no alternative but to put our heads under water as he passed, which was every half-hour. At length, after nine hours of incessant alarm and exertion, after having worked out the stones one by one, we succeeded in making, in a wall four feet six inches thick, a hole sufficiently wide, and we both crept through. We were giving way to our transports, when we fell into a danger which we had not foreseen, and which nearly proved fatal to us. In crossing the ditch St. Antoine to get into the road to Bercy, we fell into the aqueduct which was in the middle. This aqueduct had ten feet water over our heads, and two feet of mud on the side. D'Alegre fell on me, and nearly carried me down. Had that misfortune happened we were lost, for we had not strength enough left to get up again, and we must have been drowned. Finding myself laid hold of by D'Alegre, I gave him a blow with my fist, which made him let go; and at the same instant throwing myself forward, I got out of the aqueduct. I then felt for D'Alegre, and getting hold of his hair, drew him to me. We were soon out of the ditch, and just as the clock struck five were on the highroad. Penetrated by the same feeling, we threw ourselves into each other's arms, and after a long embrace we fell on our knees to offer our thanks to the Almighty, who had snatched us from so many dangers. Know Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought.—Byron. 50. L'ALLEGRO. Hence, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sounds. unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell, Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And in thy right hand lead with thee To live with her, and live with thee, Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, While the cock with lively din Where the great Sun begins his state, MILTON. + Who the melodies of morn can tell- 51. IL PENSEROSO. Hence, vain deluding Joys, The brood of Folly without father bred! Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But, hail! thou Goddess, sage and holy ! Hail, divinest Melancholy ! Whose saintly visage is too bright O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue...... Come! but keep thy wonted state, Thou fix them on the earth as fast. And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, Aye round about Jove's altar sing; That in trim gardens takes his pleasure; And the mute Silence hist along, Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, Most musical, most melancholy! Thee, chantress, oft the woods among I woo, to hear thy even-song; Save the cricket on the hearth, For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm, |