The Maniac. TAY, jailor, stay, and hear my woe! STA She is not mad who kneels to thee! For what I'm now too well I know, And what I was, and what should be. I'll rave no more in proud despair; My language shall be mild, though sad; But yet I firmly, truly swear, I am not mad, I am not mad! My tyrant husband forged the tale His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad He smiles in scorn, and turns the key; Which nevermore my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head; But 'tis not mad; no, 'tis not mad! Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this, A mother's face, a mother's tongue? She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss, Nor round her neck how fast you clung; Nor how with her you sued to stay; Nor how that suit your sire forbade; Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away! They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad! His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled! His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone! None ever bore a lovelier child, And art thou now forever gone? And must I never see thee more, My pretty, pretty, pretty lad? I will be free! unbar the door! I am not mad! I am not mad! O hark, what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes-I see his glaring eyes; Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes. Help! Help!-he's gone!-O fearful woe, Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain-I know, I know I am not mad, but soon shall be. Yes, soon; for lo, yon! while I speak Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare! He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air. Horror!-the reptile strikes his tooth Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; Aye. laugh, ye fiends; I feel the truth; Your task is done-I'M MAD! I'M MAD! -Matthew Gregory Lewis. O Skipper Ireson's Ride. F all the rides since birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme On Apuleius's Golden Ass, Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass, The strangest ride that ever was sped Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead ! Body of turkey; head of owl, Scores of women, old and young, "Here's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt, With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang, "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futhered an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Marble 'ead!" Small pity for him!-he sailed away Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Sweetly along the Salem road Little the wicked skipper knew Of the fields so green and the sky so blue, Like an Indian idol, glum and grim, "Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Marble'ead!" 'Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried- Through the street, on either side, And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain: The wife of the skipper lost at sea Said, "God has touched him! why should we?" -John Greenleaf Whittier. I pledged our hearts, my love and I WE my arms I in my arms the maiden clasping; I could not tell the reason why, But O, I trembled like an aspen ! Her father's love she bade me gain; I strove to act the man-in vain! Ο Over the Hills to the Poor House. VER the hill to the poorhouse I'm trudgin' my weary way I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman, that's only half as old. Over the hill to the poorhouse-I can't make it quite clear ! Over the hill to the poorhouse-it seems so horrid queer! Many a step I've taken a toilin' to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame? True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout, I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day, Once I was young and han'some-I was, upon my soul Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes as black as coal; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, For any kind of reason, that I was in their way. 'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free, And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart, But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part; For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along. And so we worked together; and life was hard but gay, With now and then a baby, for to cheer us on our way; Till we had a half a dozen, an' all growed lean and neat, An' went to school like others, and had enough to eat. So we worked for the child'r'n, and raised 'em every [to 've done, Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought one; Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn, But every couple's childr'n's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones ! I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons; And God He made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray, I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way. Strange, another thing; when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone, When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts he came one day an' took him away from me. Still I was bound to struggle; an' never to cringe or fall Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown, Till at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style : But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her I know; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go. She had an eddication, an' that was good for her; But when she twitted me on mine 'twas carryin' things too fur: An' told her once 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick), That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rithmetic. So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done- two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try, But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go. I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all; And what with her husband's sister, and what with child'rn three, 'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas' buildings'd cover the half of an acre lot; But all the child'rn was on me-I couldn't stand their sauce And Thomas said I needn't think I was coming there to boss. An' then I wrote to Rebecca-my girl who lives out West, An' to Isaac, not far from her-some twenty miles at best; And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there, for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about So they have well nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out; But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down, Till Charley went to the poormaster, an' put me on the town. Over the hill to the poorhouse-my children dear, good-bye! Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh; And God 'll judge between us; but I will al'ays pray MORAL. So, oft in theologic wars The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance Of what each other mean, And prate about an elephant Not one of them has seen! -John Godfrey Saxe. C The Butterfly's Ball. OME take up your hats, and away let us haste The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summoned the crew, So said little Robert, and pacing along, Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air, And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too, Who with him the Wasp, his companion did bring, But they promised that evening to lay by their sting. And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole, And brought to the feast his blind brother, the Mole. And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell, The viands were varions, to each of their taste, Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise, From one branch to another, his cobwebs he slung. Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread, Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread. He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight, |