Then, when the night steals on, as now,
It will bring relief to thine aching brow,
And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest,
Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES

BY

MRS. ALEXANDER

Y Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave;

And no man knows that sepulcher,

And no man saw it e'er,

For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.

Comes back when night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;

Noiselessly as the springtime

Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves;

So without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain crown,
The great procession swept.

Perchance the bald old eagle,
On gray Beth-Peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyry,

Looked on the wondrous sight.
Perchance the lion stalking,

Still shuns that hallow'd spot,

For beast and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,

His comrades in the war,

With arms reversed and muffled drum

Follow his funeral car;

They show the banners taken,

They tell the battles won,

And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute gun.

Amid the noblest of the land

We lay the sage to rest,

And give the bard an honored place,

With costly marble drest,

In the great minster transept

Where lights like glories fall,

And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings,

Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the truest warrior

That ever buckled sword; This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.

To lie in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,

And the dark rock pines like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave,

And God's own hand in that lonely land

To lay him in the grave?

In that strange grave, without a name,
Whence his uncoffined clay

Shall break again, oh, wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment day,

And stand with glory wrapped around
On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life,
With the incarnate Son of God.

O lonely grave in Moab's land!
O dark Beth-Peor's hill!

Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.

VICTOR HUGO

ke the eagle, her formidable symbol, spreads igs, displays her powerful talons, seizes the d takes her flight. Carthage is the sun of it is on Carthage that her eyes are fixed. mistress of seas. Carthage is mistress of e is a magnificent city, full of splendor and owing at every point with the strange arts of

itants are polished, refined, finished, and lack t labor, men, and time can command. In a the metropolis of Africa, and at the height of she can mount no higher, and every step now be downward. Rome, on the contrary, She is half savage, half barbarous. She cation and her fortune alike to gain. All is nothing, behind.

two nations are face to face. The one suns er glory; the other is growing in obscurity. y little, air and place are needed by both for t. Rome begins to crowd Carthage; for long e pressed on Rome. Seated on the opposite he Mediterranean, the two cities look one aneye. This sea no longer suffices to separate

LIT. VI. - 25

them. Europe and Africa are in the balance, weighing one against the other. Like two overcharged electric clouds, they approach too near each other. They are eager to mingle their lightnings. Here is the climax of this sublime drama.

Two races,

this one, of

What actors are before us! merchants and sailors; that one, of farmers and soldiers; two peoples, one ruling by gold, one ruling by iron; two republics, one theocratic, one aristocratic; Rome and Carthage; Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet; Carthage, old, rich, and crafty; Rome, young, poor, and strong; the past and the future; the spirit of discovery and the spirit of conquest; the genius of travel and commerce, the demon of war and ambition; the east and the south on one side, the west and the north on the other; in short, two worlds, the civilization of Africa and the civilization of Europe.

Each takes full measure of the other. Their attitudes before the conflict are equally formidable. Rome, within the narrow confines of her world, gathers all her forces, all her tribes. Carthage, who holds in her power Spain, Armorica, and that Britain that the Romans believed to be at the end of the universe, is ready to board the European ship.

The battle flames blaze forth. In coarse, strong lines, Rome copies the navy of her rival. The war at once breaks forth in the peninsula and the islands. Rome collides with Carthage in that Sicily where Greece and Egypt had already met, in that Spain where, later yet, Europe and Africa met in contest, the east and the west, the south and the north.