Now Phaethon, perched in the coachman's place, Or bounding along in a steeple-chase! Resounded along the horses' back!- As all agree, Off the coach was suddenly hurled, MORA L. Don't rashly take to dangerous courses- It's one of Old Nick's Diabolical tricks To get people into a regular "fix," Ex. CXL-THE SONG OF THE BELL. WAKE, wake, wake! BUFFALO ADVERTISER. Up, sluggard, up! the sun appears: Awake, awake,-thy bed forsake Before the flowers have dried their tears! Before the last star sinks away, Lost in the golden Laes of day : Hark! the matin bell Sounds o'er hill and dell! Bread, bread, bread! Merchant, scholar, and artisan, Hasten, hasten!—the board is spread :Thank the Giver, thou thankless man! How many poor ones hear my voice, Yet never, never like thee rejoice At the dinner bell, With its peal and swell. One, two, three !— Hark the numbering of the hours! Its oft-told story tell! Fire, fire, fire! Hurry the engine, hearts of oak! For the flame is rising,-higher, higher! Man on the ladder, mind your stroke! Dash in the window,-grasp that child,Pass him along;-the mother is wild! Peal, peal! the fire bell! Crash, crash!-who was it fell ? Toll, toll, toll! As the dark hearse moves o'er the lea. Soon will ring thy knell! Peal, peal, peal! The merry, merry marriage bell !— Two hearts are joined, for woe and weal, Together, while life lasts, to dwell. Peal out!-the golden knot is tied :- - Who would not bless that fair young bride? List the merry bell The joyful tidings tell! Hurra, hurra, hurra! The battle 's done, the town is won; The victor-notes swell? Hurry, hurry!-Hark away! The steamship vomits fire and smoke; Pray, pray, pray! The Sabbath bell rings solemnly For thy soul's good. Oh! come away, To guide thee on the road to heaven! To win thy soul from hell! Rest, rest, rest! Weary laborer!-go to thy bed, Ex. CXLI.-PLEASURES OF MEMORY. SWEET Memory! wafted by thy gentle gale, Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail ROGERS. Blessed with far greener shades, far fresher bowers. When joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray, And who can tell the triumphs of the mind Hail, Memory, hail! In thy exhaustless mine Ex. CXLII.-THE BULL-FIGHT. LOCKHART. KING Almanzor of Granada, he hath bid the trumpet sound, He hath summoned all the Moorish lords from the hills and plains around; From Vega and Sierra, from Betis and Xenil, They have come with helm and cuirass of gold and twisted steel. 'Tis the holy Baptist's feast they hold in royalty and state, And they have closed the spacious lists beside the Alhambra's gate; In gowns of black with silver laced, within the tented ring, Eight Moors to fight the bull are placed, in presence of the king. Eight Moorish lords of valor tried, with stalwart arm and true, The onset of the beasts abide, as they come rushing through; The deeds they 've done, the spoils they 've won, fill all with hope and trust, Yet, ere high in heaven appears the sun, they all have bit the dust. Then sounds the trumpet clearly, then clangs the loud tam "Make room, make room for Gazul!-throw wide, throw wide the door! Blow, blow the trumpet clearer still,-more loudly strike the drum! The Alcaydé of Algava to fight the bull doth come." And first before the king he passed, with reverence stooping low, And next he bowed him to the queen, and the infantas all a-rowe; Then to his lady's grace he turned, and she to him did throw Yet proudly in the center hath Gazul ta'en his stand; eye, But firmly he extends his arm,-his look is calm and high. Three bulls against the knight are loosed, and two come roar ing on, He rises high in stirrup, forth stretching his rejón; "Turn, Gazul, turn!" the people cry,-the third comes up behind, Low to the sand his head holds he, his nostrils snuff the wind; |