With a wild love he seeks young Summer's charms And clasps her to his arms; Lifting his shield between, he drives away Old Winter from his prey;— The ancient tyrant whom he boldly braves, Goes howling to his caves; And, to his northern realm compelled to fly, Yields up the victory; Melted are all his bands, o'erthrown his towers, And March comes bringing flowers. Elizabeth Dakes Smith. BORN in Cumberland, Me., 1806. THE DROWNED MARINER. AMARINER sat on the shrouds one night, The wind was piping free; Now bright, now dimmed was the moonlight pale, And the phosphor gleamed in the wake of the whale, As he floundered in the sea; The scud was flying athwart the sky, And the wave as it towered, then fell in spray, The mariner swayed and rocked on the mast, Down the yawning wave his eye he cast, For their broad, damp fins were under the tide, Now freshens the gale, and the brave ship goes A sheet of flame is the spray she throws, The topsails are reefed and the sails are furled, Wildly she rocks, but he swingeth at ease, And the surging heareth loud. With its pallid cheek and its cold eyes dim? Did it beckon him down? did it call his name? Now rolleth the ship the way whence it came. The mariner looked, and he saw with dread, And the cold eyes glared, the eyes of the dead, The stout ship rocked with a reeling speed, Bethink thee, mariner, well of the past, Bethink thee of oaths that were lightly spoken, Alone in the dark, alone on the wave, To struggle aghast at thy watery grave, The stout limbs yield, for their strength is past, Down, down where the storm is hushed to sleep, The gem and the pearl lie heaped at thy side, A peopled home is the ocean bed, The mother and child are there The fervent youth and the hoary head, As the water moveth they lightly sway, Charles Fenno Hoffman. BORN in New York, N. Y., 1806. DIED at Harrisburg, Penn., 1884. Now here, now there, the shot, it hailed Yet not a single soldier quailed When wounded comrades round them wailed And on-still on our column kept Through walls of flame its withering way; The foe himself recoiled aghast, When, striking where he strongest lay, Our banners on those turrets wave, And there our evening bugles play; We are not many-we who pressed THE MINT JULEP. IS said that the gods on Olympus of old TIS (And who the bright legend profanes with a doubt?) One night, 'mid their revels, by Bacchus were told But determined to send round the goblet once more, In composing a draught which, till drinking were o'er, Grave Ceres herself blithely yielded her corn, And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain, And which first had its birth from the dew of the morn, Was taught to steal out in bright dew-drops again. |