"Still grew my bosom then, The sunlight hateful! Oh, death was grateful! "Thus, seamed with many scars, My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal to the Northland! skoal !" Thus the tale ended. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-1882] DANIEL GRAY IF I shall ever win the home in heaven I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. I knew him well; in truth, few knew him better; Old Daniel Gray was not a man who lifted He had a few old-fashioned words and phrases, I see him now-his form, his face, his motions, I can remember how the sentence sounded- He had some notions that did not improve him, And finest scenes and fairest flowers would move him He had a hearty hatred of oppression, He could see naught but vanity in beauty, Yet there was love and tenderness within him; And when they came to bury little Charley, Honest and faithful, constant in his calling, A practical old man, and yet a dreamer, He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit So, if I ever win the home in Heaven For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pray, I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray. Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881] "CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT" SLOWLY England's sun was setting o'er the hilltops far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day, And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair, He with footsteps slow and weary, she with sunny floating hair; He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she with lips all cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night." "Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old, With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp, and cold, "I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die, At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh; Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her lips grew strangely white As she breathed the husky whisper: "Curfew must not ring to-night." "Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton, every word pierced her young heart Like the piercing of an arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart, "Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower; Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour; I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, Now I'm old I will not falter,— Curfew, it must ring to-night." Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, As within her secret bosom Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh: "At the ringing of the Curfew, Basil Underwood must die." And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright; In an undertone she murmured: "Curfew must not ring to-night." With quick step she bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, Left the old man threading slowly paths he'd trod so oft before; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with eye and cheek aglow Mounted up fro: the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and As she climbed the dusty ladder, on which fell no ray of light, Up and up, her white lips saying: "Curfew must not ring to-night!" She has reached the topmost ladder; o'er her hangs the great, dark bell; Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell. Lo, the ponderous tongue is swinging,-'tis the hour of Curfew now, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never! flash her eyes with sudden light, As she springs, and grasps it firmly,— "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" Out she swung-far out; the city seemed a speck of light below, There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell swung to and fro, And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the bell), Sadly thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell. Still the maiden clung more firmly, and with trembling lips so white, Said to hush her heart's wild throbbing: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped once more Firmly on the dark old ladder where for hundred years before Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done Should be told long ages after: as the rays of setting sun Crimson all the sky with beauty, aged sires, with heads of white, Tell the eager, listening children, "Curfew did not ring that night." O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie sees him, and her brow, Lately white with fear and anguish, has no anxious traces now. At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn; And her face so sweet and pleading, yet with sorrow pale and worn, Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light: "Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell, |