaf the loveliest flower Which beauty sighs for from her bower, For every star a drop of dew, For every sun a sky of blue, I'"or every heart a heart as true I Fcr every tear by pity shed. Upon a fellow-sufferer's head, Oh ! be a cro\'-n of glory given ; — Such crowns as saints to gain have striven, Surh crowns as seraphs wear in heaven. THOUGHT AND SENTIMENT. For all who toil at honest fame, A proud, a pure, a deathless nn.ine — For all who love, who loviiD^ bless, Be life one long, kind, clost raress, Be life all love, all happiness ! J. P. Baih^v. THE CHAPERON. TAKE my ciiaperon to ihc i)lay — She tliinks slie's taking me — And the gilded youth wlio owns the box, A proud \oung man is lie. But how would his young heart be hurt If he could only know That not for his sweet sake I go, Nor yet to see the trifling show; "ut to see my chaperon flirt. Her eyes lienealii her snowy hair They sparkle \oung as mine ; Tiiere's scarce a wrinkle in her hand So delicate and line. And when my chajieron is seen, Tlie\- come from ever\ wliere — The dear eld hoys with silvery hair, Witii old-time grace and old-time air. To greet their old-time queen. They how as my young Midas here Will never learn to bow, (The dancing masters do not teach Tliat gracious reverence now) ; With \ oices quavering just a l)it. They play their old parts through, They talk of folks who used to woo, Of hearts that broke in 'fifty-two — Now none the worse for it. And as those aged crickets chirp I watch my chaperon's face. And see the dear old features take A new and tender gra( e — And in her liajijiy eyes 1 see Her youth awakening bright. With all its hope, desire, delight — Ah, me ! I wish that I were quite As young — as young as she ! TRUE NOBILITY. IT does not con;^'-.; in a pompous disjilay of wealth, a hig'i o. aiding name, a long line of ancestry whom X\:t \\ o:' \ oelighted to honor ; nor, yet, in jeweled cr r- ns, ste-.!- .mblazoned armor, or costly apparel oi purple and fine linen. Indeed, these adi; nets r.-> jVivjiienlly indicate the absence of a truly noi'.'e he-^rt an; \ 'nd is other- wise. It too often h .;ii ,> thif the fon:^ instead of the substance of ii'.'r.gs ;<; tbe oWject desired and as so m.nny are i^^.iabi'* of distinguis'--ng between appearancf ana t .^li.A. t i a very easy matter to dazzle their eyes with a false displiy of greatness, and goodness. Since the wond sets so much value on a lofty title, it is too frequently the case that its jios-sessor makes little effort to meri'. the name he bears That man is not to be relied upon who makes his name and inheritance the stepping-stone to iiis entrance into good societv. It is not an evidence of nobility to do a praisc- wortiiy act at tiie risk of ])ersonal safety wiien )oii have hopes of a liberal reward. There are many who will expose their lives to save that of anotlieV when they have reason to believe that the risk in- volved wdl i)e amply remunerated whowoukl reluse to do so wlien they have no such exjiectations. We pay homage to men who have slain thousands on the bloody field of war and won many battles for the sake of victory. We call them great ; yet a rougii sailor who jilunges into tiie sea to save a drowning ciiild for iiumanitj's sakj alone, lias a far nobler heart beating within his sunburnt bosom than the victor of a thousand battles. Were I calleu upon to name four words as synonymous with the word nobility, I would say truth, honesty, bravery, charity. B' BIRDS OF PASSAGE. ,AC"K shadows fall From the lindens tall, That lift aloft their massive wall Against the southern sky; And from the realms Of the shadowy elms A tide-bkc u 'rkness overwhelms '1 he fields th;" i ■ nd us lie. 15 :' -he nig' i. '■? fair. And everywii.'re A warm, soft vapor fills th • air, Antl distant sounds seem .:.'ar ; And above, in the light Of the star-lit night. Swift birds of jiassage wing their flight Tlirough the dewy atmosphere, I hear tlie beat (Jf their pinions fleet. As from the land of snow and sleet They seek a southern lea. I hear tlie cry ( )f their voices high Falling dreamily through the sky. But their forms 1 cannot see. O, say not so ! Those sounds that flow In murmurs of delight and woe Come not from wings of birds. 1 rilOUGHT AND SENTlMENr. 425 displiy of lid selb so [^ueritly the )rt to iiieri'. ;o be relied ritance the d society, do a i>raisc- y wlieii you e are niany i of another the risk in- woulii refuse tations. We housands on \ battles for jrcat ; yet a ea to save a alone, has a burnt bosom es. Were I synonymous uth, honesty, ive wall kyj flight ,leet see. )irds. They are the throngs Of the p""t's songs, Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs, The sound of winged words. This is the cry Of souls, that high On toiling, beating pinions fly, Seeking a wanner clime. From their distant flight Through realms of light It falls into our world of night, With the murmuring sound of rhyme. If. W. Longfellow. "D DIMES AND DOLLARS. IMl'^S and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! " Thus the old miser rang the chimes. As he sat by the side of an open box. With ironed angles and massive locks ; And he hea[)ed the glittering coin on high, And cried in delirious ecstasy — " Dimes and dollars I dollars antl dimes ! Ye are the ladders by which man climbs Over his fellows. Alusical chimes ! Dimes and dollars ! dollars and dimes ! " A sound on the gong and the miser rose, And his laden coffer did quickly close, And loi ketl secure. " These are the times For a man to look after his dollars and dimes. A letter ! Ha I from my prodigal son. The old tale — poverty — pshaw, begone! Why did he marry when I forbade ? Let him rest as he can on the bed he has made. As he has sown, so he nuist reap ; But I my dollars secure will keep. A sickly wife and starving times! He should have wed with dollars and dimes." Thickly the hour of midnight fell; Doors and windows were bolted well. '' Ha ! " cried the miser, " not so bad ; — A thousand guineas to-day I've made. Money makes money ; these are the times Tc double and treble the dollars and dimes. Now to sleep, and to-morrow to j)lan — Rest is sweet to a wearied man." And he foil to sleep with the midnight chimes, Dreaming of glittering dollars and dimes. The sun rose high and its beaming ray Into the miser's room found way. It moved from the foot till it lit the head Of the miser's low, uncurtained bed ; And it seemed to say to him, " Sluggard, awake; Thou hast a thousand dollars to make. Up, man, tip ! " How still was the place. As the bright ray fell on the miser's face ! Ha ! the old miser at last is dead ; Dreaming of gold his spirit fled, And left behind but an earthly clod, .\kin to the dro.ss that he made his god. What now avails the chinking chimes Of dimes and dollars! dollars and dimes? Men of the tinn", ! men of the times I Content may nut rest with dcjllars and dimes. Use them well, and their use sublimes The mineral dross of the dollars and dimes. Use them ill, and a thousand crimes Spring from a coffer of dollars and dimes. Men of the times ! men of the times ! Let charity dwell with your dollars and dimes. Hknrv Mills. T THE TOWN PUMP. I lie pump, straight as a soklier stands: (lood fri^Mul of mine, I clasp his hanii with my two hands, .•\ihI shake it hard and heartilv. Although 'tis not iris turn to trej , He stands out in the open street. And pours his wine With wasteful hospitality. With gratetul heart I drink my fdl. From his full cup ; And others come, and drink, and still The crystal ( iirrent freely flows For all the thirsty nuillitude; The beverage jnire that nature brewed To clieer us up. Here's to the drink the pump bestows I Nor rich nor ;ioor the pump wil' slight. Gentile and Jew, Christian, Moslem and Muscovite, Thy bounteous gift alike may share; Thine is a noble, generous deed. That washes out the li' of creed, And, like ' ;ew. Falls pure and stai -s in the air. A benefactor ])ure thou art. To thirst\ 'uls. I feel a qui( ker jml of heart, When my hand '. riches thine, old friend. Thy shadow mar e narrow way. Which, followed i 1 not lead astray Where tempting bowls May bring life to a bitter end. There, like fair Racliel at the well, A maiden stands. Will Jacob come and break the spell Of her mysterious re very ? Oh, dear old pump, the people's friend, May benedictions w iout end Fill the cleai. hands That clasp thy hand outreached and free George W. BuNijAir. r A LILTS. MANli.is;! ,ar,:;c - nierald, hut it is " fea- tlitrid," ,.iul lie ixiious ail expert would say, "VVliat a pity tliat it lias sik h a ' it will iioL briiij; a (|iiartc'r as iiuicli as it otherwise would ; ami lie cannot take any sat- isfaction in it. A man has a diamond ; hut there is a llaw in it, and it is not the diamond that he uants. A man has an opal, hut it is impertect. and lie is (ii''it lo, as I nearcd the belfry, \o soriid of ni;!sic was there, 0\\\\ a bra/en clangor I )istnrbed the quiet air ! The ringer stood at a keyboard, l''ar down beneath the chiuies, And patiently struck the noisy keys. As he had uncounted tiuies. He had never heard the nuisii , Though every ilay it swept Out over the sea and the city, .\nd in lingering eciioes crept. He knew not how many sorrows Were cheered by the evening strain, And how men pausetl to listen As they heard the sweet refrain. He only knew his duty, And he did it with ]Kitienl care; lint he could not hear the music That tlooded the (|uiet air; Oidy the jar and the clamor Fell harshly on his ear, And he missed the yellow chiming That every one else could hear. So we from piir (jtiiet watch lowers Mav be sending a sweet refrain. And pladdeninp the lives of the lowly Though we hear not a single strain. Our work may seem but a discord, Though we do the best we can; But otiiers will hear the nuisic. If we carry out God's plan. Far above a world of sorrow, And o'er the eternal sea, It will blend with angelic anthems In sweetest harmoin ; It will ring in lingering echoes Through the corridors of the sky. And the strains of earth's minor music Will swell the strains on high. Minn IK K. Kenney. s ONLY FRinNDS. UMMKR'S freshness fell around us, Nature dreamed its sweetest dream, I'^very balmy evening found us V>Y the meadow or the stream, \Viili our hearts as free fnjin sadness As the sunshine heaven sends; \()Mth's bright garden bloometl in gladness, Where \\e wandered — oidy Iriends. Not a word of love was sp(jken, No hot blushes Hushed in red ; Lcjve's hrst slee]) was left unbioken, Bitter tears were never shed. We were young and merry-hearted, I)re.uning not of luture ends. And without a sigh we partetl ; h'ale had made us — only friends. lint a little germ of sorrow \Vakened in my heart's recess, ^Vhen I wandered on the morrow 1!)- our haunts cf happiness. And this germ fuiiud deeper rooting As the weary thiys wore on, Till I felt a blossom shooting In love's garden all alone. \o kind fate threw ns together, We had missed the lucky tide; ( ;olden-gilded summer weather Not lorever doth abide, But for me, though vainly sighing For a love time never sends, .Still is left this thought undying, We, alas ! were — only Iricntls. IHE HELPING HAND. 1 11'- timid hand stretchcil forth to aid .\ brother in his need. The kindlv word in grief's ilark hour That proves the friend indeed. The plea for mercv softly breathed When justice threatens nigh. The sorrows of a ("ontrite heart — These things shall never die. T V 1 1 Ml i ■^i rmi: H 1 I 'l i > I p I If :'tS (,. '> I 1 r .H H «i i 42H ■move, I IT AM) s/ixr/MZ-XT. LirE'S WINTER. V I "" IS cioiie ! (ircui wiiitir spreads his latist I ^looni-, •* And reiL:n^ liciiu'iulons o'er tlie coiKiuered year. How dead tlio vc'!,'t'tal>lr kingdom lies! How diiiiit) tin- tiiii'lul ! lorror wide fxteiuls His desolate domain ! Be- Ijj^,^^^ ^ ,, hold, fond man ! 'i%3 'v[ S'^^ '^'^'''^ thy jiictured life: \m pass some few years, Thy flowering spring, thy summer's iifdent strength. Thy sober autumn fadint; into age, And pale concluding winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. James Thomson. M THE OLD REAPER. II > the brown-haired and the black-haired men, With ruddy <;ices aglow. The old man siood in the harvest field. With a head as white as srow. " Let me cut a sheaf, m> Wys," he said " Before it is time to go." They put the sickle within his hand: He bowed to the windy wheat; i'lea.santly fell the golden ears, With the cirn flowers at his feet. lie lifted a iiandful, thoughtfully; It was rijie and Jull and sweet. " Many and many a sheaf,' he said, " 1 have cut in the years gone past ; And many and many a sheaf these arms On the liarvest wains have cast. But, ciiildren dear, I am weary now, .Vnd I think this is — the last. "Let me rest awhile beneath the tree ; I'or I like to watch you go, W'ithsi( kles lui-ht, through the ripe, full wheat. And to leel the fresh wind blow." And they spread their working coats for him 'Mong the grasses sweet and low. Wiieu the Sim grew high tliey came again. For a drink and their bread and meat ; And in the shadow he sleejiing lay, With sunshine on !iis feet. Like a child at night, outsjjent with i)lav, He lay in slumber sweet. TIME'S FLIGHT. 5]'",R the level plains, where mountains greet me as I go. O'er the desert waste, where fountains at my bidding flow. On the boundless beam by day, on tiie cloud by night, I am riding hence away: who will ( hain my flight? War his weary watch was keeping — I have crushed his spear ; C-rief within her bower was weeping — 1 ha\edrie(i hv.r tear ; Pleasure caught a minute's hold — then 1 hurfied by, 1 faving all her baiujiiet cold and her goblet ('ry. Power had won a throne of glory : where is now his fame - Genius said : • 1 live in stt>ry," who hath iieard liis narnc ? Love benea*,'' .i mvnic bough whisjxc«e the wilel picture there In the mind's I'hamher, And, through each coming day Ilim, who, asstalTand st:i\', Watchetl o'er thy wanderiii;; way. Freshly remember. So, when the call shall be Soon or late unto thee, ,\s to all given. Still may that picture li\e, All its lair forms survive. And to thy spirit give ( Madness in heaven ! J. ( ;. WltlTTIKR. TEN YEARS AGO. TOO am changetl — I si arce know why — Can feel each flagging pulse decay ; ■\nd youth antl health, and visions high, Melt like a wreath of snow awav ; Time cannot sure have wrought thee ill; Though worn in tiiis world's sickening strife, In soul and Ibrm, 1 lingiT still In the first summer month of life; Yet journey on my path below. Oh! how unlike— ten \ears ago! But look not thus: I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou must share, ' ' I' f 1 I t>l \ 430 THOUGHT Ayj) ShNT/.\//LVT. I I i To bid those joyous hours ri'vivi-, Wht'ii all aroiiiul me seemt'cl so fair. We've waiuiircd on in sunny weather, When winds wore low. nnd flowers in blnoiii, To^jcilicr < it'Mvc liu-'s litt'ul tide; Nor mourn, wluitevt-r winds ma) blow, Youth's first wild dreams — ten years aj^o ' \i \i;i'' \. Waits, IN 1111:: ART (lALI.HKV. And iiand in liand have kept toj^cther, | And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom ; Endeared by lies we could not know When life was young— ten years a-o ! i Has fortune frowned ? Ikr frowns were vain, | For hearts like ours she could not (hill ; Have r-iends i)roved false? Their love might i wane. ]3ut ours grew fonder, firmer still. Twin barks'on this world's changing wave. Steadfast in cahns. in tempests tried ; In concert still our fate we'll brave. THE ANGBL OF PATIHNCB. IRdM THE rows witli c:oolinf{ palm ; To lay tin- storms ol liope and Icar, And recoiicik; life's smile and tear ; 'I'lic throbs of woinuled |iride to still And make our own otir I'ather's will ! Oil I thou who moiiriiest on thy way. With lon^iings tor the close of day ; 11 walks uiih thee, that angel kind, And gently whispers '• lie resigned ; Jiear up, hear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well '." j. (i. U'lllTTlKK. TWO ORAVKS. A RICH man died. Thev laid him down to rest I poll a lair slope, slanting toward the west. And ca>t ahout the silence ot his tomb A marble mausoleum's sacred gloom. They hung within its tower, tall and white, ■V chime of sweet-voiced bells; and every night, Just as the red sun sank below the swell ( )f that green hill they tolletl his solemn knell. Another died. They buried him in haste Within a barren field, a weedy waste. Rank nettles locked their arms, and thorns were sown Above his b;'d, mimarked liy cross or stone. One lived on many t(jngues ; tlie other fell From human memory ; and both slept well ! A THE BUILDERS. LL are an hitects of late, Work inn in these walls of lime : Some with massive deeds and great, Some with ornaments of rhyme. Nothing useless is, or low; ICach thing in its place is best ; And what seems but idle show Strengthens and supports the rest. For the structure that we raise, Time is with materials Idled ; Our to-days and yesterdays Are the blocks wi'li whi( li we build. Truly sliape and fashion these ; Leave no yawning ga|is between j Think not, because no man sees, Such things will remain I'.nseen. In the elder da\s of art, lliiildera wrought with greatest cajc I'iacU minute and unseen part ; I'or the gods .see everywhere. Let us do our work as well, lloth the uiiNcen and the seen ; Make the house, where gods may dwell, Heaiitiful, entire, and clean. Llse oiir livr>, are incomplete. Standing in these w.dls of time, Hrokeii stairways, where the feet Sliimlile as they seek to < limb. Build to-day, then, strong and sure, With a firm and ample base ;' And ascending and secure Shall to-morrow find its [)lace. Thus .done < .in we att.iiu I'o those turrets, where the eye Sees the world as one va>t plain. And one boundless reach of sky. I I. W. LoNCiFKI.LOW. A A GOOD NEW YEAR. "Oood New Year," so let it be, Hut, brother, as I take it, And so 1 tr.ink you will agree, ' I'will be just as you make it. A "good new year," the wish is good. None will presume to doubt it; Still, wishes are but flimsy t'ood, What will \ ou ./iJ about it? ]i you have voweil to snaji and bite .\t all men as you meet them. The year will hardly come out right- Men ilon't want churls to greet them. If you're resolved to curse your stars, .At e\er\ little trouble. And let \our spite breed niiniic wars. You'll find yimr s:)rrows double. but should you liiink that lil'e is short And strive to make it sunnv, My head for yours, you'll find the sport better than .ill your money. The years don't grow upon the trees. To ])iill as \ on may choose them ; They come and go just as the\' jilease, 'Tis yours to mar or use them. ' Tis well to wish a good new year, If wishing so would do it ; Kind worfls, kind deeds, and smiles of cheer. Will better help you through it. William Lvle. \ I W I ■(:■»!' «>. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 1.25 1^ Hi 1^ 1^ 1111= 14 IIIIII.6 s^. ^ y: i9 /2 / ?> >>* # '•^ '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. 14S80 (716) 872-4S03 ,\ ,v ^9) fN^ 4is \ S \ <«*>. '<<^ «V' o^ ? v^^.V'^. .^ ^' #/% 4y'2 r J /OUGHT AND ShNTIMENT. WE'LL GO TO SEA NO MORE. Olil.rrHKI.Y shines tlie bonny sun rpon tlif Isle of May. Ami 1 litlit ly comes tliu morning tide Into St. .Andrew's Hay. Then up. (,'n(li-man. tlie lirce/e is fair, Ai-.d lip, my hraw hairns, tiiree ; When >(|iiail.-. capsize our wooden wails, ^^'hen tb.e Frem h ride .it the Norc, Wlici) I.eitli meets AlieMicm ha! «av, We'll uo li) sea no n;(i:c - No more, We'll go to s;a no more. There's goncl in yoiidi r iionny lioat That sails sae weel the sea ! When haddoi ks have the i'irth o' Forth, Ami mussels leave the shore, When oysters clinih uj) Berwick Law, We'll uo to sea no more — \() more, We'll go to sea no more. I've seen tlie waves as blue as air, I've seen them green as grass; ]'iut I never feared their heaving \et, I'Vom ( Irangeniouth to the Hass. Fve seen the sea as bl.ick as piti h, I've seen it white as snow ; But I never feared its foaming yet, T'^ough tlie winds blew high or low. I never likrd the landsm.'in's liie, The earth is a\e tin ^ame : (iie \\v\ the (j(i,an lor my dower. My vessel tor my haine. Gie me the fiekls that no man plows. The farin that ]ia\s no lee; Gie me the bonny fish that gl.mce So gladly through the sea When sails hang Happing on the masts While throngli the waves we snon . When in a calm we're tempest-tossed, We'll go to sea no more — No ir.ore, We'll go to .sea no more. The sun is up. and round hu hkeith The breezes soltlv blaw ; THOUGHT AM) SIL\TIMENT 433 The ^lul'inan lias tlu- lines on hoard — Aw.i, my l).urns, awa ! An' ye he hack hy j;luaniin' ^ray, An' bright the fire will j^low, An' in your tales ami sangs we'll tell Hi)iv weel tiie hoat ye row. When life's last sun i;aes feehly down Ami death < onies to our door, Wiien a' tin world's a dream to us, We'll ^'o to sea no more — No more, We'll go to sea no more. AdK.I.AIDK ("oKIiETl. A HANI) PRHSSLIRR. 0\! A'a |ii'--meiit tlie hand. Nothing more, I'or on the valiry side we stanii I The avalaiK he holds li:s mighty weigiil, I'oiseil for a breath to overthrow. Siuak not a word. 'Tis the hush of fate. Wiiat if tlie load be tears or snow, If a life is o'er ! Uj) on the high, clear mountain peak .Near the stm, 'i'hcit \\ a\\ a calm heart one may speak. Tiiere where t!ie hawk goes ( ircling round. Seeking the cleft she huilded in. Far above drifts and ice-rent ground, .■\t the last height, where the skies begin Is die burden ilone. Curtis May. LUCK AND LABOR. 1r has been denii'd tli.it .my other credit than that of good hick is due to Million for his invention, llentlemen would have us suppose that good luck is the parent of all that we admire in s( ience or in arms. If this be so, wliv, then, indeed, what a bubble is reputation ! How vain and how idle are the anxious ila\s and sleepless nii^lus devoted to the service of one's country! Admit this argument and you strip from the brow 0!' the s( holar Ids bay, and tVom those of the states- man and soldier their laurel. Why do vou deck with chaplft^ the statue of the Fuller of his ("ouiitr\. if good lii(k,and good lui k alone, be all that commends him tn our gratitude and love? .\ member of this House retorts. '• Had liii k would have made Washington a traitor." \\, hut in whose estimation? Did the gre.it and holy principles which prod'iced and governed our Kevo- iMtioii depend, tor their righteousness and truth, upon suci ess or def-at ? Would Washington, had lie s'lffiTed as a rebel on the scaffoioes the gentleman emulate tlu- ghjry of the third king of Rome, Tnllus Hostillus — and would he erect in our own l.iiui a lfm|le to for- tune ? It ciiinot be that he would seriously pro- mulgate such views; — that he would lake from hum. Ill renown .ill that gives it diunitN' and worth, by making it depend less on the virtue of the in- dividual than on his hick I ()i;|iKN lb)IIM,\N. ROCK ME TO SLEKP B,\('1n.W.\R1), turn backward. O time, in vonr night. Make me a child again j;ist for to-night ! Mother, come back from the e< holess shore, Take me .again to \onr heart as of )ore ; Kiss from my fori head the I'urrows of (are, Smooth the lew silver thre.ids out of my hair ; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; — Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep ! I5ackward, tlow backwa.d, oh. 'ide of the yc.irs 1 I am so wearv of toil and of tears — Toil without recomjiense. tears all in vain — Take them, and give me m\ childhood again ! I have grown weary of dust and decay — Weary of tlinging my so'd-wealth away ; \Veary of sowing lor others to reap ; — Rock me to sleep, mother — rork nie to sleep ! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Motlier. <) mother, niv he.irt (alls lor you! Manv a summer the gr.iss has growi green, lilossomed and faded, our faces between : \'ct, with strong yearning and jiassion ite jiain, Long I to-night for your i)resence again. (>ome from the silence so long and so deeji ; — - Rock me to shep, mother — nx k me to sleep ! Over my heart, in the d.iys that are flown. No love like moliier love ever has shone ; No other worship aiiides and endures — haithfiil. nusell'ish. and jiatient like yours: None like a mother tan charm away pain From the sick soul and (he world-wearv br;:in. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lips ( reep ; — Rock me to slee|). mother — rock me to sleep ! ("onie, let votir brown hair, just lighted with gol i, P'all on your shoulders au'ain as of old ; Let it drop over my toreheaii to-night. Shading my fiint eyes awa\ from the light ; l-'or with its sunnv-edged shadows oiue more Haplv will throng the sweet visions of yore ; Lovinglv, softly, its bright billows sweep : — Rock me to sleep, mother — rock me to sleep! H . : f i W l|! i lit //AV ',/// AXD .S/.\//.l//:.\7: Mother, dear inotluT, llif yt.Mr> liaM' liccii loiij" Since 1 last li-^tfiifd your liill.iliy suii^; : Sing, then, anil unto my soul it snail s(;em W omanhood'^ \(ar> have lieeii (;nly a dre.nn. ('I,i>|)e(l to \our he irt ill a ioviiiii embrace, \\'itii \()iir li^ht L.^hes just .sweci)inj^ my tari'. Never lureailer to wake or to \vee|) ; — R '( k me to sleep, mother — roi k iiii' tu sleep! Ij.l/AIUIH A. .Al I.F.N. Ho.\ happy lie, I he .saint to be Of the trills and all the boys I i le hears iiis ])raisc riiroii.uli tlie holidays. As they eat their sweets, and break their toys. So still he smiles, And the time beguiles T CHRISTMAS EVE 1 11, snow is u hile ( )n the roofs to-night ; The moon looks tlo'.vn with her siK (*r\' smile ; .And the wind l)lo\\^ lue Through bush aiul tree. And ubieties .iloiig lor mile on mile. .\nd all I hark there ! ( )n the midnight air. Comes the I'.iintest tinkle of lairy bells. 'I'hey are coming near. They are < oming here. Ami their sweet sound swelling of joy foretelLs. It is Santa ( laiis, .And he i aniiot pause ; Hut down the chimney he i|ni('kly glides; l'",Mch sto< king fills. '['ill it almost s])iHs. Then ga\Iv chuckles, and off he glides. Concocting schemes our hearts to cheer; I le loves us all, .\ih1 great and small Regret that lie comes but once a year. WlLI.lAM H. 1)1 NHAH. w F()R(ilVE AlE NOW. .M r not the morrow, but forgive me imw ; Who knows wh.it late to-morrow's dawn m.iy bring ? Let us not jiart with shallow on thy brow, With my heart hungering. Wait not the morrow, bin entwine thy hand In mine, with sweet forgiveness full and trei Of all life's jo\s 1 only understand This joy of loving thee. i'eihaps some day I may redeem the wrong. Repair the fault — 1 know not when or lui'v Oil, dearest, do not wait — it may be long- Only ibrgive me now, ; tlieir toys. TUOCC.Iir AM) SE.M IMhXT. 435 in a IN THE CAGE. DOS I' tlioii u.>c mc as tonti < hildrcn do Their birds, sliow iik- niv frctddin string. And, when thou'st played with me a wliile, then Me back again, to languish in my < a^e ? Sir W. Davenant. NATIONAL HATRED. NO, Sir! no. Sir! We ire above all this. Let liic Hi.:;hiaiid < l.ms- man, hall naked, h.df rivil izid, half blinded by thepeat- stnoke of iiis < avern. iiave his hereditary enemy and his hereditary enmity, ami kceii the keen, dtej) and precious hatreil. set on t'ire of iiell. alive, if he < an ; let the North .American Imli.in have his. and liand it down from father to son, by Heaven knows what svrnbols of alligators, and rattlesnakes, and war- clubs smcareil with \erinilion and entwined with scarlet ; let SM( h a country as Poland — 1 loven to the earth, the armed heel on tiie radiant fureheail. her body dead, her soul incapaMe to die — let her remember the '• wrongs of days long past ; " let the lost and wandering tribes of Israrl remember theirs — the niaidi- ness and the sympathy of the World may allow or pardon this to them ; but shall .Amer- ica, young, tree, prosperous, just setting out on the high- way of Hea\ en, " de( orating and cheering the deviled sphere she just begins to move ill, glittering like the morning star, full of life and joy," shall she be sup!)Osed to be polluting and corroding her noble and happ\- heart, by moi)iiig over old stories of stamp ac t, and tea tax, and the firing of the '• Leopard " upon the " Chesajx;ake " in a time of pra( e ? No, Sir ! no, Sir! a thousand times no I Why, I protest I thought all that had been set- tled. I thou-ht two wars luad settled it all. What else w.is so much good blood shed f>r, on so inanv more than classical fields of Revohitionaiv glorv ? p'or what was so much good blood iimre latfly shed at Lundy's I.ane, at Fort Krie, before and behind tlie lines at New Orleans, on the deck of the " ( onstitution," on the dei k of the •• Java." on the lakes, on tiie sea, but to settle exa( tlv these "wrongs of past days?" And have we come back sulkv and sullen from the virv field of honor? For my country I denv it. Mr. I'resiflcnt. let me say that, in m\ ju(L'incnt. this notion of a national cnmi'v of tecliiiL' towards Cireat Britain belongs to a past age ol Our history. My younger countrymen are Ui.coiisi unis ol ii. The)- disavow it. I'iiat generation in whose opin- ions and feelings the actions and the destiny of the next are iinfoldeil. as the tree in the germ, do not at all comiirehen 1 your meaninL', nor your fears, nor \dur regrets. We .ire born to happier leelings. We hjnk to Lnglind as we look to I'ranee. We look to them, from our new world — not iinrenowned, vet a new world still — and the blood mounts t(> our cheeks ; our eyes swim; our I i 1: ii I' li! 1 : L 1 HOUGH r ash si..\ iimi-xt. V'licc^ arc stilld ui'.li ^■llllllull^nL■^1 of so inui li ;;lory ; their Uupliu^ will iiDt let u> ^ltf|i: Imi iheie is IK) liaiud at all ; no liairvd, — iiu barli.iriaii iiirinorv of wroii^^, for wliicli liravc lurii have made ilic last cxiii.iMoii to tlif liravc. Rrir>> Choaik. ki.ecjy writtkn in a country churchyard. rill', (iirl'c.v lolls tl'.e kiicU of partiiiu ila\, I'hc lowing herd winds slowl\ o'er the lea ; llie iiloiiL;lunan homeward plods his weary way, Ami leaves the world to darkness ami to me. Now fades ilie j^liiumenng iamis(M|ie on the siulu. AiRl all the air a solemn stillness holds. Save where the beetle wheels his droning (light, And drowsy tiiiklings hill the distant folds; Save that from \onder ivy-mantled tower 'i'hc nio|iinL; owl dolh to the moon comiilain Of siK h as, wandering near her '^cret bower. Mol lit her ancient solitary reign. Iciieatli those riig.L:eil elms, that yew-trade's sh.ide. When* heaves the turf in iiian\- a mouldering heap. • a( h ill his n.irrow cell fore\er l.iid. I he rude forefalhers of the hamlet slee]). ihc breczv call of incense-lirealhiiig iiinrii, The swallow twittering from the straw-biiili shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn No more shall rouse them from their l()wl\ bed. For tliein no more the bla/ing hearth shall burn. Or biisv housewife ply her evening < are ; Nochil'lren run lo lis]) tiieir sire's return. Or (limb his knees the envied kiss to sh.ire. ( )l'l did the hai\est t(j their si( kle yielil. 'I'heir hirrow oft the stubborn glebe h.is broke, How jocund did they drive their team afieh' I How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy ■stroke ! I,et not ambition mock their iiseftit toil. Till ir homeh' joys and destiny 'bs(iire; Nor graiule;ir hear with a t, C »r tlaltery soothe the dull, cold ear ol death? rerlia|is in this neglected spot is laid .■^ome lie.iri once |Hegnant with < elestial fiie; Hands that the rod of empire might haveswa\e(l, < »r waked to eistas) the living lyre; I'.ut knowledge to their eyes her ample pag>', Rich with the spoils of tinif did ne'er unnill ; Chill penury rei)ressed their noble rage, .\ud froze the genial ciirreiu ol the soul. Full many a gem of purest r.iy serene The d.irk, unlathomed c.ives of ocean bear ; Full many a flower is l)(jrn to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the tlesert air. ' Some village Hampden, that with daimtless breast ; The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; Some (.'romwell, guiltless of his country's blood. The a|Jiilause of listening senates to command, ''.'he threats of pain and ruin to des])ise. To s< atter plenty o'er a smiling land, j And read their history in a nation's eyes, • Their lot firbade; nor circumscribed alone 'i'luir growing virtues, liiit their crimes ( im- fiiicd ; l''orb.ide to wade through slaughter to a throne. And shut the gates of mercy on mankind ; The struggling pangs of consi ions trtiih to hide, To i|uench the blushes if ingenuous shame. Or lieap tlie shrine of lu\ur\' and pride With incense kimlled at the muse's flame. Far tVom the madiling crowd's ignoble strife Their sober wishes never learneil to stray ; .\long the cool, seipiestcred vale of lite They kejit the noiseless tenor of their way. I Vet e'en these bones from insuii to ])rote( t. Some frail memori.il still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, I Implores the ])assing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered I niuse, ' The place of fame and elegy supply ; \\m\ many a liolv text around she strews, ' That teach the rustic moralist to die. l''()r wlio, to duiub forget fulness a prey, This pleasing. ,inxi the closing eye re(|nires; K'en Irom the tomb the voice of nature enes, IC'en in our u^iiies live llieir wonted I'lres. For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, Uost in these lines their artless tale re'ate ; If 'chanee, l)y lonely contemplation led. Some kindred s|)irit shall inquire ih\ fate, Hu|)ly some hoary-headed suain may say ; "Oft hive we seen him at the peep of ilawn, BrusluiiL,' uilh iiasty stejis the deus aw.iv, To meet the sun U])on the uplaiul lawn. •'Thereat the loot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old, fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide w(juld he stretch, ,\ik1 pore upon the brook that babbles by. " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in si orn. Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now droo])ing, wt)etul, wan, like one forlorn. Or cra/ed with c, ire, or i rossed in lio]ieless love. "One morn 1 missed him on the 'i uslomed liili, .Vlong the licith, and near his lavoiite tree; Another came — nor yet beside the rill. Nor U[) the lawn, nor at the wood was he; "The ne.\t, with dirges due, iii sad array. Slow through the church-way ),ath we saw him borne ; Approach and read (for thou i:aiist reail) the lay (jraved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE Kl'lIAril. Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, .\ youth to fortune and to fame unknown ; Fair science frouned not on his humble birth. And melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sin>:ere ; Ue.iven did a recoin]iense as largelv send : He uave to misery all he had — a tear ; He gained from heaven ('twas all he wished) a friend. No further seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode : (There they alike in trembling hojie repose,) The bosom of his Father and his Ood Thomas Gray. "I THE FOOLISH VIOLET. WAS so lonely," a violet said. As she nestled close to an cagle'n breast, "So tired, too, of the dusk and the dew, Ood sent you, 1 think, to give me rest. I'ear me aua\' to the gates of day. To heights that forever are glad and green, .\nd sol't on your iire.ist as a bird in its nesl. Let me Karii wluil living and loving mean." The wind ( rept cold by ilie cyneN edge I'll. It night, III his laverii be^ule the >e,i, The bird slept well, but the pride of the dell, I''orgotten and failed, cried, " Ah I me I I'or the sweet, sweft dream by the sli.ulowiiig stream. For the lonely life that I used lo hate I'or tiic du-k and the dew so teiiiUr ami true I " lint the wiiiil made answer. • loo l.iie ' loo late ! '• 'l'o-da\ ill the i ,dui ol his < oiil content. High oil the cliii's the bold bird sits, .\ih1 never a thought of the harm he wrought 'riiroui;h tiie sunny space ol his memory ll.ts; iiiit the wind in glee ( reijis up from the se.i. And, rinding the violet doome.l and cl ad, Walts it away from the gates of day, And buries it down where thedusks are shed. E NEW EVERY MORNINO. \'LR\' i;k,. 1 1 I I , I s I ii 438 TIIOUGUr AM) SEMIMHST. S THE MIIN Ol OLD. IK.NnW hut m.ii llic men nl did NVcrf lii-iui ill. Ill men now, Of heart nioie kind, of liand iikkc I>u1(1, (>i mure inj;fiii()ns brow: I hfcd nut tllu^c wliu |iinf inr I'urcp A j;liiisi i)f time to rai^e. As it tiny thus (uiilil cluik the cuurMt' ( )f till he ap|iuinted days. .Still i^ it tiiie. and o\er-triie, Tliat I ileli^hl lu tluM- This Imuk «)f hie seit-w i.-*: and new. And let my ihonghis rcpone On .ill th.it h'linlile lKi|i|iiiiess 'i'he wuild ha-, .simc lure^une — The da) liL;lit nf conic ntedness That on those ra< es siioiie ! With rights, thi)ii_L;ii not loo tlnsely scanned, i-iijuyed, as l.ir as kiiuvMi — ^^ itli will, liy no reverse iiiim.iiined — With jiiilse of even tune — TnCy friiiii to (lav and Ironi to-night lApccted iiotliiiiL; more, ". i-.in ye.-.ierday and yesternii^ht Had proliVred tlieiii before. .\ iiMii's best things are nearest liini, l.ie close abuiit ius feet, It is tlie disiant and the dim rii.it we are sick to },'reet ; lor (lowers that grow oiir hanf t.ishion, and those in its thr.ill, And laugh in one's sleeve at the medley. Hut keep a straight face over all. ' ri> best not to rail at distortions, Or wasie one's wise logic on fools; And useless to grow misanthropic ; Or think to guide others by rules. As long as the eartli keeps its orbit Sweet sunshine will gladden the sight; So why, like a mole in the darkness. Should one burrow away from the light? Prepare to have mixed with your potion '1 he bitter as well as the sweet ; Hut "wear nut your heart on \ our sleeve," friend. Let )our lace tell no tales on the street. .Anna V. .Siakiuxk, SONG OF THE MYSTIC, IW'.ALR down the valley oi silence, l)own the dim, voiceless v.dley alone .\iid 1 hear not the fall of a footsteii Around me save (iod's and my own. And the hush ol my heart is as holy .\s hovers where angels li.ue flown ! Long ago «as I weary of voices. Whose music my heart ( oiild not win, Long .igu 1 «as weary of noises That fretted my soul with their din ; Lung ago was 1 weary of iil.ues Where I met but the human — and sin. I walked in the world with the woridl) ; 1 craved what the world never gave; And I said: "In the world each ide.il That shines like a star (jii lile's wave. Is wrei ked on the shores of the real. And sleejis like a dream in a grave." And still did I jiine for the perfect, .And still found the fd>e with the true; I sought 'mid the human for heaven, I'ut caught a mere glimpse of its blue; .And I wept when the clouds of the niort.il Veiled even that glimpse from my \iew. And I toiled on, he.irt-tired of the himi.ii.; And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men ; Till 1 knell long agcj at an altar, .And heard a voi( e (all iiie — since then I walk down the valley of silence I'll, It lies far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what 1 found in the valley? ''i'is my trystiiig jilace with the Divine, And 1 fell at the feet of the Holy, .And above me a voice said : "He mine." .And there arose from the depth of my sjiirit .An echo — " My heart shall be thine." Do you ask how I live in the valley? I weep, and I dream, and I pray. But Uiy tears arc as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May ; And my prayer, like a perfume from ceiibcrs, Ascendeth to dod night and day. In the hush of the valley of silence I dream all the songs that I sing : And the music floats down the dim valley, 'Till each finds a word for a wing, That to hearts, like the dove of the deluge, A message of peace they may bring. I i f. s; ' /NOCG/.l AM) sj..\nM/\r. i.'jy ion k-e," friend, ill eel. iiMn e, lUcy alone |H(|1>ICI) 1 my "wn. u)ly not will. .•ir dill ; s —and bin. worldly ; lt t;ave ; I h ide.d l(.'s wave, le real, a grave." ■rffit, ih ihe true ; heaven, of its I'Uie; iif Uie mortal oin my view. ,f ihe luini.ii.; |a/,es of men i tar, siiu-.e then lence il ken. Ithe valley? h the Uivine, luoly, „ A. " He mine. Lib of my spirit In lie thine." |e valley ? Il 1 pray. 1 the devvdrops iMay ; tume from centers, land day. If silenie It 1 sing : Ithe dim valley, tor a winj;, ]ve of tlie deluge. may I'nntS- But far on the deep tiierf are Miiows 'I'liat never ^\\.\\\ break on Ihe luacli; And I liavt heard soup in the hilenc e That never shall lloal into spei ( h ; And I liave li.ul dn-anis in the v;illi,'y 'I'oo lolty lor l.mgiiaLje to re.u h. And I iiave sren lhoii}.;lils in tlie valley — .Ah me ! how my s|>irii was stirred ! And they wear liolv veils on tiuir fai:e> ; Tiuir I'ootsteps can si.ini-ly he heard. 'I'liey pas-, through the v.dlcv, like vir:,'ins, Too pure for the touc ii of .i word. Do yon ask me the phu o of the v.dley? \'e hearts tliat are harrowed by care I It lieth al'.ir tietwccn mountains, And (lod and iiis an^,'(ls arc tlierc : And one is ihe dark niounl of sorrow. And oiR — the tiriu'lit uiouiit.iin ot pra^-er. .\I1UAM I. i\V\N. THE SINGERS. ( )I) sent his singers njion earth Witii son-s of sadiuss and of mirth, 'I'iiat they inij,'iit toiK ii the hearts of i And i)rinj,' them back t i heavm again. G The first, a youth, with sou! oi fire. Held in ids hand a golden lyre ; 'I'lirough groves he wandered, and by streams, I'laying the nnisic of our tlreanis. The second, with .t hearded face, Stood singing in tiie niarket-i>!.i<-e. And stine.l with accents deeji \n^\ louil The hearts of all the listening crowd. A grav, old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast. While the majestic organ rolleil Contrition tVom its mouths of gold. And those who heard the singers three Disputed which the best might he ; For still their nuisic seemed to start Discordant echoes in e.ich heart. Hut the great Mxster saiil, "I see No best in kind, but in degree; I gave a various gift to eacii. To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. "These are the three great chords of might. And he whose ear is tuned aright Will hear no discord in the three. Hut the most perfect harmony." H. W. Lon<;kkllo\v. I < in't afford it ;" in the idlcnoi to ( ml at'ford the Never affect to be SOUR (IRAPES AI''< ).\ wa.s tr.iitin, on one liay, .\ud just .diove hl^ he.id lie spied a vine oi ju.cious grapes, Ri( h, ripe, and purjile-icd ; I'i.iger he tried to iat< h the Iruit. Hut, ah ! it w,i> too high ! I'oor Keynard liad to give il up, And, heaving a deep sigh, lit" I urh (1 his iio-e .ind s.ud, " Dear me ! 1 would not w.iste an hoiir Upon such nie.m and ( ounnon iruit — I'm sure tliose grapes are sour !" 'Tis thus we often wish through life, When seeking weaitii anil p(j\ver ; And when we f.iil, say, like the lo\. We're "sure the grapes are sour!" BE IN EARNEST. NI'AI'.R be asiiamed to .say, " I do not know." Men will then believe UM when )Otisay, '■ I do know." Never be .i^liamed to s.u . ' " I (.m't afford to w.iste timi wiiich you invite me," or • money you ask nie to iiend." otner than yon are — eithi r wi-er or richer. l.earn to say " .\'o " with decision ; " V'es " with caution. " No" with decision wiienever it resists teuipt.ition ; " N'es " with cnition whenevir it im- plies a jironuse ; for .i ]iroinise oni e given i-. a bond inviolable. .•\ man is alreadv of < nnse(Hience in tlv world when il is known that we ( .m im])lic,tly rely upon him. Often have I known a man to be ])refeiri d in stalionsof honor and i.rofit because he h.id this reputation: when he said he knew a thmg, he knew it; and when he said \w would do a tiung, he did it. I', I'.ii.wkk l.vrniM. A USEFUL HINT. TI;N1)I:R-H.\N1)];D stroke a nettle. .\nd it stings \ou for \our pains; ("■ra-'p it like a man of mettle. And it soit as silk remains. 'Tis the sime with common natures, Use them kindiv they rebel ; Hut be rough as nutmeg graters, And the rogues obe\ vou well. A. illl.L. CONTENTMENT. THERI". is a jewel whi( h no Indian mines can buy, No chemic art can counterfeit ; It makes men rich in gre.itc^t ])overtv. Makes water uii.e, turns wooilen cups to gold. The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ; Seldom it comes, to few from iieaven sent. That much in little— all in naught — contentment. 440 THOUGHT AND SIXTlMliXr. if -I THK NKW MOKNIN. OLD LETTERS. DO \ou like letter read- nj,' ? If yon do, 1 !iave some twenty dozen very ],rett\ ones : f'lay, sol)er, rapturous, solenni, very tr'ie. And very lyin;^ stupid ones anlnj perhaps, or piiiL And l're(piently in fancy-colored ink. I'.spr.s Saki;kn i . THE OLD MAN WITH IRON SHOES. WV. are told l)y men of s( ienee that all the ventures of mariners on the sea, all that counter-marching' of trilies and races tiiat confounds old historv with its dust and rumor, sprunj,' from nothing more abstruse than the laws of supply and deman- l,;irli.iriaii-< on n.iril.. 'llifp' i which 1 ro • Ills thfir si' nt, ^ jiarly oi i' '"'^" ()UiUfrcd aury uiih iron H''^^ d thfiii wluther ,,ng ; and tl.i'v th one vom : iialCily?" He htin gravtly. "1 " he said, "ovor •t of the wild. lirsasl noW( .irry ihave 1 N^'T" *'"' ,riiiiiit!e,andhow ro\^ill^; sU 1 der lis stci*. And.dl iuivi' not fo'iiid lul he tiir\ied and I, way alone, leav- onished. Of IS Stevenson. R. almost {;one; [\\ luoan ; -I'm wasting, on nie?" know %vhit>- hair. ring to nu- |ig man cried ; le my hriJe— laven ! one said, I head ; Tuish free ! rilOCC.III AM) Sl:.\l iMi.sr. 441 liow, The inmirner brfuthed in tours ui sadness, " l^ It, tliu' it lirou);lit no ^luilnrss ; I learned on earth no home tn nuke ; lilesH It for its lesson .i sake!" •• Ulcss the old year ' " i net! the < hild with ^lee : " ill its merry honr^ I was liapiiy and free; I I lias l)roii),'ht ine frolii: lor every clay ; llless the old >ear ere it passes .iway !" Itless the old year ! Come one and all ; Answer to his lonely < .dl ; Let It so he the last sound he shall hear Shall ci ho a Messinj; ! lile , the oM year! Lilian F. Mkniuk. YOU THINK I AM DRAD. Y i'lie apple tree said, ^ ' Iteeanse 1 have never a leaf to s Bc( aiisc I sloop And niv liraiK hes droop. And the dull ;,iay mosses over iiic (;row ! But I'm alive in trunk and shoot ; The hinls of next May 1 fold awa\ , Hut I pity the withered gra s at my root.' <" You think 1 am dead,' The (|iii( k j;r,i^s s.iiii, ' Because I h.iv'' p.irted with stem and hhuk ! r.ut under the f^niuiul 1 am safe anil sound, Willi the snow's thi< k Llanket over me laid, I'm all alive and ready to shoot, Should the spring of the \car Come dan( iui; lieie ; But I pity the lliwer without luaneh or root.' " ' Yo'i think 1 am dead,' A soft V(ii( e s.iid, 'Because not a hraiich or root I own ! I have never died, Hut close 1 hide In a i)lumy seed that the wind has sown. I'.aient I wait through the long winter hours; You will see me again — ■ 1 shall l.uigh at you then. Out of the eyes of a hundred lowers.' " 1 THANK THEE. flOD! FOR WEAl. AND WOE. 1riI.\NK. thee. Cod ! for all I've known Of kindly fortune, health and joy ; And quite as gr.itefullv I own The bitter drops of life's alloy. Oh ! there was wisdom in the blow That wrung the s.-id and solding tear Thai laid my dearest idol low, And left mv bosom lone and drear. I t.u.ik thee. Cod ! lor all of smart Thai thou hast sent for not in vain Ills been the he.iv\, achi' g heart. The sigh of grief, iln- tuio'i o puin. Wh.it if mv t heek h ul e\er k. pi its heihhlul lli)w< r is |>lantc«l U itliiii the j;.ir(itn ol )(nir suul, l.itilf nlturf tir tliDiinlil iir>- w.mli'il I'o KiiaKl ''■• I'lii'i'* •'*;'»'• ami whole Kill wliiii III*.' one iMii|Mssioneil ajjp II, IS lull nvf.ilul till' iiij>;i< IiIomiii, A wise .iihI linly tuti'l.i^i- Alone lan slum llie open inuili. ll is no! alisciii (• )oii slioiild clie;i(l — For aliMtue is tlie very air In whii ll, if si>iiiiil at root, tlie lieail Shall wave most wniulerl'il ami lair j With sviiipatliiis ill jo\ aiitl sorrow l''e. josous mandate To the strngglcrs riel instant llirown To deepest agony from higlnsi bliss; A woman steeling her \oung heart to mis. All jov in life, one dear one having flown , ^ 'I'hese'have 1 seen ; yet h.ii.i'ier thrse, I said, Than one who, bv experiem e made strong, I.«arning to live without the iire( ions deail. Survive des|)air, outlive remorse and wioiig. Can siy when new grief comes, wiih unho' head, •• Let me not mourn ! 1 shall forget ere long I A 1 11 I Marlan'u Rollins. MIRANDA. ADMIRKI) Miranda; Indeed the to]) of admiration ; worih What's dearest to the world ! lull nuny a lady I have eved with best regard ; and many a tune The harmony of their tongues hath inio bond- age brought mv too diligent ear ; for several virtues Have I liked several women ; never any With so full soul but some defect in her Did quarrel with the nolilest grace she owned And i>ut it to the foil. Hut you, O \ou. So perfect, and so luerless, are created Of every creature's best. 1 William Shakespeahk. in bowed r. iiii II). a blootl. ill ■ I Uens It lull 1 known ,1 it^ lliutlll't * w,.ria lik< t>'>' slant tlir»)Wii iliss ; lit to mi-"' ^ tlown ■ lade strong;, )iis ilf^xl- anil sM"i>^; ,viil) i.nl'.'weiJ |lori;ct ere long !" Lion ; w(>nl> 1,1 M! 1>'1* "^-"'^ ul i.K.nyaU'm' hall, in'o ^•""^• L several virtues lever any \x in her ,e she owned li. O Non. Icveated L SHAKESI'EARK. TRAGEDY AND SORROW: compkisim; PATHETIC SELECTIONS FROM THE MOST DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS. iril- l>RIVi:K OH THI: MAIL. AKI') iiu- tin- hij;n.il. tlear," slie crieil, The little «itc of the engineer, " As you drive the mail to the North to-ni>;ht, 'I'liree low wiiistlcs, siiarji ami ky ; There he lies I by his engine wrecked! De.ul at his post, as a man should die. Was it for this she loved him so? Was it for this Inr te.irs that fell? Ten e ! let him rest! Cod's will is lie>t ! All i> well! All is well ' I'ui 1)1 Kit- !■:. Wkaiherly. ROVERS LAST I'OKM 0|. i i 1^ IND traveler, do not |>iss me by, 1^ And thus a poor old do)^ I'orsake ; * ^ But stop a moment on \our way. And hear my woe, for pity's sake ! " My name is Rover ; yonder house Was once my home for many a year; Mv master loved me ; every h.ind Caressed youiij; Rover, f.ir and near. " The children mde upon my b,i< k, And I could hear mv praises sung; With joy I licked their pretty feet, .\s round my shaggy sides they clung. " I watched them while thev played or slept ; I gave them all I had to give ; My streuL'th was theirs from morn till night ; Fur oiilv them I cared to live. PUTITION. iiiK ArriioK. " Now I am old, ami blind, and lame, They've turned me out to die .done, Without a shelter for my head, Without a scra[) of breail or bone. " This morning I < an h.-irrl' rawl, Wild'.' shivering in tl • .. .jw and hail, My teeth are dropping on ' y one ; I scarce have strength to w.ig !ny tail} " I'm palsied grown with mortal i)ains, Mv withered limbs are useless now; My voice is almost gone, you see, .\nd I can hanlly make my bow. " Perhaps you'll lead me to a shed Where I may find some friendly str.iw On which to la\- mv aching limbs. And rest my heljiless broken i)aw, 448 n II I' '■ I :i 444 J K.K ;/■:/))' AM) SORROW, " Stranger, excuse this stnry long, And partiuii, pray, my last appeal ; \'ou've owiKtl a dog \ourself, pcriiaiis, And karneil that dogs, liktMncn, iww/cf/." ^'es, i)e)or old Rover, come with mo ; I'ood, with warm shelter, I'll supply — Alid heaven forgive tiie ci;icl souls \\'lu) ilrove \()H foitli to starve and die! JaMI S T. I'iKLlo. ADIEU TO HIS NATIVr- LAND. A"; a A nil'. L. adieu I my native shore I'.ules o'er the waters iilue : 'I'iie ni.^iit winds sigh. thel)rcakers roar, Anil shrieks tiie wild sea-mew. ^'on sun that sets upon the sea We follow in liis tlight ; Farewell auhile to iiim and thee. My native land — goo su straight and tall. Then the sire shook his silvery heail, .And with treiidiling voice he gently said — " -Mother, tho>e eni|)ty chalr^- ! They bring us such .ad, sad thoiiglits to-night, We'll put them forever out oi sight, In the small dark room up stairs." But she answertd. •' l\ither. no. not \et, For I look at them and 1 f irget '.'"iiat the children .ire away: The bo>s come back, and oi;r Mar> , too, With her apron on, of checkered blue, And sit here every day. "Johnny still whittles a ship's tall masts, And Willie his leaden bullets casts, While Mary her jjatch work sews; At evening time three childish prayers Clo up to (lod I'rom those little chairs, .So softi)- that no one knows. "Johnny comes bark from the billow deep, Willie wakes from his battle-field sleep, To say good-night to me ; Mar\ 's a wife and a mother no more, But a tired child whose play-time is o'er, Aiul comes to rest on my knee. " So let them stand there, though empty now, And every time wlien alcne v, e bow, At the Father's throne to i)ray, We'll ask to meet the children above. In rrnr Sa"iour's home of rest and love, V he/e no child goeth away." EARLY DEATH. s dew, HI'- ])assed awa. . like morning Before the sun was high ; So brief her time, she scarcely knew The meaning of a sigh. As round the rose its soft i)erfume. Sweet love arouml tier floated ; Admired slie grew — while mortal doom Crept on, unl'eared, unnoted. l.ove was her guardian angel here, But love to death resign'd her; Though love was kind, why should we fe.ir, lUit holy death is kinder? Hartley Coi.ekiuoe. KINDNE5S. Speak gently, kindly, to the poor; Let no har>h term be heard ; Thev have enoiiuh they must endure Witnout an unkind word. David Bates. wood, .11. saiil — , tu-iiiglit, <. too, line, masts, vers airs, How deep, ^.leep, lure, is o'er, 1 empty now, )0\V, jove, love, in^' dew, cely l^new lumiN led ; irtal doom ed. here, her ; ihoidd we itar, EY Col.ERlUilE. he poor ; K-ard ; ,ust endure rd. 1)AV1D BATI 3. TKAGI.DY A\D SORRAW. 445 THINK OH ME. r^ VRIlWI.l.l. : and never think of me M !n l!;,'litcd hall or ladv'-, hower ! Farewell 1 — and never think of me In s])ring sunshine or summer hour ! l'>ut when yon see a lonclv prave. Jn^l where a broken luari nii,i;lit be, With not cne inonrner bv its sod. Then — and then onlv— think of me ! Leiitia v.. Landon. T IT CANNOT BE HE dying Hjjs of a dear inend At parting spoke to nie. Saying: " WheresoeVr your jjath may trend Tiiere ever 1 shall be. "Go walk where over Egypt's sand The linriiMig simoons blow, Or in Alaska's sunless land. Your wake my wings siiall know. '• When winter's nights are Ions,' and dark I'll lead you by the liand. .\nd when tiie waves heat on your bark Wdl he.icon you to land." He died. 1 wat( hed his sjjirit go .Across de.ith's darkening sea: He came not bac k. and now I know Of things that cannot be. C'v War.man lii; Kf''^ V, n i ^ II ■l., Mil rKAGHDV AXD SORROW. WIDOW bird s.it niourning for her love U; on a wintry Doiif^h ; The fro'.en wind crept on above, T'.if freezing stream below. There was no leaf upon the forest bare, No (lower upon the ground, And little motion in the air. Except the mill-wheel's sonnd. P. IJ. Shelley. THE AUCTIONEER'S GIFT HE auctioneer .oaiied on a chair, and bold He scattereil round his jests, like rain, on the un- an-.l loud and clear. just and the just ; He poured his cataract of words, just like Sam Sieeman said he " laffed so much he thought an auctioneer. **'"*^ ' '-^ '-- " An auction sale of furniture, where some hard mortgagee Was bound to get his money back, and pay his lawyer's fee. A humorist of wide renown, this doughty auc- tioneer, His joking raised the loud guffaw, and brought the answering jeer. that he would bust.' He knocked down bureaus, beds, and stoves, and clocks and chandeliers. And a grand piano, which he swore would last a thousantl vears ;" He rattled out the crockery, and sold the silver- ware ; At last they passed him up to sell a little baby's chair. / r( st bare, liind, sound. B. Shelley. kin, on the un- Inich he thought land stDVis, and 3re would last a sold the silver- ll a little bal'v's TRAGEDY AXD SORROW. 447 •lluu iiiiiih? hinv niucli ? Come, make a bid; is all your money spent?" And tliLii a tlua|>. f.iceiiotis wag ca e up and oid, • ( )ne c tilt." lust tiien a sadlaced woman, who sto(j(l in silence tlit-rc, Uroke down and cried, " My l)ab\'s chair! My poor, dead baby's chair ! ' '■ Here, madani, take your bal))'s ciiair," said the sot'teneii auctioneer, • I know its value all too well, my baby died last year ; And if the owner of the chair, our triend, the niortgai,'ee, Uhjects to this proceeding, let him send tiie bill to me !" Cionc was the tone of raillery; the hiunorist aucii(jneer Turned sliamefaced from his audience, to brush away a tear ; The laughing crowil was awed and still, no tear- less eye was there Wiicn the weeping w(jman reached and took her little babv's chair. S. W. Foss. THE LOST LEADER. JUST for a handful of silver he left us ; Just for a riband to stick in his coat — Found the one gift of which Fortune bereft us. Lost all the others she lets us devote. They, with the gold to give, doled him out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed. How all our copper had gone for his service! Ra;iS — were they pur])le, his heart hatl been |)roud ! We that had loved him so, followeil him, honored him. Lived in his mild and magnificent e\e, Leiriied his great language, caught his dear ac cents. Made him our pattern to live and to die! Sli,ike>peaie was of us, Milton was lor us. Hams, Shelle\-, were with us — they watch from their graves ! .ie aliine breaks I'rom the van and the freemen; He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! We shall march prospering — not through his pres- em e ; S()n,s may inspirit us — not from his hre; I)e K will be done — while he boasts his (]uies- cence, Still bidding crouch whom the rest bade aspire. Hlotout liis name, then, record one lost soul more. One task more declined, one more footpath un- trod. One more tiiumph for li, tlu'ii. vvliere wild-flowers wave Make ye her mo^sy {;iave in tlie Iree air ! Where shower and sinking bird 'Midst the younj; leaves arc heard — There, lay her there I Fklicia D. Hemans. i I ;i t What tliout;!) for her in vain Falls now tlie bnglit s|)iing-rain, Plays the soft wind ' Yet '^till, from where she lies, Should blessed breathings rise, (Iracious and kind. Thercforf I't sciiu^ and dew Thence in the hw. hem so '. 1 under tlv snow ! and wlntc. Icui to-night. ,, ;vh nie! Id to be! [snow- h up through tUe In so '. so! Inely it seems, TRAGi:i)Y AXn SORROW. 449 For no little hands wake nic out of my dreams. I miss tlicm all tliroiigii tlie we.irv hours: 1 miss tlieni as others mi>s sun>liiiieaml flowers; l).iv time, or nij^ht time, wlierever 1 go, Dear little h.uuis, 1 miss tiiem so! Uear little hamis, they liave gone t'nim me now, Never again will they ri^t on mv lirow — Never again smooth my sorrowful face, Never again clasp me in childish cnii)race, And now my forehead grows wrinkled with care, 'riiinking of little hands orce resting tiiere, Hut I know in a happier, heavcnlier clime, 1 )ear little hands I will clasp you some time. Dear little hands, when the Master shall call I'll welcome the summons that comes to us all — When lying f)n my earthly bed In icy sleep. Who there l>y pure affection led Will come anil weep? Uy the jiale mo(jn implant the rose i poM my l)rea>l. And bid it chucr my dark rejjose, .My lonely rest ? Could I liut know when I'm sleeping Low in the ground. One faitiiful heart would then he keeping Watch all round, As if some gem l.iy shrined beneath That cold --od's gloom. 'Twould mitigate the jungs of death And light the tomb. When my feet 'ouch the waters so dark and so cold, I'll catch my first gimpse of the city of gold If 1 keep my eyes fixetl on the heavenly gate Over the tide where the white-robed ones wait. Shall I know you, I wonder, among the bright bands ? Will you beckon me over, oh j dear little hands? FOR ALL WHO DIE. The following poem was rej^ardeil by Kilj^ar A. Toe as the must beauliful ami toucliliij^ of its kind in the lainjiiage. Slraiii^e to -ay, the aulliiir is unknown. IT hatii been said for all who die There is a tear. Some paining, bleeding heart to sigh ( )'er every bier ; ISiit in that ho;ir of pain ami dread \\ ho will draw near Around my huinblc couch and shed A farewell tear? Who'll watch the first departing ray In deep despair. Anil soothe the spirit on its way With holy prayer? What ni'iiirner round my couch will come III words ol woe. And follow me to m\- long home, Solemn and slow ? 29 Vet in that hour, if I could feel From the halls of glee And beauty's pressure one would steal In secrecv. And come ami sit or stand by me In night's deep noon ; Oh! I would ask of memory No other b ion. r.ut, ah! a lonelier fate is mine, A deeper woe. From all I've lovetl in youth's sweet time 1 soon must go. l)ra»v round me mv ]),de rubes of wiiite In a dark spot. To sleep through de.ith's long (.heamless night Lone and forgot. ONE VOICE IS SILENT. ONI", voice is -ilent, round the evening lirf. One form lomes not to cheer us wi'.ii .ij glatine>s ; There brother, sister mingle — babe and sire, ; lit tongues are mute and bos.)ins chilled with sadiK'SS ; Thonglu dwells on pist coinmuni"n untorgot; ( )ne voice is silent, and we hear it not ! One voice is silent ! a' the i)lice of praver When morning breaks, or twilight gathers o'er, f :^ 450 TRAGEDY AND SORROW. \) TlKit sainted form no more is beiuliiig there, ! 1 in»c liph ill lu)ly accents lucatlic no nu)re ; Dcatli's lianti liatii thrown strange light upon the \ lirow ; I (Jnc voice is silent, and it pleads not now ! OiH' voice is silent I Ironi the cunch of pain, \Viii(h she hath pressed in sunniier-tinie anil sprint:, 'I'lie wurds ol counsel shall not come acain — No anxious thought that gentle lio^oni wring; I he shrouded eye hath parted with its tear; ( )ne voice is silent — one we loved to hear. One voice is silent ! ay, no more that tone, Fond sister, o'er our pleasant home is stealing; The mother's life is done, and we are lone I r.ut, oh, remember, in this pang of feeling. How dear tlie hope that dod to us hath given. One voii e is silent Imt it uakes in heaven ! FAGIN'S LAST NKjHT ALIVE. I'ew jias.s.iijes from the i>fii cif I licUciis, tlic worlil's great- est liclionist, are more thrilliiit; tlian liis tlescriplion of the last iiit^lit of I'agin, one of llie ]ironiinent diaracters in "Oliver ■l'\vi>l." layin lived |iy leniptinj; olliers, particu- larlv lioys and t;iils, to crime, aMy \ to see which that was truil- shouldcr. He iIk- dock, and intcd it out, or rain. Some ot 'fanning thini- (rowdcd I 'lace nj; man skftch- He wondered ed on when the made anothrr tor might have . his eve towards y iiselV wiih the ost, and how he tntleman on the lue half an hour N\ ondered with- been to get I'ls re he had it ; and jiight nniil some Led another. Id was, for an m- ;rwhclming senile ,.ft ; it was iver- [nd general wav, ujion it. 'Hin^. Led burning hot fell to counting wondering liow off. ancl whether as it was. Then the gallows and ch a man sprink- then went oi> '^' lif silence, and a the door, 'l'^" jury returned, and passed him close. He could glean nothing from tlieir faces; they miglit as well have l)een of stone, i'erfect stillness ensued — not a rustle — not a breath — (luilty. The Imiidiiig rang witli a tremendous shout, and anotlier, and anotlier, and then it echoed loud groans, that gadiered strength as they swelleil out, like angry tininder. It was a peal of joy from the liopid.ice outside, greeting llie news that he would die on .Monday. Tlie noise subsided, and he was asked if he had anytliing to say why sentence of death should not be passe. 1 upon him. He iiad resumed liis listen- ing attitude, and looked intentl}' at his (juestioner wiiile tlie demand was made ; but it was twice repeated bet'ore he seemed to liear it, and tlieii he only muttered tliat he was an old man — an old man— an old man — and so, droiiping into a whis- per, was silent again. The judge assumed the black cap, and tlie pris- oner still stood with the same air and gesture. A woman in the gallery uttered some ex( lamation, called forth by this dread solemnity ; lie looked hastily up as if angry at tlie interrujjtion, and bent forward yet more attentively. The address was solemn and impressive; the sentence fearful to hear. But he stood, like a marble figure, without the motion of a nerve. His haggard face was still thrust forward, his under-jaw hanging down, antl his eyes staring out before liim, when the jailer ]iut his hand upon his arm, and beckoned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for an in- stant, and obeyed. Tliey led him through a paved room under the court, where some prisoners were wailing till their turns came, and others were talking to tiieir friends, who crowded round a gate which looked into the open yard. There was nobody there to s[)eak to liim ; but, as he passed, the prisoners fell back to render him more visible to the people who were clinging to the bars ; and they assailed him with opi)robrious names, and screeched and hissed. He shook his fist, and would have spat upon them; but his conductors hurried him on, through a gloomy passage lighted by a few dim lamps, into the interior of the prison. Here he was searched, that he might not have about him the means of anticipating the law ; this ceremony jierformed, they leil him to one of tlie condemned cell.^, and left him tiiere — alone. He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door, which served for seat and bedstead ; and casting his blood-shot eyes upon the grotind, tried to col- lect his thoughts. After a while he began to re- member a few disjointeil fragments of what the julge had said ; though it had seemed to him, at the time, that he could not hear a word. These gruiually fell into their proper i)laces, and by de- grees suggested more ; so that, in a little time, he had the wiiole, almost as it was delivered. To be hanged by the neck till he was liead — th.it was tlie end. To be hanged by tlie ne( k till lie was dead. ClIAKI.K^ i )U KKNS. wilt case thy heart Of love, and all its smart — Then sleep, dear, sleep ! And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Lie still and deei). Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o'the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky. 15ut wilt thou cure thine heart Of love, and all its smart — Then die, dear, die ! 'Tis deeper, sweeter. Than (m a rose-bank to lie dreaming With folded eye; And then alone, amid the beaming Of love's stars, thou' It meet her In eastern sky. Thomas 1, PiEDOdes. DIRGE IN CYMBELINE. SUNO IIVCUIDERUS AM) AkVIKAia'S OVKR 1- 11 iKI.K, SUProSED TO UK DKAI). TO fair FJdele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring Each ojieniiig sweet of earliest bloom. And rille all the breathing spring. No wailing ghost shall dare ajipear To vex with shrieks this (luiet grove; But shepherd lads assembled here, And melting virgins own their love. No withered witch shall here be seen — No goblins lead their nightly crew ; The female favs shall haunt the green, And dress thy grave with pearly dew. 'IP!' i: i 452 TRAGEDY AM) SORROW. Tlio redhrca^t oit, at evening; liours, Shall kindly Icinl iiis little aid, Willi lioary iiiu.ss, and j^athcrcd Mowers, In (let k the ground where thuii art laid. Wlien liDwIinj,' winds ami healing rain In tempests shake the sylvan lell, Or 'inulst the chase, on every plain, The tender thought on thee shall dwell. I.ach lonely scene shall thee restore, l-'or thee the tear lie duly slud ; lieloved till lile ( .m chiirni Do mure. And mourneil till pity's sell he dead. WlLLIA.M CuLLIN.s. F ()\\ many years my little bird Had shared my dady life with m^ ; Hy kindly fortune still preserved, lioth near and dear, two friends were we. In closest comuanv. He hourly wooed my thoughts from care With sjjrightly glance, with hajipiest song; And, swinging in his (age — just there — Tweet, tweet, would murmur all day long, With loving constancy. When I was glad, he llultered round, Would nod and hob his yellow head To right, to left, first up, then down ; And llirt his beak, his wings outspread, Then sing uproariously. Were I aggrieved ? His little eyes Would meet mine almost jiityingly; Thev really seemed so womlrous wise, 1 felt I.e knew and yearned for me Tv) show his symi)athy. And as I sit here in my chair The pen drops idly, half forgot; Mv eves keep turning over there— iMv little bird's accustomed spot — To see — but vacancy. The room seems lonely-like to-day Without my feathered friend near hy ; The empty ( age is hid away, The last song, ended in a sigh. Has hn>hed eternally. Amv S. Will H . TRIFLE. A KISS he took and a backward lonk, And her heart grew suddenly lighter; A trille, yon say, to color a day, \t\ the dull gray morn seemed brighter. For hearts are sue h that a tender touch May banish a look of sadness; A small, bright thing can make us sing, liut a frown will check our gladness. The cheeriest ray along our way Is the little a( t of kindness. And the keenest sting some careless thing That was done in a moment of blindness. We can bravely face life in a home where strife \o foothold can discover, And be lovers still if we only will. Though youth's bright days are over. Ah, sharp as swords cut the unkind words That are far beyond recalling, When a face lies hid 'neatli a coffin lid. And bitter tears are falling. We fain would give the lives we live To undo our idle scorning; Then let's not miss the smile and kiss When we part in the light of morning. over there — islomed i^pol— .cancy. ;areless thing ■nt of liliiidncss. in a home \\lifre io and kiss It of morning. VA'.ir;/:/)]- AXD SOKROIV. 458 THY LONG DAV5 WORK. N( )\\ IS (lone iliy lung U.iy's work ; I''<)l(l liiy pahiis al■ros^ thy lircast- I'nld lliinf .iriiis, turn to lliy rest. I.lt th( HI XAW. Shadows ol" tlic ^ilvir hirk Swccj) thi' greiii liiat folds tiiy yravc Let them rave. Crocodilrs wi-pt tears for tlioe; The woodlniK' and c^l.ilerr I)rii: sweeter dew- th ill traitor's tear. I,et I hem r.ive. kaiii !n.iki> iii'isK in the tree O'er the ;;rcen that folds thy grave. Let tliein ra\e. Round thee lilnv, selfpleac hed deep, llrainhle roses, faint and ji.de, And long purples of the ilale. Let them rave. These in every sliower creep Through the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. The gold-eyed kingc nps fine, The frail hiiie hell peentli over kare broid'ry of the purple (lover. Let them ra\e. Kings have no sue h • mn h as thine, As the green that folds thy grave. Let them rave. ' i ' I ! I I' Thee nor carketh care nor slander; Wild words wander here and there ; i 1 Nothing hut the small eold worm Clod's great ^iit of speech abuseii Fretteth thine enshrouded form. Makes thy memory confused — Let them rave. Ihit let them rave. Light and shadow ever wai der The l)ahn-cri( ket carols clear O'er the green that folds thy grave. Li the green that I'olds thy grave. f Let them rave. Let them rase. .\i.i richTk.nnvson. Thou wilt not turn upon thy hed; THE DIROFZ OF IMOOEN. Chanteth not the brooding hee 1 '^ LA R no more the ju'at o' the sun, k Sweeter tones than rahiinny? r^ .Nnr the furious winter's rages : ' Let them rave. *■ Thou thy world ta-.k hath done, Thou wilt never raise thine head Home art gone and ta'en thy wages: From the ureen that l"ol(Ls thy grave. Clolden lads and girls all must Let them rave. As chimney-sweepers come to dust. riH i I ilii ir L 1 454 TRAGEDY AND SORROW. Fe.ir no more the frciwii o' the jjrc-at — I hoii art [last tlic tyrant's slroko; Ca;- lu) iiiori' lu i lutlic aiul cat ; 'I'l tlici' tlie ret-'il is as tlit- oak. The steptro. learning, pliysic, must A'' k'llovv tliis, and tome to dust. IV.ir no more tin- lightning Hash, Nor the ali-drcaik-d tliumlrr stone; Fear not slander, (ensure rash ; ihoii hast finished joy and moan: Ail lovers young, all losers nnist Consign to thee, ami come to dust. No exorciser liarm thee ! Nor no wit< h( raft (harm thee I (ihost uidaid forbear thee ! Nothing ill come near thee! (Juiet consummation have; And renowneil be thy grave ! WiLI.lA.M .ShAKF.SPF.ARF.. OH! SNATCHED AWAY IN BEAUTY'S BLOOM, OH ! snatihcd away in beauty's bloom, < )n thee shall jirtss no ponderous tomb; Hut on thy turf shall roses rear 'I'lieir leaves, the earliest of the year; And the wild cypress wavo in tender gloom. And oft by yon blue gushing stream Shall sorrow lean her drooping head, And feed deep thought with many a dream, And lingering jiause and lightly tread — Fond wretch ! as if her step disturbed the dead. Away ! we know that tears are vain. That death nor heeds nor hears distress: Will this i:nteach us to complain ? Or make one mourner wee]) the less? And thou who tell'st me to forget, Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet. Lord Byron. LOST AND FOUND. SOMIC miners were sinking a shaft in Wales — ( 1 know not where, — but the facts have filled A chink in my brain, while other tales Have been swept away, as, when pearls are spilled, One i)earl rolls into a chink in tlie floor); Somewhere, then, where Ood's light is killed, And men tear in the dark at the earth's hearth- core. These men were at work, when their axes knocked A hole in the jussage closed years before. A slip in the earth. I sujipose, had blocked This gallery suddenly \\\> with a heap Of rubble, as safe as a chest is locked, 'Jill these men picked it ! and 'gan to creep In, on ;dl fours. 1 hen a loud sliout ran Koiuid the black roof—" Here's a man asleeji !" They all i)iished forw.ird, and s( ar( e a span From the mouth of the passage, in sooth, the lamp Fell on the upturned face of a man. No taint of death, no decaying damp Had tou( hfd that fur young brow, whereon Courage had set its glorious stamp. Calm as a nionarc h upon his throne, Lil)s hard clen( hcd, no shadow of fear, He sat there, taking his rest, alone. He must have been there for many a year; The spirit had lleil, but there was its si. ine, In clothes of a century ok! or near I The dry and emb.dming air of the mine Had arrested the natural hand of tlecay, Nor ladcil the llesli, nor ilimined a line. Who was he then ? No man < ould say When tile jiassage had suddenly fallen in — Its memory, even, h.id jiassed away ! In their great rough arms, begrimed with coal, They took him uj), as a temler lass Will larry a I'abe, from that darksome hole, To the outer world of the short warm grass. Then up sjioke one, " Let us seml for lless, She is seventy-nine, come Martinmas; " Older than any one here, I guess I Helike, she may mind when the wall fell there. And remember the chap by his comliness. " So they brought old Bess, with her silver hair. To the side of the hill, where the dead man lay Ere the flesh had crumbled in outer air. And the crowd around them all gave way. As with tottering steps (jKI Hess drew nigh, And bent o'er the fai e of the unchanged clay. Then suddenly rang a sharp low cry ! Hess sank on her knees, and wildly tossed Her withered arms in the summer sky. " O Willie ! Willie ! my lad ! my lost ! The Lord be i>raised ! after sixty years I see you again ! The tears you cost, "O Willie, darlin', were bitter tears! They never looked for ye underground, They told me a tale to mock my fears I " They said ye were auver the sea — ye'd fo.'nd A lass ye loved better nor me, to explain How ye'd a-vanished fra sight and sound ! "O darlin', a long, long life o' \m\\ I ha' lived since then ! And now I'm old. Seems a'most as if youth were come back again. /'A'.! <;/:/))' A.\J) SOKNOn: 15.-) "Seein^,' ye there wi' jdiir loi ks n' ^(»li|, An 1 liiiilis a.-. >)trai},'lit .is .i-hcn lK•,lln^, I a' most foryct liow the ye.ir^ la' nllcd " Ilctrteeii lis ' ( ) Willie I how strange it siern^ Ti) see ye here as I'vi; seen \ou ol't, Auver and auver a^ain in dreams ! " In linjkcii Words like tluse, with soft Low wail she ro( ked herstli. And none ()i the roiij^h iiien aroiiiul her scolled. Kor surely a si>;ht like this, the sun Ilid rarely looki tl upon. I a< e to fare, riie old (le.id lo\e and the living' one! The deail, with its uiidiniined lleshly },Tace At the end of the three •^c•u^e years ; the (iiiick, I'lickered, and withered, without .i trare Of its warm ^^irl lieautv ! \ wizard's trick liriiii,'inj,' the youth and the lo\e th.ii were, Hai k to the eyes of the old .md sii k ! Thesi" l)i)dies were just of on- a-e ; yet there Death, clad in Nouth, !iad Inen siandiiii,' stdl, Wilde life had been frettiiii,' itself threadbare! Hut the inonient was < oine (as a moment will I'o all who have loved, and have pirted here. And have toiled alone up the thorny hill ; When, at the top, as their eyes see clear, Over the mists in the vale below, Mere sjiecks their trials and toils app.-ar, beside the eternal rest thev know) — Death came to old liess tliat ni-ht, and gave TnQ welcome Mimmons that she should go. And now, though the rains and winds may rave, N'oihing can part them. Deep ami wide, The miners that evening dug one grave ! And there, while the summers and winters glide Old bess and young Willie sleep side by side 1 IIwiii.TiiN Hide. H OVER THE RANGE. \bK-SLb;i:i'l.NG, by the fire I sit, I start and wake, it is so strange I'o find myself alone, and Tom \eross the Raiu'e. We brought him in with heavy feet .\nil ea^ed him down ; from eve to eye, Though no one spoke, there jassed a fear riiat Tom must die. He rallied when the sun was low. And spoke ; I thought the words were strange ; It's almost night, and I must go Across the Ranue." "What, lom?" Me >mih(l and nodded: ••Ves, ^ They've .strm k it rii h there, Jim, you know, The pirson told us ; you'll come soon ; .Now Tom must go," I brought his swe. the.irt's pii turcd l.u e : .Again tli.it smile, so s.ul and str.iiige. " Tell her," said he, "that Tom has gone Across the Range." The last night lingered on the hill. " There's a pass, somewhere," then he said, And liii, and eye, and hand were still ; And Tom was ilead. Hall-sleeping, by the fire I sit : I start and wake, it is so strange To find mvsclf alone, and Tom Acro-s the Range. J. Hakuisqn Mills. ij '-S If FT 460 JK.U;/.l)y .LVD SOKKOH\ - i ' SOLITUDE IT is not ill. It iii> lot 1- low ■| li.it iii.ikfs tlif mIciiI tear to How ; It IS not unci that liids iiic muaii ; It is that 1 ain all alone. In woods and nU-ns I love to roam, Wlii'n the tired Imlncr hic-i liiin home; Or liy till' woodland jiod to rest, Whcii palu the star looks on its l)rca»t. Yet when the silent evcninK 8ij,'h» With hollowed airs and s\inphonics, Mv spirit takes another tone, And sighs that it is all alone. The autumn leaf is sere and dead- It lloats upon the water's hed ; I would not lie a leal, to ilic Without rci ordiiiK sorrow's sigh ! The woods and winds, with sullen wail, Tell all the same unvaried tale ; I've nunc to smile \\\un 1 am Irec, And when I si^;h to sij^h with me. Yet in my dreams a form I view, That thinks on me, and loves me too; 1 start, and when the viMon's flown, i weei) that I am all alone Hk.nrv KiRKE White. THE VOICELEiSS WI'. I onnt the broken lyies that rest Where the sweet wailing sint;ers slumber, lUit o'er their silent sister's breast The Willi Mowers who will stoop to number? A few can touch the magic string, .\i\u noisv tame is i>roud to win them ; Alas lor those that never sing, But die with all their music in them ! Nay, grieve not for the dead alone, Whose song has told their heart's sad story: Weep lor the voiceless, who have known The cross without the crown of glory ! Not where l.eucadian breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunteil billow, But where the glistening night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's church-yard pillow. O hearts that break, and give no sign, Save whitening lip and fading tresses, Till Death jionrs out his cordial wine, Slow-dropi)ed from misery's crushing i)resses ! If singing breath or echoing chord To everv hiilden Jiang were given. What endless melodies were poured, As sad as earth, as sweet as heaven ! O. W IbiLMES. A I.AMI-NT. SUM' 11, K l.ir th.iii summer's thght, .Swilter f.tr than jouth's tielight. Swifter far than happy night, Alt thou I ome .iiiil gone ; As the earth when leaves are de.id, As the night when sUeji is sped, As the heart when joy is fleil, I am left alone, alone. The swallow, summer, < onus again ; 'I'lie owlet, night, resumes her reign ; But the wild swan, youth, is fain To llv with iIm e. false as thou Mv heart eai h day di sire?, the morrow; Sleep ii.self is tiirnul to sorrow ; Yaiiilv would my winter borrow Sunny leaves Irom any bough. Lilies for a bridal bed, Roses for a matron's head, Yiolets for a maiilen dead — I'ansies let my tlowers be ; On the living gr.ive I be.ir, Scatter tin in without a tear, Let no friend, however dear, Wa>te one hope, one fear for me. r. 11. Sun I EV. SONO OF THF: SILENT LAND. I Ki'M nil. i;krm.\n. INTO the silent land ! Ah ! who shall lead us thither ' Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gailier, And shattereil wrecks lie thi< ker on the strand; Who leails us with a gentle hand Thither, oh, thither I Into the silent land ? Into the silent land ! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfei tion ! Tender morning-visions Of beauteous souls! The future's jiledge and band I Who in life's battle fiini doth stand Shall bear hope's tender blossoms Into the silent land ! O land! O land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald b\ our fate allotted Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great departed— Into the silent land ! II. W. I. ONt. FELLOW. THE MOTHER'S DREAM. 'Da (Ire.im to-night .As 1 fell aslee]), Oh ! the touching sight Makes me still to weep: 1 >c i again ; r niyn ; 1 .11 II , tluiii. L- morrow ; )\v ; row l)oiigh. car for me. 11. SHF.I LEY. • LAND. re darkly gailu-r, ui> ihc strand ; u 11 1?- visions ik-.lgeandbiiiJ'- lul .lUottcd ;h (loth stand rted — '. l.iiNCKELLOW. )REAIW. j;ht int; sight i tep : m.unu))- A.\n soNKoiw vr, Of my little l.iil, (iono to li avr mo ^ail, Aye. tl\r ( liild I hail, Hut W.I.S not to kec|i. .\» in hoavtii liinh, I my ( hiiil (lul itctrk, 'riitri-, ill tr.iin. t aim- by Cliililren t'.iir .iiid meek 1..K i» in lily uliiif. Willi a !,iiii|i alij;ht ; Kach wa-. « h ar to si^ht, Hut they did not speak. .MkIii tli.it n I ihorn sli.ill I'M' Till joy slull ovett.ikc llcr |.< rlfi t p ,11 (■ i'iii;iMi\ \ ( ,, ak. K'i'i 1 1 1. U^. /^ Then, a littli.- sad, ('ami- my child in turn, Hut the i.iiii|i lie h.id. Oil ! it din hill and jilain ; She ( aniiot feel the rain l^jioii her h.uul. Rest, rest, for evermore Upon a mossy shore ; Rest, rest at the heart's core Till tiuie shall cease : Sleep that no i)ain shall wake, yaayo. DEaTH of the FIRST-BORN. This lic.iiitiful extract fmin •• Arlluir r..iiinicasllf," nill be read with clipp ami ttiidcr iiitL-roi hy iiiaiiv » lioic exptri- eiice it tiuthfuily ] ortra\-, I STAND in a darkened room before a little casket that holds the silent form oi' my first- I'orn. Mv arm is around the wife and mother, who wups over ihe lost treasure and ' 5 ; 1 ■1 »■: !; 1 ! ■, ; .; I r t 1 { 1 1 i; ilJ , syiiipatliies forever opened toward ai called to a kindred grief. I wonder where he is to-day, in wh;U mature angclliood lie stands, how he will look when I nuet him, how he will make himself known to me, who have been his teacher! He w.is like me: will his grandfather know him? 1 never can cease tliinking of him as cared for and led by the uame hand to which my own \()uthfnl fuiLjers clung, and as hearing from the fond lips of my own father, the storv of his father's eventful life. SOKKOIV. ' ordinatipn to their helplessness, they have taught me p.itieiice, self-sac rilite, self-ccjntrol. truthful- ness, t'aith, simplicity and purity. .\hl this taking to one's arms a little groii]i ot souls, fresh from the hand of doil, and living with them in loving ( iimpanionsiiip througii all their stainless years, is, o'- ought to be, like living i,i heaven, fur of such is the liea\enly kingdom. To no one of these am 1 more in- debteil than to the boy who went away Irom ns before the world had tone hcd him with a stain. 'Ihe key tluit shut him in the loml) was the oidy key that coidd un- lock my heart, and let in among its sympathies the workl of sorrowing men and women who mourn because their little ones are not. 'Ihe little graves, alas! how many they aie ! 'I'he mourners abo\e them, how vast the multitude ! ISrothers, sisters, I am one with you. I pres-s your hands, 1 weep with \ou, I trust with yon. 1 belong to you. Those waxen, folded hands ; thatstillbreasi which I have so often pressetl warm to my own ; those sleep-bound ejes which have been so full of love and lite; that sweet, mimoving, ala- baster face — ah ! we have :ill looked upon them, and ll-.ey have maile us one and made us better. There is no foun- tain which the angel of heal- ing troubles with his restless and life-giving wings so con- stantlv as the fountain of tears, and only those too lame and bruised to bathe, miss the blessed inlluence. J. C;. HoIXAMi. HOPE. ow wonderful to me been the mmist of my children — how nnich more 1 have learned from them than they have ever learned from me — how by holding my own strong life in sweet sub- 4n'2 wretcn cotidemned with life to part, Still, still on hope relies ; .\nd ev'ry pang that rends the heart. Bids expectation rise. Hope, like the plimm'ring taper's light, .Vdorns and cheers the way ; And still, as darker grows the night, Emits a brighter ray. Oliver CleiLDSMirii. lave taught )\, tniUiful- ;Ue group ot , and living through M years, is, »■'•■ kc living ia svith is tlie oni. 'I'" "i^ ,11 1 more lu- ll a- boy wIh) ,m u-^ htfuri- touched him •Ihe key that the tomb was that could un- rt, and let in yuipathies the 3wing men and mourn beiaiirs ics arc not. . graves, alas! [hev are \ 'ihe ,„ve them, how iiude'. V.TOlhers, ^ one with you. r hands, I weep trust with you. 1 3U 'Ihosewasen. 's- that still breast e 'so often pressed rm- own; those ,e\cs which have oi love and bie ; \uinu>ving, ala- -ah! we have all ,n them, and they xH one and made There is no ioun- the angel of heal- ■s Nvith his restless '■■ ,vings so con- is, and only thc.se tuiss the blessed C. UOU.AM'. with life to part. -lies ; •nds the he irt. ; taper's lig ht. vav ; the night, ,VKK (;ul.DSMlTH. THE GATES OF PEARL: OR SACRED POEMS AND SELECTIONS. FORGIVENESS. HIIN on the fragrant sandal-tree The woochuan's axe descends, And she who bloometl so beauteously ISemath the keen stroke bends. E'en on tlie edge tiiat wrought Iut death I)\ing she i)reatlied her sweetest breatli, As if to toker in lier fail, Peace to Ivr foes, and love to all. How hariUy man this lesson learns. To smile, and bless the liaiul that spurns; To see the lilow, to feel the pain, Ihit rentier t)idy love again ! This sjiirit not io earth is given — Onk had it, bm He came from he.ivon. Reviled, rejected and betraved. No curse He breathed, no 'plaint He made, But when in death's deep pang He sighed, Prayed for His murderers, and dieii. BETHLEHEM TOWN. T HERE burns a star o'er Bethleluin town — See, O my eyes ! And gloriously it beamelh down Upon a \'irgin Mother meek Ana Him whom solemn Magi seek ; Burn on, C) star ! and be the liglit To guide us all to Him this night. The angels walk in Bethlehem town — Hush, O my heart ! The angels come and bring a crown To Him, our Saviour and our King, And sweetly all this night they sing; Sing on in rapture, angel throng, Tiiat we may learn that heavenly song. Near Hetldehcm town tliere blooms a tree- C) heart, beat low ! And it shall stand on Cahar\ ; But from the shade thereof we turn Unto the star tliat still shall burn U'hen Christ is deatl and risen again. To mind us that He tlied for men. There is a i ry in Hethleheui town — Hark, '. ) mv soul ! 'Tis of the babe iliat wears the crown; It telleih us that man is free — That He redeeineth all and me. The night is sped — bihold tlie morn — Sing, () my soul, the Clirist is born ! I'hi.KNE Fit.. THE LOST CHORD. SK.\TED one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, .\nd nr fingers wandered idly Over the ivory keys ; I know not what I was playing. Or what I was dreaming tlien. But I struck one chord of mu^ic Like the sound of a ureat Amen. It lloodcd the crimson twilight Like the close of an angel's ]isalin, And it lay on nn- fevered spirit AVith a touch of infinite calm. It quieted pain and sorrow. Like lo\e overcoming strife ; It seemed the liarinonious echo From our discordant life. ■15(t i { fi IJ i n f' 1 ;l 1 ' \ ifl i i 1 460 Till-: GATES OF PEARL. I It linked all perfilexed meanings Into one i^eriect peace, And trembled away into silence As if it were lotli to cease. I have s(iuj,'ht, but I seek it vainly, That one lost cliord divine Whii h came from the soul of the organ And entered into mine. It may I'C that deatli's bright angel Will s|)eak in that ciiord again ; It may be that only in heaven I shall liear that grand Amen. .\dki.aii)K .\. Proctor. "PLBASE TO SAY AMEN." 1 X the bonny Scottish Highlamls At a manse 1 was a guest — .Ml the lantl a Hush of heather, (llowing sweet the siunmer weather, I'llliui: me witii lialm and rest. Seven |)rccious litil'> children Made a heaven of the manse, A\'ith their coa.xes, loves and kisses, Singing ecstasies and blisses, Ever circling in a daiu e. Jessie was my dove, my darling, Oh, siie came from elfin land ! With her eves of starry splendor. Rosy month so sweet and tender, Little )idight flooding o'er us. Knelt he slowly down to pray. Jessie nestled close beside me, Tiny hands were lolded tight. Baby lace composed so quaintly, Clotiied upon with whi;eness saintly, J!y the m)slic sweet moonlight. Long and solemn was the ]jra\ ing. Tiien tliere came a geiule tnuch. " I'll be (juiet as a mousie, But oh, never in my hotisie Did my jiapa pray so much !" Soft she rose — I never hindering — Ste])|)ing light on lijitoe then Crept she close where he was ])raying, In his ear >he whispered, saying, " Oil sir, please to say Amen ! ' " I'rom the mouths of babes and su( klings Has: thou, lather, perfect praise.'' Rather say ••Amen" when weary, Than to render homage dreary To the .Vuthor of oin' days. THE OLD MAN IN THE NEW CHURCH. TH1:Y'VI-; left the old church, Nancy, and gone into a new; There's jiaintings on the \vindows, ami cushions in each pew ; I looked up at the shepherd, then around ui)on the sheep. And thought wiiat great inducements for the drowsy ones to sleep. Yes ! When I saw the cushions, and the flowers fine and gay, In all the sisters' bonnets, I couldn't helji b;it say, "Must ' be carried to the skies on flowery beds of ease While others fought to win the prize and sailed through bloody seas?" The preacher read the good old hymns sung in our youthfid days — "Oh for a tliousand tongues to sing my great Re- deemer's praise !" And, though a thousand tongues were there, they didn't catch the fire. And so the good old hymn was sung by a new- fangleil choir. I doubt not but the jjeojile called the music very fine, But if they heard a word they said, they've better ears than mine ; For the new tune in the new church was a very twisting thing, And not much like the times of old that Christians used to sing. Tim GATES OF PEARL. 461 tiy. IK- ch. )raying, 'fc'. d sui klings liaise." weary, •y \l CHURCH. 1, Nancy, an«i windows, ami round upon die ments lor the ind the fl^^^'^'^^ Idn't help »''t n flowery beds rize and sailed yninssunginour -ig my great Re- were there, they sung by ^^ "^•^^■■ ^.a the anisic very la, they've beiur Whv, Nancy, in the good old times, the singing : "The Lord's ear is not iieavy." He can hear a sounded more sinner's crv Like tlie noise of many waters as they heat upon " In a ' liiirch that is not painted like a rainbow in the shore; luesky; Lirch was a very Ld that Christians Tor everybody knew the tunes, ami everybody sang, And the churches, though not ([uite so fine, with nail°tujahs rang. Now I'm not an old fogy, but I sometimes want to scold, When I see our jieople leave good ways simplv be- cause the\ 're old ; I've served the Lord nigh forty years, and, till I'm ')ieath the sod, I sliall always love the simple, good old ways of serving God. "The Lord's arm is not shortened." Me will save a sinner, now. Though he may in lonely hovel, on a cold eartii- altar bow. Iiut they've left the old church, Nancy, and gone into a new. And I fear they've pone in more for style than for the good and true ; And, from wiiat little I heard saiil I fear that, sad- der yet. In beating oiher churches, they've got badlv into debt. t^ K \i un 462 THE GATES OE PEARL We didn't think of lotteries and grab-bags, years a^o, As means of raising money to nial ' i 1 ,'l ■ ift \ 1 11 \ 9 '§ HI' i Lil i 464 THE GATES OE PEARL. What can I give Him, I'lior as 1 am? If I were a sheplicrd I would l)ring a lamb, If 1 uere a wise man 1 woiikl do my ]iart — \'ct what I can I give Him? (ii\e my heart. CiiKiSTiNA (1. RossF.ni. RUTH. PMACJ". to tlie true man's ashes ! weep for those Whose days in old delusions have grown dim ; .Such lives as his are trium]>hs, and their close An immortality : weep not for him. As feathers wafted from the eagle's wings Lie bright among the rocks they cannot warm, .'^o lie the flowery lays that genius brings, In the cold turf that wrajs his honored form. A ])ractical rcbukcr of vain strife, iiolder in ueeds than words, from beardless youtli To the white hairs of age, he made his life A beautiful consecration to the truth. Alice Caky. IN ANSWER. [).\M, ue miss the train at W ." '• Jjut can't you make it, sir?" she gasped. " hnpossihle ; it leaves at three. And we are due a (;!iarler past " " Is there no wav ? O. tell me. then, .Are you a Christian?" " I am not." "And are there none among the men Who run tlie train?" " No — I forgot— I think this f< How o\er here, Oiling the engine, claims to be." She threw upon the engineer A fair face, white with agony. "M^' "Are you a Christian?" "Yes, I am." " i'hen, O sir, won't jou pray with me. All the long way, that (lod will stay, That God will hold the train at II ?" " 'Twill do no good, it's due at three And" — "Yes, but God ^(7// hold the train; My dying child is calling me. And I must see her face again. O, 'uvn't you pray ? " "I will," a nod i;m])hatic, as he takes his place. When Christians grasp the arm of God They grasp the jjower that rules the rod. Out from the station swept the train. On tinie, swej't on past wood and lea; The engineer, with cheeks aflame, I'rayed, " O Lord, hold the train at L ." Then flung the throtlle wide, and like Some giant monster of tlie jilain. With ]ianiing sides and mighty strides, I'.ist hill and valley, swept tlie train. A half, a minute, two are gained; Along those burnished lines of steel His glances leap, each nerve is strained, And still he pra\s w ith fervent zeal. Heart, hand, and brain, with one accord. Work while his jirayer ascends to heaven, " Just hold the train eight minutes. Lord, And I'll make up the other seven." With rush and roar through meadow lands, Past cottage homes and green hillsides. The panting thing obeys his hands, And speeds along with giant strides. They say an accident delayed The train a little while ; but He Who bstened while His children jirayed. In answer, held the train at I! . RosK IIaktwick Thoki'e. s SOMETIME. OMETIML, dear heart, yes, sometime, 'i'he brighter days will come, And Hoods of golden suidight Will flash across thy gloom. Sometime for thee will open The fairest flowers that be. And sometime in the future The birds will sing for tliee. To all there comes a morn nig Who wait the end of night — For CAcry hour of darkness There dawnetli one of light. Then, oh, my heart, take courage. The east begins to glow — 'Tis always morning somewhere, 'Twill come to thee I know. T HE GATES OF PEARL. 466 ! ! I! ICK. 'rnORI'E. I SAT at an open window, Alone in a city street, And thought of the far-off meadows, Where blossoms and grass were sweet ; Till the murmur of lovers straying, At home on the daisied lea, And the songs of the children playing Came back in a dream to me. My soul was weary longing. The meaning of life was dim, But angels came in the twiliglit To sing me a vesper hymn ; There were voices floating, and thrilling Mv heart in its silent gloom, As tii-'y came through the casement, filling With music that dusky room. Thev sang of the sheej) that wandered, Now safe in the blessed fold; Of new love swei'ter and jMirer Than all that we dreamed of old ; Of the gol len links that were shattered. Now joined in one glorious chain ; Of the dear ones jjarted and scattered, All gathered and found again. Sweet sisters, singing at even To gladden a stranger's breasl ! Their song was a song of heaven, A message of bliss and rest ; 30 c Of saints from the shadows ascended 'I'hey sang to the watclier here ; And long ere their anthem was ended The I'.eaning of life was clear. Sakah Diii;dney. THE WELL OF LOCH MAREE. .\I.M on tlie breast of Loch Maree A little isle reposes ; A sliadow woven of the oak And willow o'er it closes. Within, a Druid's mound is seen. Set round with stony warders; A fountain, gushing dirough the turf, Flo' s o'er its gr.issy-lxjnlers. And wlioso ballus tlierein his brow, \\'ith c:are or inachuss burning, Feds once again his hcalihful thought .\nd sense of peace returning. O ! re.^t'ess heart and fevered brain, I'iKluiet and unstable, Tliat holy well of l.och Maree Is more than itile fd)le 1 Life's clianges \ex. its discords stun, Its glaring s>'nshine blindeth, And blest is he wiio on his way That fount of healing findethl \ v. Ill: f' 466 Tim GA'JES OF PEARL. ::i s The shadows of a Imtiililcd will And rohlritc licart are oVr it: Gu read its kj^ciid — ••'I'liuvr in (iou " — On I'aitli's wliilc stones liefore it. J. (!. WllMTIKK. THE CHRISTIAN'S WARFARE. OLDIIlk go — l)Ut not to chiini Mouldering spoils of earlli-born treasure; Not to builil a vaiiiuing name, Not to dwell in tents of jileasure. Dream not that the way is smooth, Ho|)e not that the thorns are roses: Turn no wish.ful eye of )outh \\'lKre the siumy beam reposes : — Tiiou hast sterner work to do, Hosts to cut thy ))assage through Close l)ehind thee gulfs are burning — Forward ! there is no returning. Soldier rest — but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow; On tiie rock thy couch must l)c, AMiile around thee chafes the billow : Thine must be a watciiful sleej), Wearier than another's waking; Such a charge as thou dost keep Brooks no moment of forsaking. Sleep as on the battle-field, (lirded — grasping sword and shield. Tho^e tiiou canst not name nor number Steal upon thy broken slumlier. Soldier, rise ! — the war is done, Lo ! the hosts of hell are flying; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won ; Jesus vanquished them by dying. Pass the stream — before thee lies All the conquered land of glory; Hark what songs of rapture rise, Tiiese ]iroclaim the victor's story. Soldier, lay thy weapon down ; Quit tlie (TOSS and take the crown : Trium])h ! all thy foes are banished, Death is slain and earth has vanished. CHARLOITIC \i. TONNA. THE MAGI'S GIFTS. TWO thou-and years liave rolled around Since, strangelv led, the Magi found The I'.abe of Bethlehem's retreat And bowed in worship at His feet; Then sealed their uorshi]), we are told, \Vith mvrrh. and frankincense, and gold — A Ocntile hand ihe first to bring An offering to the new-born King! Hut sure it is, no gold more fine Was ever dug from Ophir's mine; Nor since has Orient sun and air Distilled a perlume half so rare. Save that wiiich hjving Mar\ ])oure(l Upon the head of Christ her Lord. The child-King's hands, too small to lift. They barely toiK !i tne Magi's gift, ]5ut lo ! what light illunus ea( h gem 'i'ouched by the IJabc of llethlehem! l'"ar dou n the years it sheds its ray, Dissolving darkness into day. (), Magi's gold! what ale heniist K'er dreamed ol sue h a change as this! Nor did the frankincense that shed Its ])erfume o'er the infant's bed, Jts fragrance lose by night or day, But, as the ages passed away, Its hallowed sweetness filled the air That man might breathe it everywhere. Its scented breath diffuses wiile .\nd sweetens now our Christmastiile. Dear Lcjrd, we may not bring Thee much. Transmute it, Master, by Thy touch ; I'lirge out the tlross of selfish thought. With which our gifts so oft are fraught^;, And though we ( annot bring the gold Nor frankincense like them of old. Take Thou our lives and let them be, A living incense. Lord, for Thee. S. C. Kirk. B ANGEL GUARDIANS. R.\VK hearts that wage a never-ending strile .'\gainst temptations manifold and large. Concerning ye, so saith the liook of Life, Ood gives His angels charge. Ye who proclaim the utory sweet of old, To spread Christ's lo\e, wide as the world wide. Whence came the gold, perhaps none knew, Nor whence the fragrant perfume grew ; In danger, weariness and want — behold The angels ai your side. Ye sinners who have drained the bitter cup, But now, rejjentant, mourn and weej) o'er sin, Despair not tunc.' look up — to Christ look up! And let the angels in ! And ye who serve Oie Master here below In sweet humility and holy fear, Be strong to bear the burden of earth's woe, Clod's angels hover near ! What need vc dread, O servants of the King? Though dangers menace, imminent and large ; O'er ye to bend u[ion iirotecting wing, " He gives His ani,p|s charge." Beatrice Clavion. -////• GATJiS OF ri-.ARU •J(i7 WHAT WA5 HIS CRI-HI)? HV. Icit ,1 Id.iii ol aiitlirac itc In truiit of a poor wiilowN dour Wlicn the (leeji snow, Iro/cii and while Wrapixjtl street and si|iiare, mountain and moor — 'I'hat was iiis deed : llo did it well ; " VVliat was his creed?" I cannot tell. Blessed " in his basket and his store," In siltinLj down and rising' iij) ; When more lie gut lie gave the more. Withholding; not the crust and cnji ; He took the kad In each good task ; " What was his creed ?" I did not ask. His cliarity was like the snow, Soft, white, and silken in its fall; Not like the noisy winds that blow From shivering trees the leaves; a pall For flower and weed. Dropping below ; "What was his creed?" The poor may know. He had great faith in loaves of bread For hungry ])eople, young and old ; And hope inspired, kind words he said. To those he sheltered from the cold, For he must feed As well as pray ; " What was his creed ?" I cannot say. In words he did not jMit his trust, In Hiith his words he never writ ; He loveil to siiarr his cup and crust With all mankuKl who needed it; In time of need A friend was he ; "What w;is his creed?" He told not me. He ])ut his trust in Heaven, and Worked right well with hand and head ; And what he give in charity Sweeteneii his sleep and daily bread. Let us take heed, For life is brief; "What was his creed?" " What was his belief?" OETTIN' RELIOION. IAIN" r much on religion, nor pra;er-meeting beside. I've never jined the church as yet, nor ain't been s.uk lified ; Hut \ tender sort of feeling draws me nearer to the skies. Since I got a peep of heaven through a pair of triisting eyes. Time was when nothing moved my t'M)ughts above this sinful worlil ; No preacher's words could stir me u|>, in wrath an' fury hurled ; Hut lately I've been drifting nigher to tlie better land, And the force that leads me upward is a little dimpled hand. Seems like the bad thoughts sneak away, with that wee ch.ip hard by ; And cuss words that were handy once won't come when he is nigli ; Fact is, it sort o' shames me to see those clear, blue eyes Look at me (when I'm gettin riled; in pity an' sur[)rise. I don't know much of heaven or angels an' such things; Hut somehow, when I picture 'em, it ain't with harps and wings; Hut with yeller curls all tangled, and tender eyes that shine, An' lijis that's soft and lovi'ig, like that little chap of mine. Then, when he folds his dimpled hands, in his little bed at night, An' whispers, •' Now I lay me," why thar's some- thing ails my sight, An' my throat gits sort of husky when he blesses me, an' then I'm dead sure I've got religion by the time he says, "Amen!" Ida (1. Morris. HEAVEN OVERARCHES. LAST roKM Ol' TllK i;U IKl) Al'TmR. HICAVFN overarches earth and sea. Earth-sadness and sea-bitterness, Heaven overarches you and me ; A little while ami we shall be — Please (lOtl — where tliere is no more sea Nor barren wilderness. Heaven overarches vom and me. And all enrth's gaidens and her graves. Look up with me, until we see The tlaybreak and the shadows flee, What though tonight wrecks you and me. If so to-morrow saves ! Christina G. Rossetti. 1 i' I ! '! Il f L m i Clayton. ' I H I il f !J > :>ill ! 468 ////; UAThS 01< J'liARL The (luality of inciuy is not strained ; It (iroppelli as tlie gentle dew from heaven Upon tiie \>\:v e liencath : it is twice l)icssed ; It iilfsscth iiiin that j^ives, and him tliat takes: "I"is mightiest in the mightiest; it bec(jnics The throned monarch lietter tlian Ids crown. Wii.i lAM Shakespeare. BEYOND. AWA\I)I;R1;R f.ir in the gloomy night llail traversed his way. alone ; Nor ( ompass. nor (hart, nor beacon light, On his tortuous pathway shone; And the storm came on, like a demon's treatl, And the labors ot" man were tost On the seething temjiest, as hope were fled. And the weary soul were lost ; l?ut soft tliroiigli that tempest's billowy wrath, A bright ray glinted aero s the jjaih ; Like the voice of an angel, far and free, Rang " Near — er, my Ood, to Thee — Near — er to Thee !" The rage of that tempest, fierce and wild. Like the marshaled hosts of wrong, Disi)elled, as the \ oice of the gentle child Continued its heaven-taught song. And the wanderer bravely struggknl on 'I'oward that doubly sacred goal, For the blissfid light of a perfect dawn Had gladdened his eager soul; He stood, transllxed by a mystic spell. As the song like an insjuration fell : Still— all — my — song — shall — be. Near— er. my Goii, to Thee — Near — er to Thee !" Oh. thus do the bitter storms conceal The light of a jierlect day ; Thus does the sacred song reveal Hope's beauteous beacon ray ; (ielhsemane heard the pilgrim's cry That eclioed in worlds above ; The thunders diat crasheil from Sinai Hut opened the gates of Icjve ; 'I'he song that is e( hoing ilowii the years, With their heaving tempest of doubts and fears, 'I'lie wanderer's coinp;tss and chart shall be ! " Near — er, my (lod, to Ihee — Near — er to Tlice !" MARY MAODAEEN. IROM nil. MANISII, Bld'.SSKU, yet sinful one, and broken hearted! The crowd are pointing at the thing for- lorn. In wonder and in scorn I Tiioii weejiest days of innoc ence departeil ; Thou weepest, and tliy tears have power to move The Lord to pity and love. The greatest of thy follies is forgiven, i'Aen for the least of all the tears that shine On that i)ale cheek of thine. Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came from heaven, Kvil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise Holy, and pure, and wise. It is not much that to the fragrant blossom The ragged brier should change ; the bitter fir Histil .Arabian myrrh ! Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom, The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain Bear home the al>undant grain. Hut come and see the bleak and barren motmtains Thick to their tops with roses ; come and sie Leaves on the ilry dead tree ; The ])erished plant, set out by living fountains, Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise, I'or ever, toward the skies. \V. C. Hrvant. THE T QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME. 1 1 IC (Quaker of the olden time ! — How calm and firm and true, Unspotted by its wrong and crime. He walkeii the dark earth through; The lust of i)o\ver, the love of gain. The thousand lures of sin Around him, had no power to stain The purity within. With that deep insight which detects All great things in the small, And knows how each man's lite affects The spiritual lite of all. He walked by faith and not by sight, l!y love and not by law ; The presence of the wrong or right He rather telt than saw. .• years, ilils and I'ears, I shall be ! .rren mountains come and Sic ree ; g fountains, ranches rise, C. Hryant. .DEN TIME. ■ to stain THE OLD liKDlOKlJ CHURCH. 469 J! \\ i ( '170 THE GAll.S 01' n.AHL Hi" I'tlt lliat wriiiiK Mitli wrong |art;iki-s, 'I'liat nothing siuiuls ulum-, That wIkjso gives the motive, niakci His lirotiicr's sin liis own. And, paibing not lor ilniihtlul chuice ( If evils great or small, tie listeiK'il to that inward voii e W hi< h (ailed away Irum all. Irom their halutations, and, witli solemn deniea- iKjr, heiid tlieir nRUsiired steps to the iiuetinL'- house ;— the lamilies of the mmisler, tiie squire, the dutior, the men liaiit, the modest gentry ol the vill.ige, .md tile mi( h.iiiic and laborer, all arraved in their best, all meeting on even groiiiid, and all with that consciousness of independence and eijiialilN, which breaks down the pride of the rich. Oh ! S])ii.i, of that early dav, So pure and strong and true, Be with us in the narrow way Our faithful lathers knew, Give strength the evil to forsake, The cross ol truth to bear. And love and reverent fear to make Our daily lives a jirayer! J (1. WjIITTIER. A SABBATH IN THE COUNTRY. THE Sabbath morning is as peaceful as the first hallowed day. Not a human sound is heard withinit the dwellings, and. but for the lowiiiL,' of the herds, the crowing of the cocks, and the gossijiing of the birds, animal lif<' would seem to be extinct, till, at the bidding of the church-going bell, the old and young issue and rescues the iioor from servility, envy, and dis- content. If a morning salutation is reciprocated, it is in a suppressed voice; and if, perchance, nature, in some reckless urchin, burst forth in laughter — " My dear, you forget it's Sunday," is the ever- ready reproof. Though every face wears a solemn aspect, yet we once chanced to see even a ileacon's muscles relaxed by the wit of a neighbor, and heard him allege, in a halfdeprecating, half-laughing voice, " The squire is so droll, that a body must laugh, though it be Sabbath-day." Towards tlic close of the day (or to borrow a jihrase tlescri])ti\e of his feelings, who first used it), "when the Sabbath begins to ahali-y the chil- dren cluster about the windows Their eyes w.ui- der from their catechism to the western sky, and, though it seems to them as if the sun would never di.sajipear, his broad di;ik does slowly sink behind k'lnii aspect, ytt Icacon's musiles and heard him "-huighing voice, ody must laugh, THE CATl'S OF PhAKL. 171 the mountain ; and, whili> his last ray still lin^em on the eastern smniniis, merry voi< es lircak lortii, and the ground reinimds with ixxiiidiiii; loiitst('|>s. '•'he village in'Ue arrays iiers»'l( |.)r her twdiuht walk; the li)\s gather nn " th<' ^;reeii ;" the lads and girls tliroiig tu the " ringing si;huol ;" \>hile sonie coy maiden hngers at Imme, awaiting licr ex|>ected suitor; and all enter upon the pleastires ot tiie evening witii an keen a n lish as if tl>e ilay had been a pieparitoi\ penance. C'aiiikkink M. SeuiiWicK. w THR FOLD. lir,\ Ciod >iiall ()|ie tiie gates of gold, The porials of ilie hcasenly fold. Anil iiid his Hock find paNture wide rpoii a new earth's green hid--ide, What jioor strayed sheep sliall thither fare, I'lai k-sinirched heneatli the sunny air, To wa-iii awav in living siiring> The mud and nnre of earthly things! What Imiely ewe^ with eyes forlorn, ^Vith weary fed and lleeces torn, To whose siiorn back no wind was stayed, Nor any rougii ways smooth were made : What haiii)y little lambs shall leap 'I'd those sad ewes and spattered sheep, Witii gamesome feet and joyful eyes, From years of jilay in I'aradise! The wind is chill, the hour is late ; Haste Tlue, dear Lord, mido the gate, For grim uolf-sorrows prowl and range These bitter iiills of chance and change: And from the barren wilderness Witii iiomeward face Thy flocks do press: Their worn bells ring a jangled chime — Sheplierd, coiiu; forth, 'tis eventime. THE GOLDEN STREET. TllK toil is very long and I ;-.ni tired: Oh, Father, 1 am weary of the way ! (live me iliat rest I iiave so long desired ; liring nie tiiat Sabbath's cool, refresiiing day, And let the fever of mv world-worn feet Press the cool smooiiiness of tiie goklen street. Tired, — very tired ! And 1 nt times have seen, When the far pearly gates were open thro.vn For those .('ho walked no more with me, the green Sweet foliage of the trees that there alone At last wave over those whose world-worn feet Press the cool smooiiiness of the golden street. When the gates open, and before they close — Sad hours but holy — 1 liave watched the tide Whose living crystal tiiere forever Hows Before the throne, and sadly have I sighed To think iiow long until mv world worn feel ' Press the cool Mnootiine-'S . Sl()|)l)AKI>. EMPTY PRAYERS. I DO not like to hear him pray — " Let blesssiigs on the widow l)e," Who never seeks her home to sa_\' — "If want o'ertakes you, come to me." 1 h.-'te the prayer, so long and loud, That's offered lor the orphan's weal. By him who sees him criblied by wrong, Ami only with his lips doth leel. I do not like ' ear her pray, With jewe cars and silken dress, Whose washe ' oman toilsall day. And then is asked to "work for le.is." .Such pious shavers I despise; With folded arms and face demure. They lilt to heaven their "angel" eyes. Then steal the earnings of the poor. OH, FOR THE BRIDAL FEAST. OH for the robes of whiteness! Oil for tlie tearless eyes! Oh for the glorious brightness . Of tiie unclouded skies! Oh for the no more weeping ^Vithin the land of love, The endless joy of keeping The liridal feast above. Chakitif. L. Smith. " ' I' ti hi 472 THE GAT/iS OF PEARL. PRAYER AND POTATOES. Tlie'^e fuiniiit lines are saiil tn I ! '% s w liiuc formed a part of a cliarity sermon preached at Dorchester, Mass. rril truuhk'd face and neglected liair, An old dame sat in her old arm chair, And weardy sigheil, " I'otatoes I " For tlays and for weeks her meagre fare, As she sat alone in iier old arni-chair, llatl been nothing at all but potatoes. And now they were finished ; liad or good, There remained for to day's and to-morrow's Not one of her stock of potatoes. And she shook her heail aiul she murmured, ' Where shall 1 send ? to whom shall 1 go For another supply of potatoes?" food ' Oh ! And she thought of the deacon over the waj- — The deacon so ready to worship and pray. Whose cellar was full of potatcjcs. Said she, " I'll send for the deacon — yes! He'll never grudge me a few, I guess, Out of such a store of potatoes." Tlv Rej. deacon came over as fast as he could, .iced at a ( hanee of doing her good, Hut never once thought of jjotatoes. ■' Now, tell me," said he, " the chiet want of your soul ;" And she, gootl woman, expecting a dole. Immediately aiid " I'otatoes." But the deacon's religion went not that way; He was more accustomed to ] Teach and l)ray Than to give of his hoardetl potatoes; .\. * catching at all what the old dame said, He ice to pray with uncovered head — But she only thought of potatoes. He prayed for wisdom and truth and grace: " Lord, send her light from Thy holy place !" She murnuired, "Oh, send potatoes!" And still at the close of each prayer he said, He heard, or fancied he heard, instead This strange request for potatoes. The deacon got into (juite a fuss — It was awlul that folks should he thinking thus About perishing, carnal potatoes ! He slammed the door — for his wrath was stirred — And lo ! as it closed, a groan he heard, '• Oh, give the hungry potatoes !" It followed him home to his cosy room. It haimted his soul in the midnight gioom, "Oh, give the hmigry potatoes I" He could hear it no longer — he rose and dressed, ,\nd took from his cellar a bag of his best. His finest and best ])otatoes. Again he went to the widow's hut ; Her weary eyes she had never shut ; Still there she sat in her old arm-chair. With the same wan features, the same sad air; So, entering in, from his goodly store A bushel or more he poured on the floor, Of the pick of his prime potatoes. The widow's heart leajicd up at the sight ; Her brow smootlied out and her eves grow bright. " Now," said the diacon, "we'll kneel and pray." " Ves," said the widow. " //cu' you may." THE GATES OE PEARL. 47n So he kneeled liiin down on the sanded llocjr Which tlie cheery injtatoes had trundled u'er, And such a prayer the deacon prayed As never before his lips essayed ; Stinted and slo'.v it was wont to be. jiiit row from his soul the [irayer [pushed free: To his softened eyes the tears must start ; "Amen" came up iVom the widow's heart — Hut never a word of potatoes. Would you, L,'o~>d people, who hear my tale Pray for tiie poor, and, prayiny, " prevail?" Then preface your prayers with kindly deeds ; Search out the poor with their cares and needs, Pray for peace and pray for grace. Comfort and helj) from the holy place; Water of life and iieavcidy f(jod ; Pray for them all, for all are good — But don't forget the potatoes. " Isaac I mv onlv son 1" — The boy looked up. And Abraham turned his face away, and wept. "Where is the lamb, my father?" — Oh tht tones. The sweet, tne thrilling music of a child ! — How it iloth agonize at such an hour ! — It was the last deep struggle. Abraham held His loved, his beautiful, his onlv son. And he lifted u]) his arm, and called on Ciod — And lo ! (rod's angel stayed him — and he fell Upon his face, and wept. N. r. Willis. I! , for THE SACRIFICE OF ISAAC. IT was noon — And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself, And buried up his face, and prayed strength. He could not look upon his son, and pray; Hut, with his hand upon the clustering curls Of the fair, kneeling boy. he prayed that (lod Woidd nerve him for that hour. Oh ! man was made I'or the stern conflict. In a mother's love There is more tenderness ; the thousand chords. Woven with every fibre of her heart, ("oniiilain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath; lliit love in man is one deep principle, Whirh, like a root grown in a rifted rock, .•\bides the tempest. He rose up. and laid I he wood U|ion the altar. All was done, lie stood a moment — and a deep. (|uick flush Passed o'er iiis countenance ; and then he nerved His si)irit with a bitter strength, and spoke — T OUR BELOVED DEAD. HEV say if our beloved dead Should seek the old familiar place. Some stranger would be there instead, And they woukl find no welcome face. I cannot tell how it might be In other homes — -but this 1 know: Could my lost darling come to me, That siie would never find it so. Ofttimes the flowers have come and gone, Ofttimes the winter winds have blown. The while her peacefiil rest went on, And I have learned to live alone. Have slowly learned, from day to day. In all life's tasks to bear mv part ; But whether grave, or whether gay, I hide her memorv in mv heart. 77//: GATES OF PEARL. Fond, faitliful love has blest my way. And friends arc round me, true and tried ; Tiiey have tiieir place — but iiers to-day Is empty as the day she died. How would I spriiiL,' with bated breath, And joy too deep tur word or --iun, To take my darling home t'rt>ui death. And once again to call her nunc. I dare not dream — the blissful dream, It fdls my heart with wild unrest ; Where yonder cold white headstones gleam She still nnist slumber — (iod knows best. But this I know, that those who say Our best beloved would fnid no place, Have never hungered everv day — Through years antl years — for one sweet face. NO THORN WITHOUT A ROSE. CT^Hn * Ai HERM is no rose without a thorn I" Who has not foinul this true, id known that griefs of gladness born Our footsteps still pursue? That in the gianall, White raiment they disclose; Their liappy song lloats full and long, " No thorn without a rose! " No shadow, but its sifter liglit Not far away must burn ! No weary night, but morning bright Shall follow in its turn. " No chiilv snow, but safe below, A MuUion buds are sleeping ; No wintry days, but fair spring rays .■\re swiftly onward swee[)ing. " With fiercest glare of summer air Comes .dlle>t leafy shade ; And ruddy fruit bends e\ery shoot, liecause the blossoms fade. " No note of sorrow but shall melt In sweetest chord ungue>sed ; No labor all too pressing felt, But ends in (juiet rest. " No sigh, but from the harps above Soft echoing tones shall win ; No heart-wouml, but the Lord of Lee Shall pour his cdrnfort in. " No withered hope, while loving best Thy Father's chosen way ; No anxi(Mis care, f(jr he will bear Thy burdens ever)- day. " Thy claim to rest on Jesus' breast All weariness sh 11 be. And pain thy jiortal to his heart Of boundless sympathy. " No coiiilict, but the King's own hand Shall enti the glorious strife ; No death, but leads thee to the land Of everlasting life." Sweet seraph voices, faith anel love ! Sing on within our hearts This strain of music from above. Till we have learnt our parts: Until we see your alchemy On all that years disclo- •■, And, taught by you, still lind it true, " No thorn without a rose !" Fr.ancks Ridley Havf,r(;.\l. T THE OUTDOOR CHURCH. \\\\ carven pillars of the trees, The flowered mosaic of the grass, The green trans])arent traceries Of leaf on leaf that lightly lies And lightly moves when breezes pass. The anthem of the waterfall. My chorister the blackbird's lay, And mingling with, suffusing all. Borne by the wind ami still let fall. The incense of the new-mown hay: — This is my church, my altar there; Here I^arth the kindly motiier kneels, Her mighty hands outs])read in ]irayer. While o'er her brow the sunny air, A south wind full of blessing, steals. She wraps me in her man tie- fold, I kneel and pray besiile her there As children do whom mothers hold. And living air, and sunlight-gold. And wood and meadow, pray with me. Fv.A Keank. "I Hi (JAJViS OF PEARL. 47o REST. BI'.AUriFLL toiler, tliy work all done, Heaiitilul soul into j;lory gone, lie.uitifiil lite witli its crown now won, God givetli thee rest. Rest from all sorrows, and watching, and fears, Rest from all possible sighiiiL; and tears, Rest through (lod's eiuiless, wonderful years — At home witii th ■ blest. Beautiful spirit, free froiu all stain, Ours the heartache, the sorrow and pain. Thine is the glory and infinite gain — Thy sknnljer is sweet. Peace on the brow and the eyelids so calm, Peace in tlie heart, 'neath the white folded palm. Peace drooping down like a wontirous bahn From the head to the feet It was so sudden," our white lips said, How we shall miss her, the beautiful dead, Who take th.^' pi. ice of the ]irecious one tied ; lUit (lod knoweth best. We know lie watches the s] arrows that tall. Hears the sad cry of tlie grieved hearts that call. Friends, iiusband, cliildren, He loveth them all — We can trust for the irst." Makv T. LArnKUi\ A THE WAY. WF.ARV, wanderiiiu sonl am I, O'erbtn-thened wicii an eartlilv weight, .\ pilgrim throu.L;h the world and sky. Toward the Celestial Gate. Tell me, ye s\veet and sinless (lowers, Who all night gaze upon the skies, Have ye not i > the silent hours Seen aught of Paradise? Ye birds that s(jar and sing, elate \Vith joy, that makes your voices strong, Have ye not at the golden gate Caught somewhat of your song ? Ye waters, s|)arkling in the morn. Ye seas, which glass the starry nighi, Have ye not from the imperial bourn Caught ginnp^es of its light ? Ye hermit oaks, and sentinel pines. Ye mountain f )rests old and grey, In all your loni; and winding lines Have ye not se.n the way ? O moon, among thy starrv bowers, Know'st tho 1 the ])ith the angels tread? bie -St thou beyond th\- a/ure towers 'I'he sliining gates disjjread? /e holy spheres, that sang with earth When earth was still a sinless ;.tar, Have the immortals heaveidy birth Within your realms afar? And thou, O sun ! whose light unfurls iiright banners through unnumbered skies, Seest thou among thy subject worlds The radiant port:^ls rise? All, all are niute ! and s'ill am I O'erburtliened with an earthly weight; A pilgrim through the world and sky, 'loward the Celestial date. No answer wheresoe'er I roam — • From skies afar no guiding r ly ; But hark ! the voice of Christ .says, " Come ! Arise ! I am the way!" Thmmas 1!. Reaf. o ONCE UPON A TIME. NCE upon a tii.ie lite lay beture me, Fresh as a story imtold, Now so many years have traveleil o'er me I and the storv are old. Once upon a time my locks fell tlowing, Brown as yours and as bright ; Now so many winters coming and going Have left them, you s'e, snow-white. Once Ujion a time I, too, had a lover, (Jallant and full of grace ; Now do \ou think, dear, you can disco\er Him in grandpapa's lace ? Once upon a time I thought it living Oidy to draw my breath; Now I've learned that it means a striving, Sometimes even to death. Once ujM)!! a time I fell to weeping If but my wish was crossed ; Now 1 can trust to a better keeping, liven if all seem lost. Once upon a time it looked so ^.eary F.ver to wait and rest ; Now, at last, I'm a little weaiy, Resting a while seems best — Waiting a while, till the great to-morrow Over the hill-tops c'imb. Joy is tbrever. Than'.; God, dear, that sorrow Only is once upon a time. I.oriSA l!l SHNELI.. PEACE OF MIND, OPF,.\CF of mind, angelic guest, Thou soft conii)anion of the breast, Dispense thy balmy store! Wing all our thoughts to reach the skies. Till earth, receding trom our eves, Shall vanish as we soar! Oliver Goldsmith. I i TltR G ATI'S OF PEARL. AN IDEAL CITIZEN. 'HIC ideal citi/L'ii is tliu man wiu) believes that all men are brothers, and that the nation is meri.'ly an extension of his taniil\-, to lie d, respected and cared lor accordingly Such lan attends personally to all civic tiniies with h he deems hini>ell chari;ed. Those wliich iitliin liis own control he ivonld no more trust is inferiors than he would leave the education lis children to kitchen servants. The ptiblic ;uuls upon his time, thouiiht and iiioney < ome him suddenly, and olten they find him ill liared ; but he nerves himself to tiie inevitable, swj, that in the vi liaise, State and nation any :ike or neuleit upon his part must impose a dt\', sooner or later, upon those whom he |(ill\ 1 lAia;i-:RION. I KNOW NOT THE HOUR OF HIS COMING. I M A DISTANT CAROL. ARK, Leaning from the casement dark, How the keen, star-kindled light Of the pulseless winter nij;ht (Hints upon the bosom uliite Of the Irozen earth. Drear, e\en for tliat wond'rous birth, Lofty, lowly, Human, holy. Whereat now all earth rejoices. Hark ! a distant choir of voices In a Christmas carol blendin<,s To the s]iarklinL; sky ascendin^i,'. Hear the far chimes' measuretl ringing Laintly blended with the singing ; Sinking, soaring. Soft, atloring. Midnight now hath Ibnnd a tongue, As thougli the choired stars that sung High circling (ner them That watched in Bethlehem, Were echoing, echoing still, Peace and good will, Good will. Peace and good will to man. The voices wake again. Soft chimes their tones repeat, Oh, far-heard message sweet, So faintly heard as yet That men forget, Forgi-t. Come nearer ; louder swell ! Soar, voices ! Peal, c lear bell ! AVake echoes that shall last Till all the \ear be past ! Wiien \uli tide ( omes again. Still ma\ good will to men ll" echoing, echoing still — Peace and good will, (lood will ! K\rMKKiNE Von Haklinoen. I\N'()\\' not the hour of His comin'r ; 1 know noi the das or the year; lint I know that he bids me be ready Lor the step ti:at I sometime shall hear I know not what lieth belbre me, It ma\' be all jjlea^ure, all care; 15ut I know ai tlie end ol the journes' Stands the mansion He went to prejiare. And whether in joy or in sorrow, Through valley, o'er mountain or hill, I will walk in t!ie light of His jirc^sence. And His love all repining shall still. I know not what duties are wailing Lor hands that are willing and true ; And I ask but the strength to be faithful, And do well what he gives me to do. And if He should bid me stand idle — Just waiting — in weakness and pain, I have only to trust and be faithful. And sometime He'll make it all plain. And when His voice calls, in the morning. At noontime, perhaps, or at night, With no jilea but the one. Thou hast called me. I shall enter the portals of light. i;zKA Hai.i.ock. BLESSED ARE THE DEAD. l-ROM TUF. OERMAN. OHOW blest are ye whose toils are ended 1 Who, through death, have unto (lod ? ascended I Ye have risen From the cares which keep us still in prison. We are still as in a dungeon living. Still opi>resseil with sorrow and misgiving; Our undertakings Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings. Ye, meanwhile, are in your chandlers sleeping, (,>uiet, and set free from all oar weeping; No cross nor trial Hinders your enjoyments with denial. Christ has wijied away your tears for ever; Ye iitive that for which we still endeavor. To you are chanted Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. Ah ! who would not, then, depart w ith gladness, To inherit heaven for earthly sadness? Who here woidd languish T.ionger in bewailing and in anguish? ('ome,0 ("hrist,and loose the chains that bind us! Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us! With Thee, the .Anointed, Linda the sold its j(jy and rest a|>pointed. Simon Dach. S COMING. WIT AND WISDOM: COMPRISING SPARKLING GEMS FROM THE WORLD'S HUMORISTS. :l It BILL'S IN TROUBLE! '\'E got a letter, parson, from ni)- son away out West, An' my ol' heart is heavy as an anvil in my breast, To think the boy wliose futiir' I had once so iiroudly planned Should wander from the path o' riL;ht an' come to sich an end ! 1 tt)ld him when lie lelt us only three siiort years ago. He'd find himsell' a-|)lo'.vin' in a niighly (rooked row — He'll miss his father's < uunsels, an' his mother's pravers, too, ]>ut he said the farm was hateful, an' he guessed he'd have to go. I know tluf's big temjitation for a youngster in the West, Hut I believed our J!ill\- had the courage to resist, An' when he left I warned him o tlie ever-waitin' snares That lie like hidden sarpints in life's pathway everywheres. Hut Hill he promised faithful to be keerful, an' allowed He'd build a reputation that 'd make us mighty proud. Hut it seems as how my counsel sort o' faded from his mind, An' now the boy's in trouble o' the very wustest kind I His letters came so seldom that I somehow sort o' knoweii That Bill}' was a-trampin' on a mighty rocky road, iiiit never once imagined he would bow my head in shame, An' "'n the dust 'd waller his ol' tladdy's hf)nored name. He writes from out in Denver, an' the story's mighty short ; I just can't tell his mother; it'll crusli her poor ol' heart ! An' so I reckoned, i)arson, you might break the news to her — Bill's in the Legislatur', but he doesn't say what fur. JACK, WHO SEWS HIS BUTTONS ON. we haunted. JACK, who sews his buttons on, Lives on the topi)est floor, An' every day, before he's gone. We raps upon his door; He hollers loud : " Come right in, kids !' An' laughs an' says : " Take off your lids !" Ma says that's slang, but me an' Don Likes Jack, who sews his buttons on. Sometimes to please us two he plays His yaller violin ; An', say ! his eyes jest seem to blaze — I hoi' my breath right in An' seem to be a floatin' roun' In some bright place above the groun', A driftin' way from little Don With Jack, who sews his buttons on. He does th' awful queerest things-, He sleeps all day, 'en goes An' writes about tii' f(jlks what sings An' pla\s in ai tor shows ; He smokes a skull pipe, an' his hair Is always mussed, an' he don't care How much we ])iill it — n^j an' Don — Ol' Jack, who sews his buttons on. Ma says that he has sowed wild wheal, 'N's a prodigious son. But wunst a lady, dressed so sweet, \Vcnt upstairs on th' run An' called him iier'n an' burst in tears- An' 'en th' door shut — but it 'pears He wonidn't go, an' me an' Don Kept Jack, who sews his buttons on. 477 478 IV/T AND WISDOM One day last week a piece iiui read, Near matlc her tuiiu an ay ; It said 'at Jaci\, rigiu Iroiu iiis liead, Had wrote a actor play, Ar' he wa' ricli an' lamous, too, An' nia sa_,s : '• Mere's a liowd'y do !" Now all '■ ■ , ^! i • I * ,| i 1 1 i \i' 1 '■■ * !:!! i 479 I ?'! •is I U7T AND WISDOM. REUBEN AND MATILDA. SAWS Riuhcn K'lott iiiilo his fair, In language burning liot : •' Matilda, do you love nic, dear?" Says she : " I love you Knott." " Oh, say not so !" again he cried : " Oh, share with nie my lot ! Oh, say that you will be my bride !" Says she : " I'll wed you, Knott." " Oh, cruel fair, to serve me so ! I love you well, you wot !" "I could not wed you, Reiib," says she, " For then I should be Knott." A light broke in on Reuben's mind As in his arms she got ; She looks demurely in his face And says : " Pray kiss me, Knott !" THE OLD-FASHIONED LAUNDRESS. HOW dear to my sight are the shirts of my 1 ast days, Whc'n mem ry recalls them so j)erfect and fair. That never went through any steam laundry fast wa\s, Hut hung, bleaching and drying, in purely fresh air. The edges unfrayed, as thev danced in the day- light, The buttonholes iractureless, free from all nmt. The tubs with the bubbles i)resenting a gay sight, And e'en the stout laundress that over them bent — The old-fashioned laundress, the home-keeping laundress. The singing old laundress that over them bent. That old-fashioned laundress was siuely a treasure, John Chinaman then was in distant Cathay, And dragging machines used no shirts at their pleasure, .And chemicals then ate no linen away. How deftly she turned them antl rubbed them and scrubbed them, And i)Ut tlitm in boilers with honest intent. And when with her strong arms sl-.e gently had wrung them. We knew tl.at the shirts needed no foreign scent — The old-fashioned laundress, the home keejjing laimdress, The singing old laundress that over them bent. Then our shirts took a day and a year in their wearing, The bosoms ne'er cracked like a stiff, brittle board. And we put tlietn on safe without fear of a tearing. And sung forth her praise in lofty accord. She never disappointed in whiteness or lustre, Nor caused us in "cuss words " our feelings to vent, And we gave her the best words our brain pan could muster, And said that from paradise sure she was sent — The old-fashioned laundress, the home-keeping laundress, The singing old laundress that over them bent. T SPELLING REFORMER. IIKRl') was a \oiu)g girl hatl two beau.K ; The best-looking one was named Meaux; Hut towards the cleau.x Of his call he would deaux, lUd make a great noise with his maux. THE WEDDING FEE. ONE morning, fifty years ago — When ap])le-trees were white with snow Of fragrant blossoms, and the air Was spellboiuid with the perfume rare — Upon a farm horse, large and lean. And lazy with its double load. .V sun-brown youth and maid were seen Jogging along the winding road. Blue were the arches of the skies, ISut bluer were that maiden's eyes ! The dewdrops on the grasi were bright. But brighter was the loving light That sparkled 'neath each long-fringed lid. Where those bright e}es of blue were hid ; Adown the shoulders, brown and bare, Rolled the soft waves of golden hair. It was the fairest sight, I ween. That the young man had ever seen ; And with his features all aglow. The happy fellow told her so. And she, without the least surprise. Looked on him with those heavenly eyes — And drew the dtar fa( e to her own. And with a jo\' bist rarel\ known, beneath the bridal bonnet hid — I cannot tell you what she did. So on they ride, until among The new-born leaves with dewdroi)s hung, The parsonage, arrayed in white. Peers out — a more than welcome sight. Then with a cloud upon his face, " What shall we do?" he tinned to .say, •' Should he refuse to take his pay From what is in the pillow case?" And glancing down his eyes sinveycd The jiillow case before him laid, AVhose contents, reaching to its hem, Might pun base endliss joy.-; for them. .\oJ An 'I An'l F..r| U'lii i:( Voui ' 3 r them bent. ^ere seen rops nun g - J c si-ht. ace. .'(l to say ) av .so?" ,JT AND W/SJKWf. \Al The niaidrii answers: " l-et tis wait; To borrow t'oiihle where's the need?" riieii at the parson's sijiieakin^' yate Halted the niori' tlian v.'illin:; sleed. Down from his horse the liridej^Toom sprung ; I'lie latrhlt'ss L;ate i)chind liini swung I'iie knocker o'tliat ^.tartlc(l door. Struck as it never w.is hct'ore, r.roujiht tile whole liouseholti, [lalc witli friglit, And there wiili 1)1iis1k'S on his ciieek, >o i)aslitMl he could liardl\' speak, I'lie parson ni t tlu-ir wondering ^ight. The groom goes in, iiis errand tells, ^ .IS the parson nods, he leans I ar out across liie window-sill and yelK — ■ t'onie in. lie sa\s he'd take' tlie hi.uis.' " Oh! how slie jumped ! W'itli oiv glad bound .Slv and tlie beau-hag reached the ground. Then, clasping with eacii dimpled arm riie precious products of the larni. She bears it througli thj ojjen door, .\nd down upon the jarlor llior Dumps tlie best beans vines e\ er bore. Ah ! hapi)y were tiieir son-s that d.i\', When man and u ii'e they rode away j Mut happier this chorus still Which echoed through tlmse w.iodlandsceiie - "(lod bless the priest of Whittensvillel God bless the man who took the beans." Ef you stumhle on a hornets'-nes' an' nuke de critters scatter, Vou needn't stan' dar like a fool an' a;.;!-: .■ de matter , An' when de \aller fever comes an' settles all arouh', 'Tis better dan de karaiiteen to shnflle out u' town ! Dar's heap o' dreadful music in de verv hues' fiddle ; A ripe .m' lueller apple niav be rotten in de nnd- die ; 1 )e wises' lookin' trabeler mav he de bigges' t' lol ; Dar's a lot o' solid kickin' in the liumlileV dnd o' mule : De preacher ain't de h'lliest' dat war's de meeke.' look, I An' iloes de lotides' bangin' on the kiver nb de I book ! De peii])le p.i\s deir liigges' bills in buy in' lots .ill' lan's; De* sca'ter all deir pica\ lines aiomi' de peaiiit staii'-^ ; I De twenties an' de Id'ties goes iu payin' orfdeir I rents, j But heben an' de org.in -riiuter gits de copp'T I cents. CABIN F'HILOSOPHY. I iiebber like-i de ciillud man dat thinks too inu( li o' 1- .Un \ but Irolics froi de wukin' day^, and siion/es at de nieetin'; Dat jiiies de Temp'ance 'City, an' keeps a getiiu' J MS' turn de barkdou, ober, dar — an' pull \()ur . , •'^|, ', • . .„• , . , ,, , , stoo'es up nigher, ' -^'^ 1".''^,' us water-in.lhons in de middle oi. de 111" lit ' .\n watch dat 'possum cookiii' in ile skillet \ ^ by de lux' ; Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with nui>ke!s in I eiiinie spread in\' legs out on de bricks to make , deir han's, my feelin's flow, I'erradin' froo de city to de music ob de ban'-,. Xn I'll grin' yon out a fac' or two. to take befo" Had belter drop deir guns, an' go to marchiu' wid you go. .\uw, in dese btisy wukin' days, de\ 's changed de Scri|)ler fashions, .\n' you needn't look to inirakuls to turni-h \'ou wid ration-. ; Now, when yon s wantin' loaves o' bread, you got to go and fetch 'em. .\n' ef yoii's wantin' fi-hes, you miis' dig your Well, you think d.it doin' miftin' 't.ill is niightv deir hoes An' git a honest libliin' as iley c:hop de coitnii- rows. Or de State may put 'em arter while to drillin' in do ditches, Wid more'n a single stripe a-running' '< ross deir breeches. Wilms an' ketch 'em so an nice. !-nr vou kin put it down as sartin d.it the lime is l^ut it busted up de renters in ile lubly Paradise long gone liy, ^Vhen sassages an' 'tater^ use to rain thin out de sky ! Vou see, de_, bote was human bein's jes' like mc an' you, .\n' dey couldn't reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do ; 1^1 yo think about it keertiillv. an' put it to the i Wid plenty wuk befo' 'em. an' a cotton crop to tes', make, Voa'l! diskiver dat de safes' pilan is gin'iilly de ' Dey'd nebber thought o' loalin' roiin' an' chattin' bes' ; I wid de snake. 31 ;. I' 8 I 'M ADAM NliVlik WAS A liOY. Ik" nev<'r with a;iin-liook fislieW AIoiij; I lie lirook aloiir ; 111' iie\c'r soiiulii llif liuiiiblebcc Aiiic'ii); the daisies coy, Not felt its business end, because lie never was a iioy. He never hookey played, nor tied The ever-ready pail. Down In the alley all alone, To trusting Fido's tail. wrr .L\D ii'/s/ UK]/. 4>»;{ And wluii 111' ImiiK' Irnm sw niniui.' i aine, His lla|l|)IIU■^^ to clu\ . No sli|)|n r iiitcrloRil. iiiiaiisc Mr iicviT was a bow lie mi-lit retcr to splendid times Munn I'vdi'ii'b il()^^t•r^, \vl 1 le nevi'r acted Konito To a six year Jidiet. He never sent a valentine, Intended to annoy A );<)()d, litit niaidtii aunt, liecaiise He ne\er was a lioy. !!t.> never nit a kite string, no! Nor liid an ICaster eg^; ; He never ruined ln> pantaloons A-|ilaying iniiinMe pe ; He never from the attie stole, A coun Inint to enjn\, I'o I'ind "the t)ld man " uatchinj.. lor He never was a hoy. 1 pity him. W'iiy .should I not? I even drop a tear; He did rot know hou' mui h he n.is^ed,' He ne\er u ill. I lear. .And when the ^( cues ol' '• other days" My growiuLT mind emplov, I think of him. earth's oid\ man Who ne\er was a lio\. T. ( . Hai;mai I. II. A SCHOOL-DAY. k IV T^^^^'i John," the di^trlet tc.iclur .sa\s, \| With frown that scarce can hide *■ ^ The dimijliiij; smiles around her nioiil \''heri C'npid's hosts abide, • What have you done to Mary .Ann, That she is cryin;,' so? Dun't sa\' 'twas • nothinn ' — don't, 1 s.iy. For, John, that ( an't be so ; '■ For Mary Ann woiiUl never < ry .■\t nothiii;;, I .im sure ; .And if you've wounded justice. John. You know the only cure Is punishment ! So. come, stand up; 'I'ransgression must abide I'he pain attendant on the scheme That in. ikes it jiistil'ied.'' So John steps forth, with sun burnt face, .And hair all in a tumble. His l;vu,t,'hir.,i; e\es a contr.ist to I lis lirooping mouth so humble. " Now, Mary, you must tell im- all — I see that John will not, And il' he's been inikind or rude, I'll whip him on the spot." " W — we were p — playin' p — pri^'l:er's b- An' h — he is s — such a t — te.ise. hase. .An' w — when I w— wasn't 1 — lookin', ni- ma'am. H — he X' — kissii/ mf — if you jilc.ise !" UjuJii the teacher's f.u e the smile^ Have triumplied (j'er the frown, .A ))leasant thought rims through hei nniid, The stii k tonus harmlos down Hut outraged l.iw nM>t bi' a\enged ! Hegoiie, ye smdes, begone! .Away, ye little dreams ol love. Come on. \e frowns. < oiiu' or ' I think I'll have to whip ytiu. John, Such conduct bre.iks the rule ; No boy. except a naughty one. Would kiss a girl — at school." .\gaiii the te.icher's rod is r.dsid, .A Nnni'sis she stands — .A premium were put on sin, If punished by such li.inds ! .\s when the bee explores the rosi We see the |)etals tremble. So trembled ,\Iar\'s rosebuil liji — Her heart would not di'-semble. 1 wouldn't whip him rrrv h.ird '' — The stick stops in its tall — It wasn't right to do it, but — It didn't hurt at all 1" ^Vilat made \oucry, then, M;;iy .Ann?" The schoiil's noise makes a pnise. And out upon the listening air. I'rom Marv comt-- — ■• Hocaiise !" W. V. McSl'AKkAM. THRHI: STAGHS. .\i r I. SIGHlNCr like a furnace ( )\ er ears in love, blind in adoration ( )f his ladv's glove ; Thinks no girl was e\er (,)uite so sweet as she. Tells you she's an angel, Expects \i)u to agree, ALT II. Moping nul repining, ( 'dooiiu' and morose, .Asks the price of poi-o;i. Thinks he'll take .i dose. Women are so fickle, I.o\ e is all a sluim, M.iri i.ige is a failure. Like a broken d,un. ACT III. Whistling, blithe anil cheerful, .Alwa\ s bright and '4.u-, ii 1. 4H4 WIT AXD W/SDO.\r. D,intin«, siiijjinK, laughiny, Ml tlic livcliiii^ day ; I'lill of lull .nut trolii;, CauKlit in lasliioii'M wliirl, Thinks III) iiiDro of poiiou — (lot aiiittluT girl ! THI; CYCLINU ACADIiMV. IUSICI) to lo(ii\ ilowi) DM liicsliiig anil coiitcinn it as a low t'oriii ot amusement — or ol cxt-i ■ tise. Hut see how ihaiineulile we mortals are! It is fiLsluiui that ii.is. .ill uiikiiowiii;;, such a va^t inlliieiuc on us I Instead ol tliin;; is siioilt i)\ use," e\erylhiiig seciii>, on till' contrary, only to liecoine rii^lit and proper by use. Thus I and my sister, tlitiuj;h no lonj;er in our first youth, so strnngl\ ohject ty be Ittt "iiigh ami tlry " by the stiMiij,' tiile of bicyi I- i>in (the (oinagc ui a word fnr the o( <:a>ioti must be excused) that we one d.i\' presi'iited ourselves, (pi iking, .It the door of an estaMisliment in the lidgebury Road, over wliii h was written, in l.ir,^e ^ilt letters, " Ladies' Cyc le Sciiool." .\t our feeble little kno( k the sacred ixirial Wis opened by a betou/led voung woman, in apjiear- .iiice something between a music hall "arti-te" and a "general slave}'," who b.ide ns w.dk in. ' )ncc inside, we beheld a strange si ene. W itliin 1 round, covered enclosure, on a floor ot woodt n iihinking, c ireered a number of bicycles, ridden \'\ performers more or less ignorant of the accom- plishment. \'ou (duld tell tile stage of ])rogress it which tlie\ hid arrived by the (ompjrative anxiety apiMrent in their tai es as well as by the .inioiint of their conversation. "Why is it called '/,/,//>>' C}(le .School'?" niv sister murmured, relerring me to the preseiu e •of two raw boned ]iersoi)age> of the male ])er-~ua- sion, who might by courtesy be termer the middle-aged loiiple and oiirsel\t> looked meekly anil resjci tliilly on while tin y were sup plietl with "bikes" all out of their turn. Indeed, the\- jircc eeded to show us what they i ould do ii, that line, and cxe< iited tours itfjuiif that made ii- shudder with fright. "Keep a he)e on the dour, I'minia," said the aiixioiN parent after a lew roiiiiils, " 1-, thrin < oaches up yet ? " "No; but some mourners has come," J'mim.i answered, iieejiing. •Oh, my! sich to luli- 1 (iistonieis. for \irsfl\i> looked tin y wtTf Mip ir turn. Inilfed, lu'v ( onUl do ill mr tli.it niadi' ii- niinia," said tin inls. •• Is tlK'Ml I come," J'niini.i sirli traiie, skli .•t" it was I he nTp 'ad 1 ly ir.omy's OM'. 'llv llli'll'l d lor some tin '' tr^iit liersclt Ml K.r ih liiu), and jirf- KHind the arena I togtlla'r. to til' s" Jiaiue.-, who. inlcd and carrud luasurtd tones, ii. herty," "pufluk lirk," •' lioldl'atfd fd," ( oidd from ' Chawles," vl " oil ctxdd wariaii! notice of this. Imi ies by gettii g I b both, as a risiilt, 'I'lie siren «a- iwles" showed an (hninister consula vfre look from li^ in hi have follow ^^1 ;iis jinu turc, iiajia, US is np," <-arrK'il L'irls to the Inusli- hcstowal of siiniir\ ;kinged delin(|iieni. sciousness of any r^re's two nice hikc'- purpose," said an It is one tiling' to sit in safety and laii({h at otiiur people, and ipiitc ainuiu'r to l>e an otijcc t ut iaiiKhter ymirsolf. Itiit as the executioner — I niiMii the attendant— drew near with his dreail in.iclunc, I felt, witii tiic cmragc horn ol drspair, that there was no iu'l|i for it, and ^'ot chiinsily into the saddle, cliiti hiiig nervously at my " iielptr ' — wiio was, by the way, a very K"od specimen of the averajie London "loafer" — as I liid so. "'lire, look out, don't throttle nie," he ob- M'r\ed. " kcti ii 'old of the 'andle ; lait there, don't bear too 'eavy on it. Set up .is stritc as you can. ami pfJiiiy •' Hold me tighter," I gasped, not knowing what the magic word " ])edal " might mean, and leeling ill iiiiniinent ilanger of f.dlinL; off. " 'I'lre, 1 see I must put a drawnii^ rein on ycr." .\nil the wretch pioi eeiied to f.isieii a jnecc of leather, eight inches wiile, roiiiul my uiilortunate waist. " Now this is to give me a good grip of ver, d'ye seei* Don't lollop so— set strite, ciu't yer ? Ve're all o' one side. ' "Ve — ye— s, but iny feet are getting mixed Up with the m.u hinery, and — and one of my le^s is much longer than the other." I protested feiMy. I'he man treated this List remark with the coii- teni|)t it deserved. " I'edal on, pedal on," ho said sturdily. *' W'y, y're gittin' .dong fymous." Here my machine suddenly gave a violent lurch, which luarlv landed me in the arms of the 1 huckle-headed youth, who was still aimlessly gyrating in space. (In the middle of the arena lie, with some other fiends in human shajje, was learning to " mount," to the imminent danger of innocent and (luiet spirits like myself.) '•'Old on, 'old on," said my lo.ifcr. who, by the liye, smell so strongly of onions tluit in my desire to get as f.ir as possible from him 1 now nearly fell over on the other side. Stopping a bit to gain breath, I now beheld the elderly gentleman and liis wife in tlie act of mounting. The wile, with .1 strong determination plainly written in her fai e, mice ascended, held on like grim death ; but her iiusband hatl no sooner got upon one sitle than he fell off on the other. '• 'Enery, for my sake." called his wife in a^ony, " be more keerful !" 'Hnerv got u[) tliisty. "I can't aim to gel my feet on them treadles." iie said apologetically. "I guess it's 'cos 1 ain't never learnt the sewing-machiiu . My feet go round and round quite keerlessdike." ■' Will ye set down and rest while 1 'elp the old .^ent ? " said my conductor; and. only too glatl of .1 respite, I assented. Now. from the safety of the dais [ beheld my sister going round cpiite swim- mingly —])Mslied, it is true, by a " loafer," but still wiih an air ot ease that filled me with envy. She sat up straight, she looked "somebody." The word "Toff," uttered in a tone of conviction, resounded in my neighborhood .is she passed iw. No one, I bitterly reiki ted, had t.ikeii "it- for a " I'olf"; but. perhaps, my bearing on a bicstle w.is not cx.iitly suggest ne of th.it "repose" lliit is pfietii. illy supposed to denote "the i .iste of \'t re de Vere." " I'h.it 'ere's a taisty tlress, ,iiirt it ?" said tlie cinickledieaded youth suddenly in my ear, refer- ring to iiu sister's g.irb. I drew m\self up; .ind then, relleiting that it was one of my objects in life to "mix with the ni.isscs,'' relenteil .ind made myself affable. "Let me get yer .i toirpenny Scotch," he said plea.s;uitly, altera lew niiiiutes' conversation. I'olitelv informing him that I belonged to a branch of the Ulue KiblKui .\rniy, I turned ti> watch the bi('V( lists, .Now the s id wt)uian in the red hat came round ag.iin ; on her depressed countenance w.is written a stern resignation. She dismounted, antl sat close by me. " Do you enjoy bicyiling?" I imiuired of her, wishing to pursue my acipiaintaiue with the masses. She looked at me sadly. " W'l'U, yoii see, it's like this,' she saitl in a 'ow voice, " I'm eng.iged to a young man in the comi-rcial line. We've bin keepin' comp'ny now eight years, ami on'y l.ist Sunday was a week, 'e as good as told me 'e louldn't think o' gittin' merried to a girl as couldn't bike. So wli.it could 1 do but con e an' learn? Vou can't be lef be'ind, tan \er?" This was a contingencylh.it <|uile startled me. So bicycling, I thought, is to be added to the nei cssar\ accoini)lishmenis of a m.irriageable lady! Why, some lovers are as exacting as w;is the suitor in the late Mani.ige .\gen( y < ase, who insisted that the girl of his affecticms shoulil be "a i,'ood swimmer and fond of tlraughts and doiuinoe ! " "She painteil in water-colors, and of such is .he Kingdom of Heaven." ' There is no end to the recptirements o( fiiiiufrs," 1 thougiit, as I sympa- thi/ed with this sad case. .\ very stout lidy now engrossed my attention; she was objecting — and not unnaturally — to the "helper" provided, a liny boy of some twelve summers, and small at that. " I really imist have somebody bigger," she jileaded . " //.- can't never hold me up; 1 weigh 'oiirteen stun if I weigh a fiound." " Sicli people as 'er oughler pa\- tor two bikes i'stead of one." the jeliu remarked surlily, as the " laily " < limbt ■ into tire saddle, with a liberal displa\- of slock. ng in the jirocess. It is, by the way, \ery difticult for beginners in the art to know how to arrange their dresses, as shown bv the var\ - ing degrees of ineleg.mce apparent ii: that direi- lion. Now came the elderly gentleman round again. "'Ow are ye a-gittin' on, 'Enery?" asked his wife. who. sitting in security beside me, could afford to be sympathetic. ( " 1 • 1 ii 1 -iT ^ 486 W/T AND W/SDOM. '• Oh, prime," 'Enery replied, looking about as ha[)[)y as a imppy under process of nuiz/.ling, and w itii his forehead similarly rucked up into a tliou- -ind wrinkles. " 15ut my feet still come off them I lamed jietlals. Can't you make my stirrup :-..K)rter?" —this i)laintivel\- to the attendant. '■ It ain't a 'orse, sir," said the man testily. '• No," said 'luiery ; '" if it 7Vi-re a 'orse it would stand up straight, at any rate, and ncjt keep a-tip- m' me off one side or the other. " In this remark I entirely concurred. When 1 was taken lor my second "turn" i lb ind that many riders, in the agony of the Moment, not only mistook their "bikes" for horses, but also for boats. •' 'l'.^re, don't keej) takin' my water I " " 'Old your 'orse's 'ed uji ! " "(lee wo!" "Mind )our oar!" were common .ex[)letives; and once, when a railway whistle ha[)- pened to sound in clo.se pro.\imity, I myself own ti) feeling agonized lest my steed should "shy." is so im|)ossible to entirely ilissociate the idea o'i personality from tiie bicycle. I distinctly 't this with regard to the various " bikes" I watched. Some were like cart-horses, some like fiery steeds; some were meek, some irritat ig, some really evilly disposed; as, for instance, tiiat "bike" on which ti long-legged martial individual careered about in the midcJle of the enclosure, knocking down reu)orselessly everybody he happened to come across; or, no less sinful, the machine ridden by the siren in the scarlet blouse. A very meek icycle, too, was jii.-.t ahead of me. " How main- 1 ssons has that woman had? " I asked, denoting the lady in the red hat, who\\ent on her sad little way in front of me. "That hiii/v," said my attendant reprovingly. " is at 'er fifth lesson ; but she'll never lie a credit to us — not she." I was now come to the end of my hour's instruction and as I descended 1 pressed a shil- ling " tij) " gratefully into my loafer's horny jialm. "But as to_;w/," he continued, his face brighten- ing; "why, I'd guarantee ivv/'(/ learn it in three days. You just give i>ir a ( hance o' teachin' yer, and I don't mind bettin' any money on it." This little incident led on tlieway liome toasome- what heated argument between m\- sister and myself. S/te had only had three-pence-worth of emourage- ment, and tlierefore, no doubt, felt sore, hor what, alter all, is even bicycling without enc:ouragement ? 1 have onlv as yet had this one lesson ; but I bic;ycle all night in my dreams. I claim to have even invented a new form of nightmare, in which 1 continually fall off Viiy bicycle, and it as remorse- lessly comes back and lalls on the top of me; or else I bicycle, with the rajiidity of the wind, eter- nally through endless ;eons of space. l?ut I wish 1 could honestly think that that shil- ling had had no influence whatever on my guide's opinion. THE BABY IN THE CARS. WH.\ r great in^provemeuts nowadays on every line we find, New comforts, new contrivances of every sort and kind ; And different far the methods are of nineteenth century ways Compared with modes of traveling in our fore- tathers' days ! Vet still one nuisance irritates, one obstarle an noys, One thorn that jjricks the traveler's sides, his rose bed rest clestro\ s ; I'm not inclined to captiousness, nor given to con i plain, Hut what a crying nuisance is a baby in the train ! We'\e got more ventilation, and tightly-fitting doors. And Pi'llman cars and drawing-rooms and spacious c orridors; And there's no need at station bars to bolt a hasty feed, (iood meals are served "on board," and if yoii like the fragrant weed \'(Mril find a pleasant smoking-room, and lava- tories, too, And luxuries in man\' forms our fathers never knew. li'it all these pleasures manifold give place togriet ar I pain If some one brings to mar your bliss a baby in the train. HYGIENE. I CANNOT eat but little meat, By microbes it is spoiled ; .And sure I think I cannot drink, Save water that is boiled ; And I'll endure low teni]ierature. Since by the doctors told That to live long and keep us strong "Fis better to be cold. So let bacteria scourge and scare, With ailments manifold, To do us good we'll eat no food. And keep our bodies cold. I love no roast except dry toast, .\iul that at stateci terms ; And little breatl I eat, in dread Of jLithogenic germs ; Of milk no whit I take, lest it Zymotic ills enfold, And levers breed ; yet most I heed To keep my body cold. A keen east wiiul I never mind, I .\nd fiftv I'ahrenheit \RS. nowadays on inces of every of nineteentb ; in our forr- j obstacle an- sides, his rose- r given to com- )y in the train ! tightly-fitting ms 11 nd spacious i to bolt a hasty J," and if you ■ooni, and lavi- ir fathers never ive place togrict iss a baby in the Mt, d; )t ( irink, ture, IS strong care, food, ,. oast, ■ead it ;t I heed nind, IV /f AXn IV/SDiWI. 487 is tiie degree that best suits nie, Hy day and eke by night ; 'I'lius wise I strive to keep alive, And liaply to grow old, With beef uncarved, atiiirst and starved, And perished with tlie cold. .So let bacteria scourge and scare, Witii ailments manifold. To do us good we'll tat no food, And keep our boiiies cold. SAINT ANTHONY'S SERMON TO THE FISHES. s FROM THK OKK.MAN. AIN r Anthony at church Was left in tile lurch. So lie went to tiie liitches Antl preached to the fishes They wriggled tlieir tails. In the sun glanced their scales. The carps, with tiieir spawn, Are all thither drawn ; Have opened their jaws, Eager for eai li clause. No sermon beside Had the carps so edified. Sliarp-snouted pikes, Who keep figiiting like tikes, Now suam up harmonious To liear Saint Antonius. No sermon iieside Had tlie pikes so eililled. And that \ery odd fish. Who loves fast-da\s, the cod-fish — Tiie stock fisli, 1 mean — .\t the sermon was seen. No sermon beside Had the cods so edified. Good eels and sturgeon Which aldermen gorge on, Went out of their way To hear prea( hing that d.iy. No sermon beside Had the eels so edified. Crabs and turtles abo. Who always move slow, Maile haste from the bottom, .\s if the devil had got 'em. No sermon beside Had the crabs so edified. Fish great and fish small, l>ords, lackeys, and all, F2ach looked at tiic preacher Like a reasonable creature. .\t ( I oil's word. They Anthony heard. Tiie sermon now eiuled, I'^ach tiirneil and descendeil ; The jiikes went on ste.ding, Tlie eels went on eeling. Much delighted were they, Hut preferred the old way. The c:rabs are backsliders, The stock-fish thick-sitlers, The carps are sharp set. All the sermon torget. Much delighted were they. But preferred the old way. .\HKA11.\M .\. SaN( TA t'l,.\RA. s A A CHILD'S REASONING. \\V. was ironing dolly's new gown, Maid Marian, four years old, With her brows puckered ilown In a painstaking frt)wn I'lider her tresses of gold. 'Twas Sunda\', and nurse comin;r in Exclaimed in a tone of surjiri e : " Don't you know it's a sin Any work to begin On the (lav that the Lord sanctifies 'I'lien, lifting lur lace like a rose. Thus answered this wise little tot : " Now, don't \ou suppose The good Lortl He knows This little iron aim iiol ?" THE REASON WHY. BOS TON m.ister saiil. one day '• lioys, tell nie if vou can, 1 I'ray, Why Wasiiington's In to-day's history birthday should siiine more ihan mine?" At once Mich stillness in the hall You might iiave heard a feather iall Exclaims a hoy not three feet high, " iiecause hr ne\er told a lie I" THE INDIAN CHIEFTAIN. ''"T'WAS late in the autumn of '55 I That, making some busine.ss-like exc * I left New York, which is home to me. And went on the cars to Syracuse. Born and cradled in Maitlen I.ane, 1 went to school 111 Baiters Kow, Till when, my daih bread to obtain, They made me clerk to Muggins iS: ( "o. But I belonged to a genteel set Of ( lerks with souls above their sphere. Who night after night touelher met To feast or: intellectual cheer. use,. M . I 488 W/T A AD WISDOM. r f Wc talked of Irvin^' and Bryant and Spratt — ; Of Willis, and how much they pay him per page— 'Of Sonlag and Julien and Art, and all that — And wiiat d'ye call it ? — the Voice of the Age ! ■We wrote little pieces on purling brooks. And nuadow, anil zephyr, and sea, and sk\ — Things of which we l.al seen good descriptions in hooks, And the last, between houses some sixtv feet high ! I Somehow in this way my soul got fireil ; 1 wanted to see and hear and know Tlie glorious things that our hearts inspircil — The things that sparkled in poetry s(j : And I had heard of the dark-browed bravis Of the famous Onondaga race, "Who once paddled the birch o'er Mohawk's ^ waves, ! Or swept his shores in war and the cliase. I'd see that warrior stern and licet ! Aye, boweil though lie be with onnression's abuse ; I'd grasp his hand ! — so in Chamber.-^ Street I took my passage for Syracuse. ' Arrived at last, I <,fazed uiion The smoke-dried wigwam uf the tribe ; , ''The liepot, sir," suggested one — i 1 smiled to scorn tlie idle gibe. riien to the baggage-man 1 cried, " O, jioint me an Indian chieftain out !" Rudely he grinned as he replied, I " You'll .see 'em loafm' all about :" Wounded 1 turn — uhen lo ! e'en now He;ure me stands the sight 1 crave ! I know him bv his swarthv brow ; It is an Onondaua brave ! I know him bv his falcon eve. His raven tress and mien d ])ride ; Tiiose dingy drai)eries, as the\' lly. Tell that a great soul throbs inside ! i No eagle-feathered crown he wears, Ca]ii)iiig in |)ride his kingly brow ; But his crownless hat in uriefdei lares. i 1 " I am an mitlironed monarch now!" ' " O noble son of a roval line I" | 1 exclaim, as 1 ga/e into his fare, " How shall I knit my soul to thine ? How right the wrongs of thine injiu'ed lace^ ■' What shall I do for thee, glorious oner" I'o so(jthe lliy sorrows my soul asjiiro. S]i'ak I and say how the Saxon's son Mav atone for the wrouusof his rut!iless ::ires!" i J He speaks, he sjieaks !— that noble chief I Krom his marble lijis deep accents come; And I catch the sound of his mighty grief — " PW g'l me her if/it /or _i^U some rum .'" JANE JONES. ANK JONES keeps a-\vhisperin' to me all the time, An' says: " Why don't you make it a rule To study your lessons, an' work hard an' learn, An' never be absent from scliool ? Remember the story of Elihu IJiirriti, How he dumb iqi to the top ; Clot all the knowledge 'at he ever had Down in the blacksmithin' shop." Jane Jones she honestly said it was so ; Mebby he did — I diumo ; 'Course, what's a-keepin' me 'way from the top Is not ne\er havin' no blacksmithin' shop. She said 'at lien I'ranklin wa> awl'ully poor, liut full o' ambition and brains, An' studied jjhilosoiihy all 'is hull life — An' see what he got for his pains. He brought electricity out ii troubles come. Instead of sitting 'round so sour and glum' You cannot have all play, And sunshine every da\- : When troubles come, I sav, win don't you laugh •■ Wh\' don't \oM laugh? 'Twill ever lielp to sooilir The aches and ]iains. No road in life is smooth ; 'I here's many an unseen bumj), .Vnd many a hidden stump, O'er which you'll have to jump-. \\ hy don't \nu lauifh ? IVIJ- AA'D WISDOM ■IS!) Why don't youlaiigh? Don't let your spirits wilt, Don't sit and < ry becjusc tl\e milk you've siJilt ; If you would mend it, now I'ray let me tell you how • Just milk another cow! AVhy don't \ou laugh ? Why don't you laugh, and make us all laiigh, too, And keej) us mortals all from getting blue? A laugh will always m in ; If you can't laugh, just grin — L'ome on, let's all join in ! \Vhv don't vou laugh ? Ias.ks CoikrNKV Chai.i.iss. " Oh, promise me, love, by the fire-hole you'll watch, And when mourners and stokers convrne, Vou will see that they light me some so'.cnm, slc^w match. And warn them against kerosene. " It would cheer nie to know, ere these rude breezes waft My essences far to the pole. That one whom I love will look to the draft, And have a fond eve on the coal. it at the knees I V- I TIIK STI-rMOTHKR mg m.m, whin THE A\AIDEN'S LAST FAREWELL. IN I 111. liAV ol lUKMA I ION. d h and ner \u,re fainti T in'.N the night wore on, and we knew the wt)rst, That the end of it all was nigh ; I'hree doc tors they had from the very fir>t — ■ Antl what could one do but die? ■ Oh, Williim I" she cried, "strew no blossoms of spring. I'or the new ' ajiparatus ' might rust ; Uui say that a handful of shavings you'll bring. Ami linuer to see me combust. 'I'lien promise me, love,"- grew— '• While this body of mine calcifies, \o\\ will st.ind just as near as \()u can to the tine, And gaze while my gases aiise. ForThomp>on— Sir Henrv — has found out a way! (Of his ' process' you'\e surely hearii tell), And you l)urn, like a parlor-match, gently away, \or even olTend b\- a >m ■!]. .So noni' of the tl.iinty need snil'f in disdain When mv carbon lloats up to the sk\- ; And I'm sure, love, that \ou will never complain, Though an ash should blow into your e\ e. il <.\ 490 ly/T .LVD IV /S DOM. i \'m\\ ii (?! Now promise me, love " — and she inurinured l(l\V — " Wlieii the cal( ifieation is o'er, Vou will sit by my yrave in the twilight glow — I mean by my furnace door. 7es, promise me, lc)vt.', while the seasons revolve On their noi>eless axles, the \e:irs, \'ou will visit the kiln where you saw me ' resolve,' And learh my pale ashes with tears." WHIP-POOR-WILL. HARK! I hear the voice again ! Soltly now and low. When the twilights o'er the [ilain .And the first stars glow. This is what it uttereth — In a rather mournful breath — " VVhii)-poor-Will ! Whip-poor-Will!" What has Will been iloing now? Has he truant jilaved With a sad, (■0(iuettish brow From some simple maid? Did he steal her heart away ? For I hear \ on always say, " \Vhii)-poor-Will : Whip-poor-Will !" Tell uk; now what Will has done, Who's to whiii him, dear? Is he some s( amp full of fun That is straying near? Ha\ e you caught him at your nest By the ones vou love the best ? " Whiji-iioor-Will ! Whip-poor-Will !" That is all you seem to say. Little bird so shy. Tell me now, without delay. Why whip Will, () why? There ! your voice fades in the lea — Leaving this conunaiul to me. " Whip-poor-Will ' Whip-poor-Will!" MoNKoi: H. Rdsemeld. BAKIN AND GREENS. ()' may tell me oh jiastries and tine oyster ])atties, Of salads and crowkets an' Boston baked beans. But dar's nuftin so teinptin' to dis nigger's ])alate As a big slice ob liakin and plenty ob greens. Jes bile 'em right tiown, so dey'U melt when yo' eat 'em ; 'lab a big streak ob fat an' a small streak o' lean ; Dar s nuffin on earf yo' kin fix ii|) to beat 'em. Fur de king ob all dishes am bakin and greens. Uen take some good co'hnmcal and sif it aid pat it. An' put it in de ashes wid nutfin between ; Dei' blow off de ashes and set right down at it. For dar's nuftin like ashcake wid bakin ..ikj greens. 'Twill take de o'; mammies to fix 'ein up greas' . Wid a lot ob good likker and dumplin's between. Take all yo' fine eatin', 1 won't be uneasy. If yo'll gimme dat bakin wid plenty ob greens. Rich folks in dar kerrage may frow de dust i rs me ; But how kin I envy dem men ob big means. J)cy may hab de dispepsey and do' they may sc : ii me, Dey can't enjoy bakin witl a dish ob good gre jus, Vou may put me in r,igs, fill my iiip up wid s r- row ; Let joy be a stranger, and trouble m\ dre.,m^, But I still will be smilin', no ])ain kin 1 borrow, IT you lebe me tlat bakin wid jilenty of greens. s DER BABY. ( ) helji me gracious, efery tlay I laugh me wikl to see der vay My small young baby drie to play- Dot fimny leetle baby. Ven I look on dhem leetle toes, Und saw dot fiinny leetle nose, Und heard der va\- that rooster crows, I schmile like I was grazy, Und vhen I heanl der real nice vay Dhem beoples to my wife dhey say, •More like his fater every tlay," I vas so proud like blaze-. Sometimes dhere comes a leetle schi|uall. Dot's vhen der vindy vind vill crawl Riglul in its leetle schtomach schmall — Dot's too bad for der baby. Dot makes him sing at night so selneet, Und gorrybarric he must eat, I'nd I must chumb shbry on my feet, To help dot leetle baby. lie bulls my nose and kicks my hair, I'nd crawls me over everywhere, Und sh'.obbers me — but vat I care ? Dot vas my schmall young baby. .Ground my head dot leetle arm Vas schquee/in me so nice and varm — Oh, mav dhere never come some harm To dot schmall leetle baby ! WfT AXD nvsDo.ir. 491 SPEECH OF SERGEANT BUZFUZ. Yor lic.ird from my learned tricnd, gentle- men of the jury, that this is an action for a breac h of -.iromise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The pUiintiif, gentlemen, is a widow; )es, gentle- men, a widow. The late Mr. Harilell, sometime before his death, became the father, gentlemen, of .'1 little boy. With this little boy, tiie only [)ledge of her departed e.xciseman, Mrs. IJardell shrimk Irom the world and courted the relirement and trancjuillity of (loswell street; and here she placed m her front parlor-window a written ]ilacaril, bear- ing this inscrijttion : " Ai'AKTmknts rrKNi>nKi) rOK A SIN(;i.K (;KNTKE.NrAN. IN(.)UIRE WITHI.N." ^[rs. Hardell's ()])inions of the opposite sex, gen- tlemen, were derived from a long contemi)lation of the inestimable i|'ialities of her lost husband. She had no fear — she had no distrust — all was con- fidence and reliance. "Mr. Hardell," said the widow, "was a man of honor — Mr. Bardell was a man of his word — Mr. IJardell was no deceiver — Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself: to single gentlemen 1 look for ])rotccti()n, for as- sistance, for comfort and consolation ; in single gentlemen 1 shall i)erpetually see something to re- mind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections ; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let." Actuated by tiiis beautiful and touching im- [lulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her jtarlor-wiiulow. Did it remain there long? No. The ser[)ent was on the watch, the train was laid, the mine was preparing, the .iajjper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been in the parlor-window three days, gentle- men — a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblani e of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door ness, and of systematic villany. 1 sav system- atic villany, gentlemen ; and when 1 sav svstem- atic villany, let me tell the defendant Pickwick if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it "oiild have been more decent in him, more be- toiuing, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated nor bullied, nor l)ut down : and that any attempt to do either the one or the other will nroil on :he head of the at- temjiter, be he plaintiff or lje he defendant, be his name l'i( kwick, or Nokes. or Stoaks, or Stiles, or Brown, or rhom|ison. I shall show, gentlemen, that for two years Fickwii k < ontinued to resiiie (onstantly, and without interruption or intermission, at Mrs. Bar- deU's house. 1 shall >how you that Mrs. Bardell, during the whole of that time, waited on him, at- tended to his comforts, cooked hi> meals, looked out his linen tor the washerwoman when it went abroad, darned, aired and pn pared it for wear when it came home, and, in short, enjoyed his fullest triint and confuhnce. I shall show you that, on many occasions, he gave half-jience, and on some occasions even sixpence, to her little boy. 1 shall prove to you, that on one occasion, when he returnetl from the country, he distinctly and in terms offered her marriage — i)reviouslv, how- ever, taking sjiecial care that theie should be no witnesses to their solemn contract ; and 1 am in a situation to prove to you, on the testimony of three of his ou n friends — most unw illing witnesses, gen- tlemen — most unwilling witnesses — that on that morning he was discovered by them holding the plaintiff in his arms, and soothing her agitation by his caresses and entlearments. .\nd now, gentlemen, but one word more. Two letters have jja.ssed between these parties— letters that must be viewed with a cautious and suspicious eye — letters that were evidently intended, at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude any third parties into whose hands the\ might tall. Let me rea