Now Phaethon, perched in the coachman's place,
Drove off the steeds at a furious pace,
Fast as coursers running a race,

Or bounding along in a steeple-chase!
Of whip and shout there was no lack,
"Crack-whack-
Whack-crack"

Resounded along the horses' back!-
Frightened beneath the stinging lash,
Cutting their flanks in many a gash,
On-on they sped as swift as a flash,
Through thick and thin away they dash,
(Such rapid driving is always rash!)
When all at once, with a dreadful crash,
The whole "establishment" went to smash!
And Phaethon, he,

As all agree,

Off the coach was suddenly hurled,
Into a puddle, and out of the world!

MORA L.

Don't rashly take to dangerous courses-
Nor set it down in your table of forces,
That any one man equals any four horses!
Don't swear by the Styx!-

It's one of Old Nick's

Diabolical tricks

To get people into a regular "fix,"
And hold 'em there as fast as bricks!

Ex. CXL-THE SONG OF THE BELL.

WAKE, wake, wake!

BUFFALO ADVERTISER.

Up, sluggard, up! the sun appears:

Awake, awake,-thy bed forsake

Before the flowers have dried their tears!

Before the last star sinks away,

Lost in the golden Laes of day :

Hark! the matin bell

Sounds o'er hill and dell!

Bread, bread, bread!

Merchant, scholar, and artisan,

Hasten, hasten!—the board is spread :Thank the Giver, thou thankless man! How many poor ones hear my voice, Yet never, never like thee rejoice At the dinner bell,

With its peal and swell.

One, two, three !—

Hark the numbering of the hours!
Mark, mark the moments swiftly flee:
The past the present still devours.
Seven and eight, nine and ten ;-
They never will return again :
Mark the hourly bell

Its oft-told story tell!

Fire, fire, fire!

Hurry the engine, hearts of oak!

For the flame is rising,-higher, higher! Man on the ladder, mind your stroke! Dash in the window,-grasp that child,Pass him along;-the mother is wild! Peal, peal! the fire bell!

Crash, crash!-who was it fell ?

Toll, toll, toll!

As the dark hearse moves o'er the lea.
Toll, toll!-toll for the passing soul,
Whose earthly house dissolved must be!
Dust goes to dust, and earth to earth h;-
Cease, careless trifler, cease thy mirth;
For the funeral bell

Soon will ring thy knell!

Peal, peal, peal!

The merry, merry marriage bell !—

Two hearts are joined, for woe and weal, Together, while life lasts, to dwell.

Peal out!-the golden knot is tied :-

-

Who would not bless that fair young bride? List the merry bell

The joyful tidings tell!

Hurra, hurra, hurra!

The battle 's done, the town is won;
The thunder notes of victory
Drown the cry of the desolate one:
Fathers, husbands, children, are slain ;-
Who heeds the dead? Who heeds the pain,
While the pealing bell

The victor-notes swell?

Hurry, hurry!-Hark away!

The steamship vomits fire and smoke;
'Gainst wind and tide she moves to-day,
With hundred arms and giant stroke,-
Like a fiery steed she pants and springs;-
Let go there, men ;-the last bell rings!
Run, run! The ship bell!
Rush on board, pell-mell.

Pray, pray, pray!

The Sabbath bell rings solemnly

For thy soul's good. Oh! come away,
Visit the house of prayer to-day;
Listen to the gospel, given

To guide thee on the road to heaven!
Hark! the Sabbath bell,

To win thy soul from hell!

Rest, rest, rest!

Weary laborer!-go to thy bed,
Under the eye of the Ever-blest,
Who watches thy defenceless head;
Sleep, while the gay, the rich, the proud,
Weave in the dance an early shroud,
Though the vesper bell
Hath warned them well.

Ex. CXLI.-PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

SWEET Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale,

Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail
To view the haunts of long-lost hours,

ROGERS.

Blessed with far greener shades, far fresher bowers.

When joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray,
And hope's delusive meteors cease to play,
When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close,
Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows;
Like yon fair orb she gilds the brow of night
With the mild magic of reflected light.

And who can tell the triumphs of the mind
By truth illumined and by taste refined?
When age has quenched the eye and closed the ear,
Still nerved for action in her native sphere,
Oft will she rise, with searching glance pursue
Some long-loved image vanished from her view,
Dart through the deep recesses of the past
O'er dusky forms in chains of slumber cast,
With giant grasp fling back the folds of night,
And snatch the faithless fugitive to light.

Hail, Memory, hail! In thy exhaustless mine
From age to age, unnumbered glories shine.
Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey,
And place and time are subject to thy sway.
Thy pleasures most we feel when most alone-
The only pleasures we can call our own.
Lighter than air hope's summer visions fly,
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky;
If but a beam of sober reason play,
Lo! fancy's fairy frost-work melts away;
But can the wiles of art, the grasp of power,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour?
These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight,
Pour round her path a stream of living light,
And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest
Where virtue triumphs, and her sons are blessed.

Ex. CXLII.-THE BULL-FIGHT.

LOCKHART.

KING Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summoned all the Moorish lords from the hills and plains around;

From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil,

They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted

steel.

'Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate;

In gowns of black with silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed, in presence of the king.

Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true,

The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through; The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've won, fill all with hope and trust,

Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they all have bit the dust.

Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tam

"Make room, make room for Gazul!-throw wide, throw wide the door!

Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still,-more loudly strike the drum!

The Alcaydé of Algava to fight the bull doth come."

And first before the king he passed, with reverence stooping

low,

And next he bowed him to the queen, and the infantas all

a-rowe;

Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw
A scarf from out her balcony was whiter than the snow.
With the life-blood of the slaughtered lords all slippery is the
sand,

Yet proudly in the center hath Gazul ta'en his stand;
And ladies look with heaving breast, and lords with anxious

eye,

But firmly he extends his arm,-his look is calm and high.

Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roar

ing on,

He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejón;
Each furious beast, upon the breast he deals him such a blow,
He blindly totters and gives back across the sand to go.

"Turn, Gazul, turn!" the people cry,-the third comes up

behind,

Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the

wind;