صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني





THE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead;
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though childlike form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud, "Say, father, say,
If yet my task be done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And looked from that lone post of death

In still, yet brave despair,

And shouted but once more aloud,


My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,

They caught the flag on high,

And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy-Oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strewed the sea,
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,
But the noblest thing that nerished there




UPON a barren steep,
Above a stormy deep,

I saw an angel watching the wild sea;
Earth was that barren steep,
Time was that stormy deep,

And the opposing shore, Eternity!

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Why dost thou watch the wave?
Thy feet the waters lave;

The tide engulfs thee if thou dost delay."-
"Unscathed I watch the wave ;-
Time, not the angel's grave,

I wait until the waters ebb again!"

Hushed on the angel's breast,
I saw an infant rest,
Smiling on the gloomy hell below.
"What is the infant prest,

O angel, to thy breast?".

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"The child God gave me in the long-ago!

"Mine all upon the earth

The angel's angel-birth,

Smiling all terror from the howling wild!
Never may I forget

The dream that haunts me yet

Of Patience nursing Hope—the angel and the child!”



THE shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,

His brow was sad; his eye, beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath;

And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright: Above, the spectral glaciers shone ;

And from his lips escaped a groan,

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Try not the pass!" the old man said
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead;
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"—
And loud that clarion voice replied,

"Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!".
A tear stood in his bright blue eye;
But still he answered, with a sigh,

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche !

This was the peasant's last good-night; -
A voice replied, far up the height,

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of St. Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

A voice cried, through the startled air,

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A FARMER Once to London went,
To pay the worthy squire his rent.

He comes, he knocks; soon entrance gains, -
Who at the door such guests detains?

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Forth struts the squire, exceeding smart -
Farmer, you're welcome to my heart;
You've brought my rent, then, to a hair!
The best of tenants, I declare!"

The steward's called, the accounts made even ;
The money paid, the receipt was given.
"Well," said the squire, "now, you shall stay,
And dine with me, old friend, to-day;
I've here some ladies, wondrous pretty,
And pleasant sparks, too, who will fit ye."
Hob scratched his ears, and held his hat,
And said- No, zur; two words to that;
For look, d'ye zee, when I'ze to dine


With gentlefolks, zo cruel fine,

I 'ze use to make, - and 't is no wonder,

In word or deed, some plag'y blunder;
Zo, if your honor will permit,

I'll with your zarvants pick a bit."

"Poh!" says the squire, “it sha'nt be done;"
And to the parlor pushed him on.
To all around he nods and scrapes ;
Not waiting-maid or butler 'scapes;
With often bidding, takes his seat,
But at a distance mighty great.
Though often asked to draw his chair,
He nods, nor comes an inch more near.
By madam served, with body bended,
With knife and fork and arms extended,
He reached as far as he was able
To plate, that overhangs the table;
With little morsels cheats his chops,
And in the passage some he drops.
To show where most his heart inclined,
He talked and drank to John behind.
When drank to, in a modish way,
"Your love 's sufficient, zur," he'd say :
And, to be thought a man of manners,
Still rose to make his awkward honors.

"Tush!" says the squire; "pray keep your sitting!"

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No, no," he cries, "zur, 't is not fitting:
Though I'm no scholar, versed in letters,
I knows my duty to my betters."

Much mirth the farmer's ways afford,
And hearty laughs went round the board.
Thus, the first course was ended well
But at the next-ah! what befell?
The dishes were now timely placed,
And table with fresh lux'ry graced.
When drank to by a neighboring charmer,
Up, as usual, starts the farmer.

A wag, to carry on the joke,

Thus to his servant softly spoke :—
"Come hither, Dick; step gently there,
And pull away the farmer's chair."
'Tis done; his congée made, the clown
Draws back, and stoops to sit him down;
But, by posteriors overweighed,
And of his trusty seat betrayed,
As men, at twigs, in rivers sprawling,
He caught the cloth to save his falling;
In vain!- sad fortune! down he wallowed,
And, rattling, all the dishes followed:
The fops soon lost their little wits;
The ladies squalled — some fell in fits;
Here tumbled turkeys, tarts, and widgeons,

And there, minced pies, and geese, and pigeons;
Lord! what a do 'twixt belles and beaux!·
Some curse, some cry, and rub their clothes!
This lady raves, and that looks down,
And weeps, and wails her spattered gown.

One spark bemoans his greaséd waistcoat,

One "Rot him! he has spoiled my laced-coat!"

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Amidst the rout, the farmer long

Some pudding sucked, and held his tongue;
At length, rubs his eyes, nostrils twang,

Then snaps his fingers, and thus began:


Plague tak 't! I 'ze tell you how 'd 't would be;

Look! here's a pickle, zurs, d' ye see."

"Peace, brute, begone!" the ladies cry;
The beaux exclaim, "Fly, rascal, fly!"
"I'll tear his eyes out!" squeaks Miss Dolly;
"I'll pink his soul out!" roars a bully.

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