And, kneeling beside her, stern Isaac was quiv'ring in aspen-like grief,

While waves of sad mem'ry surged o'er him like billows of wind o'er the leaf;

and, it may be, for bread.

Oh! when shall we value the living while yet the keen sickle is stayed,

Nor slight the wild flower in its blooming, till all its sweet life is decayed?

Bowed over his letters and papers, sat Thomas, his

brow lined by thought,

But little he heeded the markets or news of his gains that they brought;

His lips grew as pale as his cheek, but new purpose

seemed born in his eye,

And Thomas went "over the hills," to the mother that shortly must die.

To Charley, her youngest, her pride, came the mother's message that morn,

And he was away "o'er the hills" ere the sunlight blushed over the corn;

And, strangest of all, by his side, was the wife he had "brought from the town,"

And silently wept, while her tears strung with diamonds her plain mourning gown.

For each had been thinking, of late, how they missed the old mother's sweet smile,

And wond'ring how they could have been so blind and unjust all that while;

They thought of their harsh, cruel words, and longed to atone for the past.

When swift o'er the heart of vain dreams swept the presence of death's chilling blast.

So into the chamber of death, one by one, these sad children had crept,

As they, in their childhood, had done, when mother was tired and slept

MAY MIGNONETT

MONA'S WATERS.

H' Mona's waters are blue and bright
When the sun shines out like a gay young
lover;

But Mona's waves are dark as night
When the face of heaven is clouded over.
The wild wind drives the crested foam
Far up the steep and rocky mountain,
And booming echoes drown the voice,
The silvery voice, of Mona's fountain.
Wild, wild against that mountain's side

The wrathful waves were up and beating,
When stern Glenvarloch's chieftain came;
With anxious brow and hurried greeting
He bade the widowed mother send
(While loud the tempest's voice was raging)
Her fair young son across the flood,
Where winds and waves their strife were wagin
And still that fearful mother prayed,

"Oh! yet delay, delay till morning,
For weak the hand that guides our bark,
Though brave his heart, all danger scorning.
Little did stern Glenvarloch heed;

"The safety of my fortress tower Depends on tidings he must bring From Fairlee bank, within the hour.

A blood-red banner wildly streaming? That flag a message brings to me

Of which my foes are little dreaming. The boy must put his boat across,

(Gold shall repay his hour of danger,) And bring me back, with care and speed, Three letters from the light-browed stranger." The orphan boy leaped lightly in;

Bold was his eye and brow of beauty, And bright his smile as thus he spoke. "I do but pay a vassal's duty;

Fear not for me. O mother dear!
See how the boat the tide is spurning;
The storm will cease, the sky will clear,
And thou wilt watch ine safe returning."
His bark shot on-now up, now down,
Over the waves-the snowy-crested;
Now like a dart it sped along,

Now like a white-winged sea bird rested;
And ever when the wind sank low,

Smote on the ear that woman's wailing,
As long she watched, with streaming eyes,
That fragile bark's uncertain sailing.

He reached the shore-the letters claimed ;
Triumphant, heard the stranger's wonder
That one so young should brave alone

The heaving lake, the rolling thunder.
And once again his snowy sail

Was seen by her-that mourning mother; And once she heard his shouting voice

That voice the waves were soon to smother. Wild burst the wind, wide flapped the sail, A crashing peal of thunder followed; The gust swept o'er the water's face,

And caverns in the deep lake hollowed. The gust swept past, the waves grew calm, The thunder died along the mountain ; But where was he who used to play,

On sunny days, by Mona's fountain? His cold corpse floated to the shore,

Where knelt his lone and shrieking mother; And bitterly she wept for him,

The widow's son, who had no brother!
She raised his arm-the hand was closed;
With pain his stiffened fingers parted,
And on the sand three letters dropped!—
His last dim thought-the faithful-hearted.

Glenvarloch gazed, and on his brow

Remorse with pain and grief seemed blending; A purse of gold he flung beside

That mother, o'er her dead child bending. Oh! wildly laughed that woman then,

"Glenvarloch! would ye dare to measure The holy life that God has given

Against a heap of golden treasure?

"Ye spurned my prayer, for we were poor;
But know, proud man, that God hath power
To smite the king on Scotland's throne,
The chieftain in his fortress tower.
Frown on! frown on! I fear ye not;

We've done the last of chieftain's bidding,
And cold he lies, for whose young sake
I used to bear your wrathful chiding.
"Will gold bring back his cheerful voice,

That used to win my heart from sorrow?
Will silver warm the frozen blood,

Or make my heart less lone to-morrow?

Go back and seek your mountain home,
And when ye kiss your fair-haired daughter,
Remember him who died to-night

Beneath the waves of Mona's water."

Old years rolled on, and new ones came-
Foes dare not brave Glenvarloch's tower;
But naught could bar the sickness out
That stole within fair Annie's bower.
The o'erblown floweret in the sun
Sinks languid down, and withers daily,
And so she sank-her voice grew faint,
Her laugh no longer sounded gaily.
Her step fell on the old oak floor

As noiseless as the snow-shower's drifting; And from her sweet and serious eyes

They seldom saw the dark lid lifting. "Bring aid! Bring aid!" the father cries;

Bring aid!" each vassal's voice is crying; "The fair-haired beauty of the isles,

Her pulse is faint-her life is flying !'' He called in vain; her dim eyes turned And met his own with parting sorrow, For well she knew, that fading girl,

That he must weep and wail the morrow Her faint breath ceased; the father bent And gazed upon his fair-haired daughter. What thought he on? The widow's son, And the stormy night by Mona's water.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

T was the schooner Hesperus,

That sail'd the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter.
To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day;
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
With his pipe in his mouth,

And watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke, now west, now south.

Then up, and spake an old sailor,
Had sail'd the Spanish Main-
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,
And to-night no moon we see,"
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laugh'd he.
Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the northeast;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows froth'd like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength;

She shudder'd, and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leap'd her cable's length.

Come hither, come hither, my little daughter,

And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale

That ever wind did blow."

He wrapp'd her warm in his seaman's coat,
Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,
And bound her to the mast.

"O father, I hear the church-bells ring!
O say, what may it be?"

Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast,"
And he steer'd for the open sea.

"O father, I hear the sound of guns!
O say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father, I see a gleaming light!

O say, what may it be?"

But the father answer'd never a word-
A frozen corpse was he!

Lash'd to the helm all stiff and stark,
With his face to the skies,

The lantern gleam'd thro' the gleaming snow
On his fix'd and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasp'd her hands and prayed,
That saved she might be ;

And she thought of Christ, who still'a the waves,
On the lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept,
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever, the fitful gusts between,
A sound came from the land;
It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks, and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows,
She drifted a dreary wreck,
And a whooping billow swept the crew,
Like icicles, from her deck.

She struck, where the white and fleecy waves
Look'd soft as carded wool;

But the cruel rocks they gored her side
Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheath'd in ice,
With the masts, went by the board;
Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank-
Hc! ho! the breakers roar'd.

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach,
A fisherman stood aghast,

To see the form of a maiden fair
Lash'd close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast,
The salt tears in her eyes;

And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed
On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus,
In the midnight, and the snow;
Christ save us all from a death like this,

On the reef of Norman's Woe;

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

AFTER BLENHEIM.

T was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large and smooth and round

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by ;

And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh,

"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, "Who fell in the great victory.

"I find them in the garden,

For there's many hereabout;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out, For many thousand men," said he, "Were slain in that great victory."

"Now tell us what 'twas all about," Young Peterkin he cries; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eyes; "Now tell us all about the war, And what they fought each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they fought each other for I could not well make out. But everybody said," quoth he, "That 'twas a famous victory.

"My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by ;

They burnt his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide,

And many a childing mother then

And newborn baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

They say it was a shocking sight

After the field was won ;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine.

"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory.
"And everybody praised the Duke

Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.

"Why, that I cannot tell," said he, "But 'twas a famous victory."

ROEERT SOUTHEY. ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGINE.

a

WARRIOR so bold, and a virgin so bright,

Conversed as they sat on the green;

They gazed on each other with tender delight: Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knightThe maiden's, the Fair Imogine.

And, oh!" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go
To fight in a far distant land,

Your tears for my absence soon ceasing to flow,
Some other will court you, and you will bestow
On a wealthier suitor your hand!"

"Oh! hush these suspicions," Fair Imogine said,
"Offensive to love and to me;

For, if you be living, or if you be dead,

I swear by the Virgin that none in your stead
Shall husband of Imogine be.

If e'er I, by lust or by wealth led aside,
Forget my Alonzo the Brave,

God grant that, to punish my falsehood and pride,
Your ghost at the marriage may sit by my side,
May tax me with perjury, claim me as bride,
And bear me away to the grave!"

To Palestine hasten'd the hero so bold,
His love she lamented him sore;

But scarce had a twelvemonth elapsed, when, behold!
A baron, all cover'd with jewels and gold,
Arrived at Fair Imogine's door.

His treasures, his presents, his spacious domain,
Soon made her untrue to her vows;

He dazzled her eyes, he bewilder'd her brain;
He caught her affections, so light and so vain,
And carried her home as his spouse.

And now had the marriage been blest by the priest;
The revelry now was begun;

The tables they groan'd with the weight of the feast, Nor yet had the laughter and merriment ceased, When the bell at the castle toll'd-one.

Then first with amazement Fair Imogine found
A stranger was placed by her side:
His air was terrific; he utter'd no sound-
He spake not, he moved not, he look'd not around-
But earnestly gazed on the bride.

His vizor was closed, and gigantic his height,
His armor was sable to view;

All pleasure and laughter were hush'd at his sight;
The dogs, as they eyed him, drew back in affright;
The lights in the chamber burn'd blue!

His presence all bosoms appear'd to dismay;
The guests sat in silence and fear;

At length spake the bride-while she trembled-"]

pray,

Sir knight, that your helmet aside you would lay, And deign to partake of our cheer."

The lady is silent; the stranger complies-
His vizor he slowly unclosed;

Oh, God! what a sight met Fair Imogine's eyes!
What words can express her dismay and surprise
When a skeleton's head was exposed!

All present then utter'd a terrified shout,

All turn'd with disgust from the scene; The worms they crept in, and the worms they crept out,

And sported his eyes and his temples about,
While the spectre address'd Imogine:

"Behold me, thou false one, behold me !" he cried, "Remember Alonzo the Brave!

God grants that, to punish thy falsehood and pride,
My ghost at thy marriage should sit by thy side;
Should tax thee with perjury, claim thee as bride,
And bear thee away to the grave!"

Thus saying, his arms round the lady he wound,
While loudly she shriek'd in dismay;

Then sunk with his prey through the wide-yawning ground,

Nor ever again was Fair Imogine found

Or the spectre that bore her away.

Not long lived the baron; and none, since that time, ¦
To inhabit the castle presume;

For chronicles tell that, by order sublime,
There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,
And mourns her deplorable doom.

At midnight, four times in each year does her sprite,
When mortals in slumber are bound,
Array'd in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,

And shriek as he whirls her around!

While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,

Dancing round them the spectres are seen; Their liquor is blood, and this horrible stave They howl: "To the health of Alonzo the Brave, And his consort, the Fair Imogine!"

MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.

OLD GRIMES.

LD Grimes is dead, that good old man
We ne'er shall see him more;
He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day,

His feelings all were true;

His hair was some inclined to gray-
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design;

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;

His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes

He passed securely o'er,

And never wore a pair o' boots
For thirty years or more.

But good Old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;
He wore a double-breasted vest-
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;
He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse--
Was sociable and gay ;

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,
Nor make a noise town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares
His peaceful moments ran;
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.

ALBERT G. GREENB

THE SLEEPING SENTINEL.

The incidents here woven into verse relate to William Scott, a young soldier from the State of Vermont, who, while on duty as a sentinel at night, fell asleep, and, having been condemned to die, was pardoned by the President. They form a brief record of his humble life at home and in the field, and of his glorious death.

'WAS in the sultry summer-time, as war's red records show,

When patriot armies rose to meet a fratri. cidal foe

When, from the North and East and West like the up heaving sea,

Swept forth Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free.

Within a prison's dismal walls, where shadows vei'en decay

In fetters, on a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay Heart-broken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish breath,

He waited but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death.

Yet, but a few brief weeks before, untroubled with a

care,

try's cry

Fired his young heart with fervent zeal, for her to live or die;