All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit poured his prayer: "Forbear with blood God's house to stain; Revere his altar, and forbear! The meanest brute has rights to plead, Be warned at length, and turn aside." Still the fair horseman anxious pleads; But frantic keeps the forward way. Holy or not, or right or wrong, Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, Not God himself, shall make me turn!" He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne, The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around; Could from his anxious lips be borne. He listens for his trusty hounds; No distant baying reached his ears; His courser, rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. Still dark and darker frown the shades, Dark as the darkness of the grave; And not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke; And from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. Oppressor of creation fair! Apostate Spirit's hardened tool! Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! "Be chased forever through the wood; God's meanest creature is his child." 'Twas hushed: one flash of sombre glare, With yellow tinged the forests brown ; Up rose the Wildgrave's bristling hair, And horror chilled each nerve and bone. Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill; Brought storm and tempest on its wing. What ghastly huntsman next arose, Well may I guess, but dare not tell; The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, With wild despair's reverted eye, Close, close behind he marks the throng, With bloody fangs, and eager cry; In frantic fear he scours along.Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, Till time itself shall have an end; By day, they scour earth's caverned space, At midnight's witching hour ascend. This is the horn, and hound and horse, That oft the lated peasant hears; Appalled he signs the frequent cross, When the wild din invades his ears. The wakeful priest oft drops a tear For human pride, for human woe, When, at his midnight mass, he hears The infernal cry of "Holla, ho!" Translation from BÜRGER, by SIR WALTER Scott. THE OLD SERGEANT. OME a little nearer, doctor-thank you; let me take the cup: Draw your chair up-draw it closer; just another little sup! May be you may think I'm better; but I'm pretty well used up Doctor, you've done all you could do, but I'm just agoing up! "Feel my pulse, sir; if you want to, but it ain't much use to try "Never say that,” said the surgeon, as he smothered down a sigh; "It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!" "What you say will make no difference, doctor, when you come to die." "You were "Dr. Austin !--what day is this?" "It is Wednesday night, you know." "Doctor, what has been the matter?" very faint, they say; You must try to get to sleep now." "Doctor, have I "Yes-to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right good been away?" time below! "Not that anybody knows of!" "Doctor-doctor, What time is it, Dr. Austin?" "Nearly twelve." please to stay! "Then don't you go! There is something I must tell you, and you won't Can it be that all this happened-all this—not an hour have long to stay! ago! 'I have got my marching orders, and I'm ready now "There was where the gunboats opened on the dark to go; opposing host; Doctor, did you say I fainted?-but it couldn't have And where Webster semi-circled his last guns upon the coast; been so, For as sure as I'm a sergeant, and was wounded at There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or Shiloh, else their ghost I've this very night been back there, on the old field of And the same old transport came and took me over— Shiloh ! "This is all that I remember: The last time the lighter came, And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same, He had not been gone five minutes before something called my name : 'Orderly sergeant-Robert BuRTON!'-just that way it called my name. "And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow, Knew it couldn't be the lighter, he could not have spoken so, And I tried to answer, 'Here, sir!' but I couldn't make it go; For I couldn't move a muscle and I couldn't make it go. "Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore; or its ghost! Now, a shroud of snow and silence over everything was spread; Just another foolish fancy-and it won't come any And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my more; head, But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was before: 'ORDERLY SERGEANT-ROBERT louder than before. dead BURTON!'-even For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead! "That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of "Death and silence!-Death and silence! all around light, me as I sped! And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sun- And behold, a mighty tower, as if builded to the dead, day night, To the heaven of the heavens lifted up its mighty head, Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite, When the river was perdition, and all hell was opposite! Till the stars and stripes of heaven all seemed waving from its head! "And the same old palpitation came again in all its "Round and mighty based it towered up into the infipower, nite And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial | And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft tower; so bright; And the same mysterious voice said: 'IT IS THE For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of ELEVENTH HOUR! light ORDERLY SERGEANT-ROBERT BURTON-IT IS THE Wound around it and around it till it wound clear o of sight! KLEVENTH HOUR!' "And, behold, as I approached it-with a rapt and | Before 'The Grace of Sunderland' was wrecked. dazzled stareHe's never been his own man since that hour; Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the For there were thirty men aboard of her, great stairAnigh as close as you are now to me, Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of Halt!' and And ne'er a one was saved. 'Who goes there!' 'I'm a friend, I said, 'if you are!' 'Then advance, sir, to the stair!' "I advanced! That sentry, Doctor, was Elijah Ballantyne! First of all to fall on Monday, after we had formed the line! 'Welcome, my old Sergeant, welcome! Welcome by that countersign!' And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak uf mine. "They're lying now, With two small children, in a row: the church "She bumped upon the reef; "As he grasped my hand I shuddered, thinking only And God Almighty's guns were going off, But he smiled and pointed upward, with a bright and "When she took the ground, 'That's the way, sir, to Headquarters.' 'What Head-She went to pieces like a lock of hay quarters?' 'Of the Brave!' Tossed from a pitchfork. Ere it came to that, 'But the great tower?' 'That was builded of the great The captain reeled on deck with two small things, deeds of the brave!' One in each arm-his little lad and lass. "Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of light: At my own so old and battered, and at his so new and bright; 'Ah!' said he, 'you have forgotten the new uniform to-night! 'Hurry back—you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night!' "And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there and I Doctor-did you hear a footstep? Hark!-God bless you all! Good bye! Their hair was long and blew before his face, The dear breath beaten out of them: not one Jumped from the wreck upon the reef to catch Doctor, please to give my musket and my knapsack, But the gale dashed him on the slippery verge, when I die, To my son-my son that's coming-he won't get here till I die! And down he went. They say they heard him cry "Then he rose up and took the other one, "Tell him his old father blessed him-as he never did And all our men reached out their hungry arms; before And to carry that old musket" Till the Union". And cried out, 'Throw her, throw her!' and he did. is at the door! -See! it opens ! father! speak once more!" lay and said no more! "Bless you"-gasped the old gray sergeant. And he Just as a woman might the lump of salt FORCEYTHE Willson. That 'twixt her hands into the kneading-pan WRECK OF "THE GRACE OF SUTHERLAND." "We hauled our men in: two of them were dead ற GEORGE NIDIVER. EN have done brave deeds, And bards have sung them well: In Californian mountains A little Indian boy Followed him everywhere, Eager to share the hunter's joy, The hunter's meal to share. And when the bird or deer Fell by the hunter's skill, The boy was always near To help with right good-will. Between two mountains steep, They see two grizzly bears, Right down the narrow dell. The boy turned round with screams, One of the pair of savage beasts The hunter raised his gun He knew one charge was all And through the boy's pursuing fou He sent his only ball. The other on George Nidiver Came on with dreadful pace: The hunter stood unarmed, And met him face to face I say unarmed he stood: George Nidiver stood still, And looked him in the face: The wild beast stopped amazed, Then came with slackening pace. Still firm the hunter stood, The hunter met his gaze, Nor yet an inch gave way; The bear turned slowly round, And slowly moved away. What thoughts were in his mind What thoughts were in George Nkli But sure that rifle's aim, Swift choice of generous part, Showed in its passing gleam The depths of a brave heart. HOW'S MY BOY? O, sailor of the sea! name, good wife, And in what ship sailed he?" "My boy John He that went to seaWhat care I for the ship, sailor? My boy's my boy to me. "You come back from sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman, Yonder down in the town. There's not a soul in all the parish But knows my John. "How's my boy-my boy? And unless you let me know I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no "Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton"". "Speak low, woman, speak low!" "And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud I'd sing him over the town! Why should I speak low, sailor?". What care I for the ship, sailor- Be she afloat or be she aground, *How's my boy-my boy? What care I for the men, sailor? SYDNEY DOBELL. 1 ALL'S WELL. ESERTED by the waning moon, When skies proclaim night's cheerless noon The sentry walks his lonely round; And should a footstep haply stray Where caution marks the guarded way, "Who goes there? Stranger, quickly tell!" "A friend!" "The word?" "Good-night.; " all's well. Or, sailing on the midnight deep, Good-night;" all's well. THOMAS DIEDIN. THE SEA-BIRD'S SONG. N the deep is the mariner's danger, On the deep is the mariner's death; 'Tis the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, Lone looker on despair; The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird, Who watches their course who so mildly Who hovers on high o'er the lover, And her who has clung to his neck? Whose wing is the wing that can cover With its shadow the foundering wreck? My eye in the light of the billow, My wing on the wake of the wave, I shall take to my breast for a pillow My foot on the iceberg has lighted, JOHN G. C. BRAINARD |