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THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS.-L. HUNT.
KING Francis was a hearty king, and lov'd a royal sport,
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show, Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal hearts below.
Ramp'd and roar'd the lions, with horrid laughing jaws; They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws:
With wallowing might and stifled roar, they roll'd on one another, Till all the pit, with sand and mane, was in a thund'rous smother; The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing thro' the air; Said Francis then, "Faith! gentlemen, we're better here than there!"
De Lorge's love o'er-heard the king, a beauteous lively dame, With smiling lips and sharp bright eyes, which always seem'd the same;
She thought,—The Count my lover is brave as brave can be—
She dropp'd her glove, to prove his love, then look'd at him and smil'd;
He bow'd, and in a moment leap'd among the lions wild.
The leap was quick, return was quick-he has regain'd the place,
Then threw the glove-but not with love-right in the lady's face. "By heaven!" cried Francis, "rightly done!" and he rose from where he sat:
"No love," quoth he, "but vanity, sets love a task like that!"
PATIENCE AND HOPE.-BULWER.
UPON a barren steep,
I saw an angel watching the wild sea;
66 Why dost thou watch the wave?
The tide engulphs thee, if thou do remain.”
Hush'd on the Angel's breast
Smiling on the gloomy hell below.
"What is the infant prest,
"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!
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.-LEIGH HUNT.
ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
An angel writing in a book of gold.
COXCOMBRY IN CONVERSATION.-COWPER.
THE emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose,
A tasteless journal of the day before.
I cannot talk with civet in the room,A fine puss gentleman, that's all perfume : His odoriferous attempts to please,
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees;
The solemn fop;-significant and budge,
But, when unpack'd, your disappointment groans,
SPEAK, poor almsman, of to-day, whom none can assure of a to-morrow,
Tell out, with honest heart, the price thou settest upon yesterday.
Is it then a writing in the dust, traced by the finger of Idleness
Is it as the pale blue smoke, rising from a peasant's hovel,
Is it but a vision, unstable and unreal, which wise men soon
Is it as the stranger of the night,-gone, we heed not whither?
For behold-those temples of Ellora, the Brahmin's rock-built shrine,
Behold-yon granite cliff, which the North Sea buffeteth in vain,
Weigh'd against that solid fact, thine ill-remember'd yesterday.
Come, let me show thee an ensample, where Nature shall in
Luxuriantly the arguments for Truth spring native in her gardens;
Seek we yonder woodman of the plain; he is measuring his axe to the elm,
And anon the sturdy strokes ring upon the wintry air;
Eagerly the village school-boys cluster on the tighten❜d rope, Shouting, and bending to the pull, or lifted from the ground elastic,
The huge tree boweth like Sisera boweth to its foes with faintness,
Its sinews crack,-deep groans declare the reeling anguish of
The wedge is driven home,—and the saw is at its heart, and
The shuddering monarch riseth from his throne,―toppled with a crash, and is fallen!
Now, shall the mangled stump teach proud man a lesson;