RECESSIONAL. BY RUDYARD KIPLING. [December 30, 1865-.] [In the London Times, at the end of the Queen's Jubilee, 1897.] If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Or lesser breeds without the Law, And guarding, calls not thee to guard,- Thy mercy on thy people, Lord! Amen. THE WATCH ON THE RHINE. BY MAX SCHNECKENBURGER. [1819-1849.] A VOICE resounds like thunder peal, 'Mid dashing waves and clang of steel: "The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! Who guards to-day my stream divine?" CHORUS. Dear Fatherland, no danger thine: They stand, a hundred thousand strong, The dead of a heroic race From heaven look down and meet their gaze; They swear with dauntless heart, "O Rhine, Be German as this breast of mine!" While flows one drop of German blood, Our oath resounds, the river flows, IF I COULD ONLY WRITE. BY CAMPOAMOR. (Translated by Ellen Watson.) [RAMON DE CAMPOAMOR, Spanish poet, playwright, and general author, was born at Navia in 1817. His works are very numerous, including "Moral and Political Fables," stories in verse, dramas, many short poems, and writings on social and political subjects.] "AND will you write a letter for me, padre?" "Yes, child—no need to tell me the address!" "Do you know whom it's for because on that dark evening "Pardon forgive!"-"Oh no, I don't reproach you! "My own'?"-"Why, yes, I have it written; But if you like, I'll "Oh no, no, go on!". "How sad I am' is that it?". "Yes, of course, "How sad I am alone! "Now that I'm writing you, I feel so troubled!'" "What is the world alone? a vale of tears, love! With you "Be sure you write it plainly, won't you, padre ? "The kiss I gave you on the eve of marching —' "And if your love can't bring you back here quickly, "Suffer! and nothing more? No, no, dear padre, "Die! child, do you know that offends our Father?" "I will not write 'die.'". -"What a man of iron! sir!". If I could only try! VOL. XXVI.-16 "Oh no, it is no use, you dear good padre: If in these signs you cannot lay before him "Write him, I pray you, that my soul without him But that this lonely heart-ache does not kill me "And that my lips, the roses of my love's breath, That they forget the very art of smiling, "And that my eyes he always thought so lovely,- Since there is no dear face to mirror in them, "And that of all the torments ever suffered, That like a dream the echo of his voice is ringing "But since it is for his dear sake I suffer, My heavy heart grows light; Goodness! how many things I'd like to tell him "But, padre—”. "Bravo, Amor! I'll copy and conclude there. Our learning should be meek: 'Tis clear that one needs for this style of writing Small Latin and less Greek." AN ORDER FOR A PICTURE. BY ALICE CARY. [1820-1871.] O GOOD painter, tell me true, Has your hand the cunning to draw |