Gentlemen in tights, Looking rather green; Gentlemen quite old, Asking for the news; Stranger on the right Looking very sunny, Obviously reading Something rather funny. Now the smiles are thickerWonder what they mean? Faith, he's got the Knickerbocker magazine! Stranger on the left Closing up his peepers; Ancient maiden lady Woman with her baby, Asks about the distance, Are so very shocking! Market woman, careful Singing through the forests, Shooting under arches, Rumbling over bridges; Whizzing through the mountains, Ex. XV.—THE HOUR OF DEATH. LEAVES have their time to fall, FELICIA HEMANS. And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set-but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! Day is for mortal care, Eve for glad meetings round the joyous hearth, The banquet hath its hour, Its feverish hour of mirth, and song, and wine; There comes a day for grief's o'erwhelming power, A time for softer tears-but all are thine. Youth and the opening rose May look like things too glorious for decay, And smile at thee-but thou art not of those That wait the ripened bloom to seize their prey. We know when moons shall wane, When summer birds from far shall cross the sea, When autumn's hue shall tinge the golden grain— But who shall teach us when to look for thee? Is it when spring's first gale Comes forth to whisper where the violets lie? Thou art where billows foam, Thou art where music melts upon the air; Thou art around us in our peaceful home, And the world calls us forth-and thou art there. Thou art where friend meets friend, Beneath the shadow of the elm to rest Thou art where foe meets foe, and trumpets rend The skies, and swords beat down the princely crest. Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh Death! Ex. XVI.-DEATH OF ORISKA. L. H. SIGOURNEY. WHO is yon woman in her dark canoe, Firm and erect she stands, The daughter of a king. Tall, radiant plumes In terrible sublimity, had quelled All thought of earthly things. Fast by her side Stands a young, wondering boy, and from his lips, Half bleached with terror, steals the frequent sound Of "Mother! Mother!" But she answereth not; She speaks no more to aught of earth, but pours The death-song of her people. High it rose Her song grew faint,- She raised him in her arms, and clasped him close. On toward the unfathomed gulf, and the chill spray Deep in the bosom that had nurtured him, With a low, stifled sob. And thus they took Their awful pathway to eternity. One ripple on the mighty river's brink, Just when it, shuddering, makes its own dread plunge, And at the foot of this most dire abyss One flitting gleam-bright robe-and raven tress— Save the deep thunder of the eternal surge Ex. XVII.-LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound CAMPBELL. "Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle, "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men, Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Out spoke the hardy, Highland wight, "And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this, the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And, in the scowl of heaven, each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder grew the wind, "O haste thee, haste !" the lady cries, The boat has left the stormy land, When oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her. And still they rowed against the roar Of waters, fast prevailing; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore, His wrath was changed to wailing. |