And broke her heart! It was the quaintest sad- O, those mighty towers of old! with their turrets,

That thou canst stay the ruthless hands
Of dark disease, and soothe its pain;

That only by thy stern commands

The battle's lost, the soldier's slain; That from the distant sea or land

But what torments of grief you endured

From evils which never arrived!

HERI, CRAS, HODIE.

SHINES the last age, the next with hope is seen,

Thou bring'st the wanderer home again. To-day slinks poorly off unmarked between ;

And when upon her pillow lone

Her tear-wet cheek is sadly pressed, May happier visions beam upon

The brightening current of her breast, No frowning look or angry tone

Disturb the Sabbath of her rest!

Whatever fate these forms may show,
Loved with a passion almost wild,

By day, by night, in joy or woe,

By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled,

From every danger, every foe,

O God, protect my wife and child!

THOMAS JONATHAN JACKSON
(GEN. "STONEWALL ").

QUATRAINS AND FRAGMENTS

FROM RALPH WALDO EMERSON.

NORTHMAN.

THE gale that wrecked you on the sand,
It helped my rowers to row;
The storm is my best galley-hand,
And drives me where I go.

POET.

To clothe the fiery thought
In simple words succeeds,
For still the craft of genius is
To mask a king in weeds.

JUSTICE.

WHOEVER fights, whoever falls,
Justice conquers evermore,
Justice after as before,

And he who battles on her side,
God, though he were ten times slain,
Crowns him victor glorified,
Victor over death and pain,
Forever.

HEROISM.

So nigh is grandeur to our dust,

So near is God to man,

When Duty whispers low, Thou must,
The youth replies, I can.

BORROWING.

FROM THE FRENCH.

SOME of your hurts you have cured,

And the sharpest you still have survived,

Future or Past no richer secret folds,

O friendless Present! than thy bosom holds.

LINES AND COUPLETS

FROM ALEXANDER POPE.

WHAT, and how great the virtue and the art,
To live on little with a cheerful heart.

Between excess and famine lies a mean,
Plain, but not sordid, though not splendid, clean.

Its proper power to hurt, each creature feels:
Bulls aim their horns, and asses kick their heels.

Here Wisdom calls, "Seek virtue first, be bold;
As gold to silver, virtue is to gold."

Let lands and houses have what lords they will,
Let us be fixed and our own masters still.

"T is the first virtue vices to abhor,
And the first wisdom to be fool no more.

Long as to him who works for debt, the day.

Not to go back is somewhat to advance,
And men must walk, at least, before they dance.

True, conscious honor is to feel no sin;
He's armed without that 's innocent within.

For virtue's self may too much zeal be had,
The worst of madmen is a saint run mad.

If wealth alone can make and keep us blest,
Still, still be getting; never, never rest.

That God of nature who within us still
Inclines our actions, not constrains our will.

It is not poetry, but prose run mad.