Asks about the distance, Are so very shocking! Market woman, careful Singing through the forests, Rumbling over bridges ; Whizzing through the mountains, Buzzing o'er the vale Bless me! this is pleasant, 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, Night for the dreams of sleep, the voice of prayer— But all for thee, thou mightiest of the earth. 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 grainBut 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. SIGOURNE WHO is yon woman in her dark canoe, Firm and erect she stands, 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 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— And feathery coronet-and all was o'er, 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, This dark and stormy water ?" "O, I'm the chief of Ülva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. "And fast before her father's men, "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 арасе, 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. For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, One lovely hand she stretched for aid, "Come back! come back!" he cried in grief, And I'll forgive your Highland chief; 'T was vain: the loud waves dashed the shore, The waters wild went o'er his child, Ex. XVIII.-TO THE EVENING WIND. SPIRIT that breathest through my lattice, thou WM. C. BRYANT. Roughening their crests, and scattering high their spray, And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the sea! Nor I alone,—a thousand bosoms round Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest, Curl the still waters, bright with stars; and rouse |