« PreviousContinue »
“Curst hound! by thee my child's devoured !"
The frantic father cried ;
He plunged in Gelert's side.
Some slumberer wakened nigh-
To hear his infant cry.
But, the same couch beneath,
Iremendous still in death.
For now the truth was clear;
And saved his master's heir.
With varied sculpture decked;
THE THREE FISHERMEN.
Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
Though the harbour bar be moaning.
And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;
And the night rack came rolling up ragged and brown.
And the harbour bar be moaning.
Three corpses lay out on the shining sands,
In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
For those who will never come home to the town.
And good bye to the bar and its moaning -Ki
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd weak and weary,
Only this, and nothing more.”
This it is, and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said Í,“ or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore, But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I open'd wide the door;
Darkness there, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. “Surely,” said I,“ surely that is something at my window lattice, Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore-Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;
'Tis the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepp'd a stately Raven, of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he,—not a moment stopp'd or stay'd he, But with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber-doorPerch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-door
Perch'd, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore. “Though thy crest be shorn and sbaven, thou,” I said, “art sure
no craven, Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly
shore Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore !”
Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “ what it utters is its only stock and store. Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Follow'd fast, and follow'd faster, till his songs one burden boreTill the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of“ Never,-nevermore."-EDGAR Poe.
THE POET'S LAST WISH.
"Tis said when Schiller's death drew nigh,
The wish possessed his mighty mind,
The bones and haunts of human kind.
By Rome and Égypt's ancient graves ;
Stood in the Hindoo's temple caves ;
The sallow Tartar midst his herds,
False Malay, uttering gentle words.
The threshold of the world unknown;
A ray upon his garment shone;
For love and light-but clouded here,-
Sprang to a fairer, ampler sphere !
The abyss of glory opened round?
Through ranks of being without bound?
GENIUS AND ENERGY OF YOUTH.
Almost everything that is great has been done by youth. The greatest captains of ancient and modern times, both conquered Italy at five-and-twenty!. Alexander was very young when he overthrew the Persian empire. Don John of Austria won Lepanto at twenty-five. Gaston-de-Foix was only twenty-two when he stood a victor on the plain of Ravenna. Gustavus Adolphus died at thirty-eight. Look at his captains: that wonderful duke of Weimar, only thirty-six when he died; Bamir himself, after all his miracles, died at forty-five; Cortes was little more than thirty when he gazed upon the golden cupolas of Mexico. When Maurice of Saxony died at thirty-two, all Europe acknowledged the loss of the greatest captain and the profoundest statesman of the age. Then there are Nelson, Clive, Bonaparte ;—but these are warriors, and perhaps you may think there are greater things than war. Then take the most illustrious achievements of civil polity. Innocent III., one of the greatest of the popes, was the despot of Christendom at thirty-seven. John de Medici was a cardinal at fifteen, andGuicciardini tells us—baffled with his statecraft Ferdinand of Arragon himself. John also was pope, as Leo X., at thirty-seven. Luther robbed even him of his richest province at thirty-five. Take Ignatius Loyola and John Wesley; they worked with young brains. Pascel wrote a great work at sixteen, and died at thirty
Was it experience that guided the pencil of Raphael when he painted the palaces of Rome? He died at thirty-seven. Richelieu was Secretary of State at thirty-one. Then there are Boling broke and Pitt, both ministers of state before other men leave cricket. Grotius was in great practice at seventeen, and attorney-general at twenty-four. It is needless to multiply instances. The history of heroes is the history of youth.
The longer I live, the more am I certain that the great difference between men,-between the feeble and the powerful, the great and the insignificant, -is energy,-invincible determination,-a purpose once fixed, and then death or victory. That talent can do anything that can be done in this world, and no one can be a man without it.-SIR T. F. BUXTON.
He prayeth well who loveth well
Sweetly a blackbird, perched on a frail spray,
What's your name ?” piped hem
" Little Bell,” said she.
Full of quips and wiles,
Dimpled o'er with smiles.
'Neath the morning skies,-
From the blue, bright eyes.
Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade
And, from out the tree,
“ Little Bell !"-piped he.
Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
Happy Bell !” pipes he.
Little Bell looked up and down the glade-
Come and share with me!”
Down came squirrel, eager for his fare-
Ah! the merry three !
By her snow-white cot, at close of day,
Very calm and clear
Paused awhile to hear.
“What good child is this,” the angel said,
Prays so lovingly?"
Bell, dear Bell !” crooned he.
“Whom God's creatures love,” the angel fair
Child, thy bed shall be
Adapted from T. WESTWOOD.