And now 'twas like all instruments,

Now like a lonely flute,
And now it is an angel's song,

That makes the heavens be mute.

It ceased ; yet still the sails made on

A pleasant noise till noon-
A noise like of a hidden brook

In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night

Singeth a quiet tune.

CONCLUSION.

Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell

To thee, thou wedding guest ;
He prayeth well who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast :
He prayeth best who loveth best

All things both great and small ;
For the dear God, who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

COLERIDGE.
(Ancient Mariner.)

THE PIG.

A colloquial Poem.
Jacob, I do not love to see thy nose
Turn’d in scornful curve at yonder pig.
It would be well, my friend, if we like him

up

.

Were perfect in our kind! And why despise
The sow-born grunter ? He is obstinate,
Thou answerest; ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. Now, I pray you,
Hear the pig's counsel.

Is he obstinate?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
By sophist sounds. A democratic beast,
He knows that his upmerciful drivers seek
Their profit, and not his. He hath not learnt
That pigs were made for man, -born to be

brawn'd
And baconised; that he must please to give
Just what his gracious masters please to take ;
Perhaps his tusks, the weapons Nature gave
For self-defence, the general privilege ;
Perhaps,

hark, Jacob, dost thou hear that horn ? Woe to the young posterity of Pork ! Their enemy's at hand.

Again. Thou say'st The pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him! Those

eyes have taught the lover flattery. His face,-nay, Jacob, Jacob, were it fair To judge a lady in her dishabille ? Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged. Behold his tail, my friend ; with curls like that The wanton hop marries her stately spouse : So crisp in beauty Amoretta's hair Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love. And what is beauty, but the aptitude

Of parts harmonious? give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glory of the peacock's pride ;
Give him the swan’s white breast ; for his horn-

hoofs
Shape such a foot and ancle as the waves
Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss,
When Venus from the enamoured sea arose. . .
Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him !
All alteration man could think would mar
His pig-perfection.

The last charge :—he lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With noble and right-reverend precedents,
And shew by sanction of authority
That 'tis a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways.

But let me rest On better ground the unanswerable defence. The pig is a philosopher, who knows No prejudice. Dirt ? Jacob,—what is dirt ? If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts An o'ergorged epicure to the last morsel That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more. If matter be not, but, as sages say, Spirit is all, and all things visible Are one, the infinitely modified ; Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire Wherein he stands knee-deep.

And there! that breeze Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile

That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.

SOUTHEY.

CASABIANCA.

Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the

Orient, remained at his post, in the battle of the Nile, after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned. He perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

The boy stood on the burning deck,

Whence all but he had fled ;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck

Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud though childlike form.

The flames rolled on he would not go,

Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud, “Say, father, say,

If yet my task is done !"
He knew not that the chieftain lay

Unconscious of his son.

“Speak, father!” once again he cried,

“If I may yet be gone !
And,”—but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rollid on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,
And look'd from that lone post of death

In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father, must I stay ?”
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,

They caught the flag on high,
And stream'd above the gallant child

Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder-sound

The boy,-oh, where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around

With fragments strew'd the sea !
With mast and helm and pennon fair,

That well had borne their part;
But the noblest thing which perished there

Was that young and faithful heart !

MRS, HEMANS.