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"But bloody war was in the land;

The old man and the maid were slain; The precious things were borne awayA ruined heap the temple lay,

And I among the spoil was ta'en. "They said I was an idol bird,

That I had been enshrined there, And that the people worshipped me,

And that my gentle maiden fair Was priestess to the sea-green bird! 'T was false !-yet thus they all averred, And in the city I was sold For a great price in counted gold. Thy merchant-father purchased me, And I was borne across the sea; Thou know'st the rest-I am not sad; With thee, sweet maiden, all are glad!"


Oн for an old, grey traveller, By our winter fire to be,

To tell us of each foreign shore, Of sunny seas and mountains hoar, Which we can never see!

To tell us of those regions stern, Covered with frost and snow, Where, not the hardy fir can bear The bitter cold of that northern air,'Mong the dwarfish Esquimaux!

Or where, on the high and snowy ridge
Of the Dofrine mountains cold,
The patient rein-deer draws the sledge,
With rattling hoofs, along the ledge
Of mountains wild and old!

Or, if that ancient traveller

Had gone o'er the hills of Spain, Of other scenes he would proudly speak, Than icy seas and mountains bleak;

And a weary way of pain.

He would tell of green and sunny vales,
Thick woods and waters clear,
Of singing birds, and summer skies,
And peasant girls with merry eyes,

And the dark-browed muleteer!
Or, think if he had been at Rome,
And in St. Peter's stood,
And seen each venerable place,
Built, when the old, heroic race
Of Rome was great and good!

And more, if he had voyaged o'er

The bright blue Grecian sea, 'Mong isles where the white-lily grows, And the gum-cistus and the rose, The bay and olive tree!

And had felt on old Parnassus' top The pleasant breezes blow;

In Athens dwelt a long, long time, And noted all of that fair clime,

Which we so long to know.

And then, as he grew old and wise,
He should go to Palestine,
And in the Holy City dwell,
Till, like his home, he knew it well,
With the Bible, line by line.

He should have stood on Lebanon, Beneath the Cedar's shade; And, with a meek and holy heart, On the Mount of Olives sate apart, And by the Jordan strayed.

And have travelled on where Babylon

Lay like a desert heap,
Where the pale hyacinth grows alone,
And where beneath the ruined stone
The bright, green lizards creep!
And if, the great world round about,
Through flowery Hindostan ;

To the Western World; to the Southern Cape,
Where dwell the zebra and the ape,
Had gone this pleasant man.

What tales he would tell on winter nights! Of Indian hunters grim,

As they sit in the pine-bark wigwam's bound,
While the hungry wolf is barking round,
In the midnight forest dim.

Or how they meet by the council fire,
Wearing the hen-hawk's feather,
To hear some famous Sagum's "talk,"
To see them bury the tomahawk,

And smoke the pipe together.

Or of the bloody Indian wars,

When 'neath each forest-tree Was done some fell deed of affright, And the war-whoop rang at dead of night, Through the wild woods dismally.

He would tell of dim and savage coasts,
Of shipwrecks dark and dread;
Of coral reefs in sleeping seas;
Of bright isles of the Hesperides-
And more than we have read!

And oh, that such old man were here,
With his wise and travelled look,
With thought, like deep exhaustless springs;
And a memory full of wondrous things,
Like a glorious picture-book!


AN English matron sate at eve
Beneath the stately tree

That grew before her husband's hall,
With her young son at her knee:

All green and ancient were the woods
That grew around their home,
And old and quaint armorial stones
Adorned their stately dome :
And 'mid dark trees, a little church
Its holy form displayed,
Within whose deep and quiet vaults
Their noble dead were laid.

The boy turned up his eager eyes

To his mother, as she told

Of the proud race from whom he sprung, And their achievements old.

"My son, the legend of our house,


Is simply Trust in God,'
And none unworthy of such trust,
Within its halls have trod.
The blood of thy heroic line

Has reddened many a field,
And trophies of the fights they won
Are blazoned on thy shield;
The banners which they bore away,
All soiled and torn and red,

Are mouldering in yon holy pile, Above the warrior dead;

And many an ancient coat of mail,

And plumed helm and sword, All proved in some heroic cause,

Within thy home are stored.

Thou bear'st the noble name they bore, Their blood is in thy veins,

And much thy worthy sires have done, But more for thee remains.

They shrunk not in the dreadful hour
Of persecution's scathe,

And some 'mid bonds and some 'mid fire,

Maintained their righteous faith.

Thou must not shrink, thou must not fear, Nor e'er belie their trust,

For God who brought the mighty low,
He raised them from the dust.
And in our dangerous hour of pride,

When honours gird us round,
Alas! the boasted strength of man

Is often weakest found;

And they who put their trust in heaven, 'Mid darkness and dismay,

Too soon forget the God they sought,
When fear has passed away.
The hour of chiefest danger now

Is nigh-so heaven thee guide!—
Prosperity will try thee, boy,

As ne'er thy sires were tried!And oh, unworthy of thy sires,

Not here couldst thou find rest; Thou might'st not stand beneath these trees, Were thine a guilty breast;

These ancient walls, yon holy fane,

This green and stately tree,
Couldst thou disgrace thy noble name,
Would speak reproach to thee!"

Again the boy looked in her face,
His bright eyes dimmed with tears,

And "Not unworthy of my sires,

Shall be my manhood years!" Said he, in a proud, but artless tone,

And his mother kissed his brow, And said, "I trust in God that none Of thy noble sires in the ages gone, Had a nobler son than thou!"


"FROM the woods and the summer fields he is gone, With his merry laugh and his sunny brow! The garden looks dim and the house is lone, Where, dearest mother, is he wandering now?" "He is gone in a brighter home to dwell,

With beautiful creatures all love and joy, Where death comes not, and no sad farewell With its parting tone can his bliss alloy. He is gone to a happier home than ours,

Beneath the light of more radiant skies, And his path is bright with more lovely flowers Than in the sweet summer e'er met thine eyes.

"Thou wilt meet him no more in the fields of earth, For the pleasant days of his life are o'er, And the joyful peals of his laughing mirth

Will ring from our evening hearth no more. Thou wilt see him no more as he used to be;

Thou wilt sleep by his side no more at night, Nor with thee again will he bend the knee,

And his evening-prayer with thine unite!" "Mother, his cheeks are cold and pale,

His eyes are closed, yet he does not sleep, For he wakens not at my earnest call;—

Is it death, dear mother, that rest so deep?" "My child, his sleep is the sleep of death;

Yet we may not deem it a darkened lot, And his spirit, more pure than the breezes' breath,

May be wandering near, though we know it not! And wish him not back, thou lonely child,

Though we miss his love, and his pleasant voice,→ Thou wilt soon to thy loss be reconciled,

And again in the summer-woods rejoice.

"He dwells where the fields can never fade,
Where night comes not, nor day is dim ;
Where the glory of God is the sun, and the shade
Is the shadowing wing of the cherubim.
And oh! in yon bright and happy land,

Thou again mayst his sunny beauty see,
And hear his voice, 'mid a joyful band,
From the shades of death as it welcomes thee!"

A POETICAL CHAPTER ON TAILS. ONE evening three boys did their father assail, With "tell us a tale, papa, tell us a tale!" "A tale ?" said their father, "Oh yes! you shall see, That a tale of all tails it this evening shall be;

A tale having reference to all tails whatever,
Of air or of ocean, of field or of river!

First the tail of a cat,-now this tail can express
All passions, all humours, than language no less."
"Oh, you're joking, papa," cried at once all the three,
Yours are tails with an i, and not tales with an e!"
Well, well," said their father, "I shall be surprised,
If my tails with an i in the end are despised;
So, sirs, I'll proceed: now this tail, as I said,
Expresses what moves her in heart or in head.
Is she pleased-you know it is quiet, no doubt;
Is she angry-you know how she wags it about;
Would she coax you, she rubs, and she purrs, and
her tail,

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The wise of all nations have christened a sting;
But the tail of a bird for no mischief is sent,
A most scientific, and good instrument,
Constructed, indeed, on an excellent plan,
Light, flexible too, and spread out like a fan;
'Tis ballast and rudder, which ill he could spare,
And a buoy to keep up the small creature in air.
Of the ostrich, the tail is an elegant thing,
Which is not despised by the mightiest king,

2 A

And the handsomest ladies I often have heard,
Give a monstrous price for the tail of this bird;
Then the sweet bird of Paradise-don't you remem-

With her back at right angles, she lifts like a rail;
Then the tail of a dog,-you need hardly be told,
What tales this same tail of a dog can unfold.
In his joy how he wags it-from turnspit to hound;
In his trouble, poor rogue! how it droops to the ground.
Then the tails of the horse and the cow, need I say!
What useful and excellent fly-traps are they?
But away! and the hot sandy deserts exploring,
Do you hear how the terrible lion is roaring!
And see in the thicket his fiery eye flashing,
And his furious tail on his tawny sides lashing!
Yes, he is the king of all beasts, and can send
Most marvellous power to his very tail's end.
The same with the tiger-and so of each kind,
The tail is a capital index of mind.
Then the tail of the rattle-snake-should you not fear The poor, patient creature great help when he builds,
Its dry, husky sound in the forest to hear?
Suppose you were sleeping, the tree-roots your bed,
And this terrible monster had crept to your head,
And his tail should awake you,—I 'm sure you'd be

For, like a sledge-hammer, it falleth in thunder;
And lest that its force 'gainst the ship should prevail,
The first thing they do, is to chop off its tail!
Besides there are others,-the monkey's tail; you
Know well what a monkey with his tail can do.
And have we forgotten the beaver? it yields

That a tail with a larum the rattle-snake had.
Apropos of the snake-you've heard, I dare say,
Of the wasp and the hornet, and such things as they;
Of a venomous weapon they carry about,
And moreover, you all know, I make not a doubt,
That 't is placed in the tail, which same venomous

'Tis the wagon he draws his materials upon,
"T is the trowel to finish his work when 't is done.
Of the fox, too, in Norway, you've heard, without fail,
How he angles for crabs with his great bushy tail.
And there is the pigtail that gentlemen wore,
With its various fashions, about half a score.
And the great cat-o'-nine tails! that terrible beast,
Has made itself famous by its tails, at least.
And the tail of a comet! that tail, in its strength,
Extending some thousands of miles in its length,
Is nothing to laugh at; a most awful thing,
That could sweep down the world with its terrible

And now since we've conned over bird, beast, and fish,
What greater amusement, my boys, could you wish?
But the next time, however, I think we must try
For some nobler subject than tails with an i:
And so, good night to each one, now this the last line

The beautiful creature we saw last November,
With his banner-like tail, that gracefully spread,
And was seen like a glory encircling his head?
Of that of the peacock no word will I say,
The thing is so common, you see it each day.
And now your attention to change I could wish
To a different tail-even that of a fish;

And no less than the tail of the bird is this made
With wonderful knowledge the creature to aid.
"Tis his helm, and with it no more could he keep,
Than a ship without rudder his place in the deep,
And the wisest philosophers all have decided,
That no fitter instrument could be provided.
That the shark, my dear boys, has a tail, without doubt,
From some book or other you 've long since made out;
And you know how it puts, without hesitation,
The crew of a ship into great consternation,
When he flaps down his tail on the deck, and no

And the book and the chapter shall here have their


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