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FIRST APPEARANCE AT THE ODEON.

"I AM Nicholas Tacchinardi,- hunchbacked, look you, and a fright; Caliban himself might never interpose so foul a sight.

Granted; but I come not, masters, to exhibit formi or size.

Gaze not on my limbs, good people; lend your ears, and not your eyes.
I'm a singer, not a dancer,-spare me for a while your din;

Let me try my voice to-night here,- keep your jests till I begin.
Have the kindness but to listen,-this is all I dare to ask.

See, I stand beside the footlights, waiting to begin my task,

If I fail to please you, curse me,-not before my voice you hear,

Thrust me not from the Odéon. Hearken, and I've naught to fear."

Then the crowd in pit and boxes jeered the dwarf, and mocked his shape;
Called him "monster," "thing abhorrent," crying, "Off, presumptuous ape!
Off, unsightly, baleful creature! off, and quit the insulted stage!
Move aside, repulsive figure, or deplore our gathering rage.

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Bowing low, pale Tacchinardi, long accustomed to such threats,
Burst into a grand bravura, showering notes like diamond jets,—
Sang until the ringing plaudits through the wide Odéon rang,-
Sang as never soaring tenor ere behind those footlights sang;
And the hunchback, ever after, like a god was hailed with cries,-
"King of minstrels, live forever! Shame on fools who have but eyes!"

FRANCIS MILES FINCH.

THE BLUE AND THE GRAY.

By the flow of the inland river;
Whence the fleets of iron had fled.
Where the blades of the grave-grass
quiver,

Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew;
Waiting the Judgment-Day;
Under the one, the Blue;

Under the other, the Gray.

These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat;
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet;
Under the sod and the dew;
Waiting the Judgment-Day;
Under the laurel, the Blue;

Under the willow, the Gray.

From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,

Lovingly laden with flowers,

Alike for the friend and the foe;
Under the sod and the dew;
Waiting the Judgment-Day;
Under the laurel, the Blue;
Under the willow, the Gray.

So, with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all;
Under the sod and the dew;
Waiting the Judgment-Day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue;
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.

So, when the summer calleth
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain;
Under the sod and the dew;
Waiting the Judgment-Day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue;

Wet with the rain, the Gray.

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LISTENING FOR GOD.

I HEAR it often in the dark,
I hear it in the light,-

Where is the voice that calls to me
With such a quiet might?
It seems but echo to my thought,
And yet beyond the stars;
It seems a heart-beat in a hush,
And yet the planet jars.

Oh, may it be that far within
My inmost soul there lies
A spirit-sky, that opens with
Those voices of surprise?
And can it be, by night and day,
That firmament serene

Is just the heaven where God himself,
The Father, dwells unseen?

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And those who could not speak nor stir,

"God blessed him" just the same.

For he was all the world to us,
That hero gray and grim.
Right well we knew that fearful slope
We'd climb with none but him,
Though while his white head led the
way

We'd charge hell's portals in.

This time we were not half-way up,
When, midst the storm of shell,
Our leader, with his sword upraised,
Beneath our bayonets fell.

And, as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.

Our hearts went with him. Back we swept,

And when the bugle said "Up, charge, again!" no man was there

But hung his dogged head. "We've no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said.

Just then before the laggard line The colonel's horse we spied,

Bay Billy with his trappings on,
His nostrils swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back
The master sat astride.

Right royally he took the place

That was of old his wont, And with a neigh that seemed to say, Above the battle's brunt, "How can the Twenty-Second charge If I am not in front?"

Like statues rooted there we stood,
And gazed a little space,
Above that floating mane we missed
The dear familiar face,

But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire,
And it gave us heart of grace.

No bugle-call could rouse us all

As that brave sight had done,
Down all the battered line we felt
A lightning impulse run.
Up! up the hill we followed Bill,
And we captured every gun!

And when upon the conquered height
Died out the battle's hum,
Vainly mid living and the dead
We sought our leader dumb.
It seemed as if a spectre steed
To win that day had come.

And then the dusk and dew of night
Fell softly o'er the plain,

As though o'er man's dread work of death

The angels wept again, And drew night's curtain gently round

A thousand beds of pain.

All night the surgeons' torches went,
The ghastly rows between,—
All night with solemn step I paced
The torn and bloody green.
But who that fought in the big war
Such dread siglits have not seen?

At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies,

As if to e'en the sleepers there
It bade awake, and rise!
Though naught but that last trump
of all

Could ope their heavy eyes.

And then once more with banners
gay,
Stretched out the long brigade.
Trimly upon the furrowed field

The troops stood on parade, And bravely mid the ranks were closed

The gaps the fight had made.

Not half the Twenty-Second's men
Were in their place that morn;
And Corporal Dick, who yester-noon
Stood six brave fellows on,
Now touched my elbow in the ranks,
For all between were gone.

Ah! who forgets that dreary hour
When, as with misty eyes,
To call the old familiar roll

The solemn sergeant tries,-
One feels that thumping of the heart
As no prompt voice replies.

And as in faltering tone and slow
The last few names were said,
Across the field some missing horse
Toiled up the weary tread,
It caught the sergeant's eye, and
quick

Bay Billy's name he read.

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RICHARD WATSON GILDER.

THERE IS Nothing new unDER | By iron, and to heaven laid bare:

THE SUN.

THERE is nothing new under the sun; There is no new hope or despair; The agony just begun

Is as old as the earth and the air. My secret soul of bliss

Is one with the singing star's, And the ancient mountains miss No hurt that my being mars.

I know as I know my life,

I know as I know my pain,
That there is no lonely strife,
That he is mad who would gain
A separate balm for his woe,
A single pity and cover:
The one great God I know

He shook the seed that he carried
O'er that brown and bladeless place.
He shook it, as God shakes hail
Over a doomed land,
When lightnings interlace

The sky and the earth, and his wand
Of love is a thunder flail.

Thus did that sower sow; His seed was human blood, And tears of women and men. And I, who near him stood, Said: When the crop comes, then There will be sobbing and sighing, Weeping and wailing and crying, Flame and ashes and woe.

It was an autumn day

Hears the same prayer over and When next I went that way.

over.

I know it because at the portal
Of heaven I bowed and cried,
And I said, "Was ever a mortal
Thus crowned and crucified!
My praise thou hast made my blame;
My best thou hast made my worst;
My good thou hast turned to shame;
My drink is a flaming thirst."

But scarce my prayer was said
Ere from that place I turned;
I trembled, I hung my head,
My cheek, shame-smitten, burned;
For there where I bowed down

In my boastful agony,

I thought of thy cross and crown,— O Christ! I remembered thee.

THE SOWER.

A SOWER went forth to sow,
His eyes were dark with woe;

He crushed the flowers beneath his feet,

[sweet, Nor smelt the perfume warm and That prayed for pity everywhere. He came to a field that was harried

And what, think you, did I see?
What was it that I heard?
The song of a sweet-voiced bird?
Nay - but the songs of many,
Thrilled through with praise and
prayer.

-

Of all those voices not any
Were sad of memory:
And a sea of sunlight flowed,
And a golden harvest glowed!
On my face I fell down there;
And I said: Thou only art wise
God of the earth and skies!
And I thank thee, again and again,
For the sower whose name is Pain.

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