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النشر الإلكتروني

THE CRYSTAL FOUNTAIN.

"Perhaps Italian h'art attracts
Her, or them there flowers in wax.
May be she has got hup stairs
In among they heasy chairs;
And like Gulliver is sleeping,
Where them Lillipushum's creeping:
But she'll wake, and then she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!

"Yet, good ma'am, I should explain,
She may stop a bit in Spain;
Smelling of them Porto snuffs,
Looking at the Turkish stuffs,
Or if warm, a Chiny fan,
Offered by the Tartar man,
Will refresh her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!

"She may see the silver things,
Little watches, chains and rings;
Or may-hap, ma'am, she may stray,
Where the monster horgans play;
Or the music of all sorts,
Great and small pianny forts,
May detain her as she goes
Where the Crystal Fountain flows!

"Or she may have gone

Of a patent henvelope

in hope

To take home,—and if she's able,
Try to see the Roman table;

Or insist on one peep more,
At the sparkling Koh-hi-nore;
Then, the chance is, on she goes

Where the Crystal Fountain flows!"

"Well, policeman, certainly You're the man to have an eye

Over such a place as this,

And to find a straying Miss!

Pray, good man, my daughter tell,
When she hears them ring the bell,
I shall find her, if she goes

Where the Crystal Fountain flows!"

405

LXX.-SONG OF STEAM.

GEO. W. CUTTER.

WHEN I saw an army upon the land,
A navy upon the seas,
Creeping along, a snail-like band,

Or waiting a wayward breeze;
When I saw the peasant faintly reel,
With the toil he faintly bore,

As constant he turned at the tardy wheel,
Or tugged at the weary oar;

When I measured the panting courser's speed,
The flight of the carrier dove,

As they bore a law a king decreed,

Or the lines of impatient love ;

I could not but think how the world would feel,
As these were out-stripped afar,

When I should be bound to the rushing keel,
Or chained to the flying car!

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And I rushed to my throne with a thunder-blast,
And laughed in my iron strength;

Oh! then you saw a wondrous change

On earth and the ocean wide,

Whence now my fiery armies range,
Nor wait for wind or tide.

Hurrah! hurrah! the waters o'er,
The mountains steep decline;
Time-space have yielded to my power-
The world-the world is mine!
The giant streams of the queenly West,
And the Orient floods divine.

The Ocean pales where'er I sweep,
To hear my strength rejoice,
And monsters of the briny deep,
Cower, trembling, at my voice.

THE STORMING OF MONTEREY.

I carry the wealth and the lord of the earth,'
The thoughts of the godlike mind,
The wind lags after my going forth,
The lightning is left behind.

In the darksome depth of the fathomless mine,
My tireless arm doth play,

Where the rocks ne'er saw the sun's decline,
Or the dawn of the glorious day;
I bring earth's glittering jewels up
From the hidden cave below,
And I make the fountain's granite cup
With a crystal gush o'erflow.

I blow the bellows, I forge the steel
In all the shops of trade;

I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel

Where my arms of strength are made; I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint, I curry, I spin, I weave;

And all the doings I put in print,

On every Saturday eve.

I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay,
No bones to be "laid on the shelf,"

And soon I intend you may "go and play,"-
While I manage the world myself.

But harness me down with your iron bands;
Be sure of your curb and rein;

For I scorn the strength of your puny hands,
As the tempest scorns a chain.

407

LXXI-STORMING OF MONTEREY.

CHARLES FENNO HOFFMAN.

We were not many-we who stood
Before the iron sleet that day-

Yet many a gallant spirit would
Give half his years, if he but could
Have been with us at Monterey.

Now here, now there, the shot it hailed

In deadly drifts of fiery spray,

Yet not a single soldier quailed

When wounded comrades round them wailed
Their dying shout at Monterey.

And on-still on our column kept

Through walls of flame its withering way;
Where fell the dead, the living stept,
Still charging on the guns that swept
The slippery streets of Monterey.

The foe himself recoiled aghast,

When, striking where the strongest lay,
We swooped his flanking batteries past,
And braving full their murderous blast,
Stormed home the towers of Monterey.

Our banners on those towers wave,
And there our evening bugles play,
Where orange boughs above their grave
Keep green the memory of the brave
Who fought and fell at Monterey.

We were not many-we who pressed
Beside the brave who fell that day;
But who of us has not confessed
He'd rather share their warrior rest,
Than not have been at Monterey.

LXXII-ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.

J. G. WHITTIER.

SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,
O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array,
Who is losing? who is winning? are they far, or come they
near?

Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.

ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA.

409

"Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!"

Who is losing? who is winning?" Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain."

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once

more :

"Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse,

Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.

Look forth once more, Ximena ! "Ah! the smoke has rolled away;

And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon

wheels;

There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels."

"Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charging

lance !

Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall;

Like a ploughshare in its fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball."

Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on :

"Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost and who has won."

"Alas! alas! I know not, friend and foe together fall,

O'er the dying rush the living; pray, my sisters, for them all!"

"Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting: Blessed Mother save my brain!

I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of

slain.

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