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YOUNG Rory O'More courted Kathleen Bawn, —
"With your tricks, I don't know, in troth, what I'm about;
And 'tis plazed that I am, and why not, to be sure?
"Indeed, then," says Kathleen, "don't think of the like,
Sure I dream every night that I'm hating you so!"
And bright morning will give dirty night the black lie!
"Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've tazed me enough; Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Tim
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste
And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light, And he kissed her sweet lips - don't you think he was
- you'll hug me no more;
"Now, Rory, leave off, sir
THE ANGELS' WHISPER.
A BABY was sleeping,
Its mother was weeping,
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
Round the fisherman's dwelling;
And she cried, "Dermot, darling, O come back to me!"
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee: "O, blessed be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
"And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
O pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
They'd watch o'er thy father;
For I know that the angels are whispering to thee."
The dawn of the morning
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
Her child with a blessing,
Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL, an eminent American poet, essayist, scholar, and diplomatist, born at Cambridge, Mass., Feb. 22, 1819; died there, Aug. 12, 1891. He was graduated at Harvard in 1838, and at the Law School in 1840, but abandoned law for literature, publishing "A Year's Life" (1841), and beginning a short-lived monthly, "The Pioneer" (1843). He put forth a volume of "Poems" in 1844; "The Vision of Sir Launfal" in 1845; “Conversations on Some of the Old Poets" in 1845, and more "Poems" in 1848. His reputation as a humorist and satirist was established by The Biglow Papers and "A Fable for Critics" (1848). Mr. Lowell traveled in Europe in 1851-1852, lectured before the Lowell Institute at Boston, 1854-1856, on the British Poets; and in 1855 succeeded Longfellow as Professor of Modern Languages and Belles-Lettres at Harvard. He edited the Atlantic Monthly from its start to 1862, and the North American Review from 18631872, contributing largely to both. The Civil War called out much of his finest verse, including the magnificent "Commemoration Ode," recited at Harvard, July 21, 1865, and the second series of The Biglow Papers, collected in 1867. Editions of his poems had appeared in 1854 and 1858; to these were added "Under the Willows," etc. (1869); "The Cathedral" (1869); and "Heartsease and Rue" (1888). His principal prose works are "Fireside Travels" (1864); "Among My Books" (1870-1876); "My Study Windows" (1870); "Democracy and Other Addresses" (1887); "American Ideas for English Readers" and "Latest Literary Essays" published 1893; and "Letters" (1894), edited by C. E. Norton. While abroad in 1872-1874 he was honored with degrees by the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge. He was sent as United States Minister to Spain in 1877, and transferred to England in 1880, where he remained till 1885. He was elected Lord Rector of St. Andrews University, Glasgow, in 1884. He was very popular in England, personally, and as a writer, and a window to his memory was placed in the vestibule to the chapter house of Westminster Abbey in November of 1893, the address on the occasion of the unveiling being delivered by Leslie Stephen.
THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL.
OVER his keys the musing organist,
And builds a bridge from Dreamland for his lay; Then, as the touch of his loved instrument
Gives hope and fervor, nearer draws his theme,
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;
Over our manhood bend the skies;
With our faint hearts the mountain strives;
Waits with its Benedicite;
And to our age's drowsy blood
Still shouts the inspiring sea.
Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us :
At the devil's booth are all things sold,
Each ounce of dross costs its ounce of gold;
For a cap and bells our lives we pay,
Bubbles we buy with a whole soul's tasking:
'Tis heaven alone that is given away,
"Tis only God may be had for the asking;
No price is set on the lavish summer;
And what is so rare as a day in June?
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.
An instinct within it that reaches and towers, And groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys;
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay;
No matter how barren the past may have been,
We sit in the warm shade and feel right well
How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing,
That the robin is plastering his house hard by:
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing,-
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is upward striving;