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"I sank down on the couch to rest,
THE DREAM OF PETICIUS.
STILL lay the vessel like a sleeping thing;
Unto the mast. The unruffled ocean wide
More than a league they had not sailed that day;
In the calm evening lay before them still.
With snatches of blithe song or whistle shrill;
The captain was a thoughtful man, whose prime
He from his life drew pleasant incident;
""T was while our vessel scudding to the breeze,
I saw, as now I see, in slumbrous ease
The sea for him by that dead calm was bound,
Green Pelion's head, and those dim mountains hoar But the ship voyaged free to Mitylene.
Resting afar; I saw yon glancing bird;
And the low rippling of these waves I heard.
"While then I stood, as even now I stand,
"They neared.-and marvelling yet more and more, I saw 'twas Pompey; not as I beheld
Him in the senate, when he stood before
Fierce Sylla, and with taunts his wrath repelled,
LODORE, A SUMMER VISION.
OFT in the days of bright July,
Visions of stern sublimity,
And pastoral vales, and lonely rills,
And shepherd people on the hills,—
Who talketh of the days that were ;-
As in the heart of fairy land.
Then mountains, lakes, and glorious skies
Let Mammon's sons with visage lean,
DU GUESCLIN'S RANSOM.
THE black Prince Edward sate at meat
Two hundred knights at the board were set,
They were mailed men in merry cheer,
And some they told the jester's tale,
Sir knight, do battle with thy woe,
Or stay no longer here."
"My liege." said he, " my soul is dark
"He shall be free!" Prince Edward said,
No longer on a name,
So fair and far renowned as mine
Shall rest unknightly shame!
Was brought the prisoned knight.
Stood proudly in the ring,
And named such ransom as would free
I know a hundred Breton knights,
Would sell to make me free;
To free me from thy hand." Prince Edward from the dais stepped down, "Give me thy hand!" said he,
"Sir Knight, thou'rt brave as thou art proud, And thou honourest chivalrie,
And therefore like thy chainless soul,
Unransomed, thou art free!"
Then burst forth plaudits long and loud,
And they sate till set of sun,
And, in her joyful phrase, she told how he,
And the old knight said, as he poured the wine, Ere their next meeting, o'er the wave would come,
"Twas a fair deed nobly done."
Next morning, on his gallant steed,
THE HOUSEHOLD FESTIVAL. "Twas when the harvest-moon came slowly up, Broad, red and glorious o'er dark groves of pine;
In the hushed eve, when closed the flow'ret's cup, And the blue grape hung dewy on the vine, Forth from a porch where tendrilled plants entwine, Weaving a shadowy hower of odorous things, Rich voices came, telling that there were met Beauty and youth, and mirth whose buoyant wings Soaring aloft o'er thoughts that gloom and fret, Gave man release from care or lured him to forget.
And, as the moon rose higher in the sky, Casting a mimic day on all around,
Lighting dim garden paths, through branches high, That cast their chequered shadows on the ground; Light maidens, dancing with elastic bound,
Like fairy revellers, in one place were seen; And gentle friends were slowly pacing where
The dark, thick laurels formed a bowery screen; And merry children, like the moonlight fair,
With their wild, pealing laughter filled the perfumed air.
Another hour,-and in a lighted room Where glorious pictures lined the lofty wall, They sate in social ease;-no brow of gloom, No saddened, downcast eye, that might recall Sorrowful musing, dimmed the festival.
It was in honour of a gallant youth
Those friends were met, the friends he dearest loved,
All wishing he were there
and well, in sooth,
Like a glad spirit, to partake their glee,
When the next harvest-moon lit up the pane,
The heavy sea broke thundering on the shore, The dark, dark night had gathered in the sky, And from the desert mountains came the roar Of ravening creatures, and a wild, shrill cry From the scared night-birds slowly wheeling by.And there he lay, beneath the spreading tree, Feverish and faint, and over heart and brain
Rushed burning love, and sense of misery, And wild, impatient grief, and longings vain Within his blessed home to be at rest again.
Another year-and the relentless wave Had washed away the white bones from the shore; And mourning for his son, down to the grave Had gone the old man with his locks all hoar;The household festival was held no more;
And when the harvest-moon came forth again, O'er the dark pines, in red autumnal state,
Her light fell streaming through the window-pane Of that old room, where his young sister sate With her down-drooped head, and heart all desolate.
THE THREE AGES.
How beautiful are ye,
Age, Youth, and Infancy!
Thus pictured forth, a lesson that is full
It dwells in pleasant places; Sees ever-smiling faces!
Flowers, and fair butterflies, and pebbly brooks, These are its teachers and its lesson-books!
If chance a cloud come over it to-day,
Before to-morrow it hath passed away.
It has no troubling dreams;
No cogitations dark, no wily schemes;
It counteth not the cost
Of what its soul desires, with thoughtful trouble; Knows not how days are lost
How love is but a bubble;
Knows not an aching forehead, a tired brain;
Life's cares have small companionship with thee!
A child no more! a maiden now,
A graceful maiden, with a gentle brow;
Dear maiden, thou must learn, ere long,
Oh, youth! how fair, how dear thou art;
Alas! that Time must take from thee
Thy beautiful simplicity!
Age, leaning on its staff, with feeble limb,
Doth backward turn its eye,
And few and evil seem the days gone by!
Oh! venerable age! hast thou not proved all things, Love, Hope, and Promise fair,
And seen them vanish into air,
Like rainbows on a summer's eve!
Riches unto themselves have taken wings;
And Hope has been a traitor unto thee!
Yet, venerable age,
Full of experience sage,
Well may the good respect thee, and the wise! For thou hast living faith,
Triumphant over death,
Which makes the future lovely to thine eyes! Thou knowest that, ere long,
"T will be made known to thee,
Why virtue is so weak, why evil strong;
Age, Youth, and Infancy!
These are your names in Time,
When the eye darkens and the cheek grows pale; But in yon fairer clime,
Where Life is not a melancholy tale,
Where woe comes not, where never enters Death, Ye will have other names-Joy, Love, and Faith!
MOURNING ON EARTH.
Where she lay down to die.
Toil-stricken, though so young;
Fell from her trembling tongue.
Have gathered o'er my head!
"For love, the clinging, deathless,
To leave the weak behind!
"Oh Saviour, who didst drain the dregs Of human woe and pain, In this, the fiercest trial-hour, My doubting soul sustain! "I sink, I sink! support me;
Deep waters round me roll! I fear! I faint! O Saviour, Sustain my sinking soul!"
REJOICING IN HEAVEN.
"OH spirit, freed from bondage,
"Arise, put on the garments
Which the redeemed wore!
Now sorrow hath no part in thee, Thou sanctified from sin!
"Awake and breathe the living air
Of our celestial clime!
Awake to love which knows no change,
Thou, who hast done with tears!
"Awake! ascend! Thou art not now With those of mortal birth,
The living God hath touch'd thy lips,
THE TEMPLE OF JUGGERNAUT.
This is the most celebrated and sacred temple in Hindostan, and was built about the year 1198, by Rajah Anonda Bheem Deb, at a cost of 500,000 pounds sterling. The principal entrance is the Singha-Devar, or the "Lion-Gate," immediately in front of which is a beautiful column dedicated to the
The chief idol, called Juggernaut, is a huge unsightly figure of wood, bearing some distant resemblance to the human form: it is painted black, with a red mouth, and large red and white circles for eyes.
The ceremony of drawing the car takes place in June, and it is calculated that about 200,000 pilgrims, three-fourths of them females, annually resort to this festival, of whom at least 50,000 perish by sickness, hunger, and fatigue, and by voluntarily throwing themselves under its ponderous wheels.
THE winds are stirred with tumult-on the air
On roll his chariot-wheels, while every roll
Such are thy creeds, O man! when thou art given To thy own fearful nature-false and stern!
What were we now, but that all-pitying Heaven Sent us a holier, purer faith to learn?—
Type of its message came the white-winged dove— What is the Christian's creed?-Faith, Hope and Love.
Rich robes of Tyrian dye?
THE MOSQUE OF SULTAN ACHMET.
YOUNG Achmet the Sultan ariseth to-day,