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There were prince and crested knight,
Hemm'd in by cliff and flood, When a shout arose from the misty height
Where the mountain-people stood. And the mighty rocks came bounding down Their startled foes
among, With a joyous whirl from the summit thrownOh! the herdman's arm is strong!
They came like av'lanche hurld
From Alp to Alp in play,
And the pines are borne away.
And the Switzers rush'd from high,
Like hunters of the deer,
They storm'd the narrow dell; And first in the shock, with Uri's spear,
Was the arm of William Tell.
And a cry of wild dismay;
And the Empire's banner then
From its place of waving free,
The men of the Forest-Sea.
The cuirass and the shield,
From the reapers of the field I
The field—but not of sheaves
Proud crests and pennons lay,
In the autumn tempest's way.
When the Austrian turn'd to fly,
And the leader of the war
At eve unhelm'd was seen,
And a pale and troubled mien.
Went back from the battle-toil, To their cabin homes midst the deep-green hills, All burden’d with royal spoil.
There were songs and festal fires
On the soaring Alps that night, When children sprang to greet their sires From the wild Morgarten fight.
HO, BOAT AHOY!
SOME years agone, one summer's morn,
And guarded by the hemlocks olden.
We sang and rowed thro' sun and shadow, We mocked the willful echo-sprite
Who lurked, we knew, in copse or meadow.
And, mocking, we were mocked again,
So playful was the spite she bore us; “Ho, boat ahoy !" came from the shore, And Echo sent her
Again that call of " Boat ahoy !"
Of some to share our golden leisure. “O boat ahoy!”—“ahoy! ahoy! ahoy! ahoy!"
Again came Echo's gleeful measure.
“You've waked the maid," we cried in glee,
“ The coy, sweet Echo of the mountain ;
You still may linger by the fountain."
But still they cried, now loud, now low,
“Ho, boat ahoy! ahoy ! ahoy!"
EMMA SOPHIE STILWELL.
SISTER AGATHA'S GHOST.
Adapted from Nestleton Magna.
TESTLETON ABBEY, in the East Riding of York
shire, England, is a picturesque pile of ruins, at one time reputed to have been haunted.
On a certain evening Adam Olliver, a good old Yorkshire Methodist, astride his faithful steed Balaam, which was generally made his confidant on such occasions, was on his way homeward from a missionary meeting which had been held in an adjoining village. It was a bright moonlight night, and Balaam's hoofs were pattering along the frosty road, when the big bell of Cowley Priory boomed out the hour of eleven.
“Balaam, aud friend, this is a bonny tahme o' neet for thoo an' me te be wanderin' throo' t' coontry, when a'most ivvery honest body's gone to bed. Besides, thoo knoas it's dangerous travelin' noo-a-days, for there's robbers, an'hoosebrekkers, an' 'ighwaymen aboot. They'll hae sum trubble to rob me, hooivver, for that man frae York 'ticed ivvery copper oot o' my pocket, an's left ma' as poor as a chotch moose. What'll Judy think on us, gallivantin' aboot at midneet i' this oathers ? She'll think thoo's run away wi' ma', Balaam.” The idea of Balaam being guilty of any such absurd indiscretion, tickled the old man's risible faculties so finely, that he broke out into a hearty fit of laughter, loud and long. Scarcely had the sound subsided than there rose upon the air a scream so wild and piercing, that for a moment both Balaam and his rider were astonished. Rising up in his stirrups, Adam Olliver looked across the adjoining hedge. The hoary gables of the old Abbey stood out bold and clear, and the crumbling walls and shapeless heaps of stones, and the all-pervading ivy were to be seen almost as clearly as by day. But there was one sight that never could be seen by day which now displayed itself to Adam's wondering gaze. nothing less than the veritable apparition of the ancient nun. Robed in flowing white, with white folds across the brow, and that awful crimson stain upon the breast. there it stood, or slowly walked with measured pace around the ruined pile. One death-white hand was
laid upon the bosom, the other one was lifted heavenward, as if in deprecation or in prayer.
Balaam,” said Adam, as he settled himself again in his saddle, “there is a boggle, hooivver! But all right, Balaam. Ah telled tha' 'at if thoo didn't tonn tayl if we sud see it, ah wadn't. What diz tho'say? will tho' feeace it?'
By this time they had arrived at the gate of the paddock in which the haunted ruins stood. Now Balaam had for many years enjoyed the free run of that pasturage whenever he was off duty, and this familiarity with the haunts of Sister Agatha perhaps accounted for Balaam's belief in spiritualism. But be this as it may,
, Balaam, altogether unaccustomed to such unconscionably late hours, promptly came to the conclusion that his master would now turn him into the paddock for the night, and so he trotted boldly up to the gate, and inserting his nose between the bars, looked with wistful eye, into the green and restful Paradise within.
“ Well dun, Balaam ! That's a challenge, at ony rayte,” said Adam,“ an'ah weean't refuse it. Ah niyver was freetened o' nowt bud the divvil, an' noo, thenk the Lord, ah deean't care a button for 'im. Nut ʼat ah think it is 'im. It's sum Tom Feeal, ah fancy, at's deein' it for a joak; bud he hez neea business to flay fooaks oot o'the'r wits, an'ah'll see whea it is."
He opened the gate, and, nothing loth, Balaam boldly trotted over the grass, and again the apparition showed itself, just as it had appeared several nights previous to some of the neighbors.
“Woy,” said Adam to his reckless steed, and the ghost, observing the daring intruder, stretched out its banda in menace, and advanced until it stood beneath