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A little hat he wears,

A coat quite plain has he,
A little sword for arms

At his left side hangs free.

O'er the vast plain, the moon
A solemn lustre threw ;
The man with the little hat
The troops goes to review.

The ranks present their arms,
Deep roll the drums the while;
Recovering then-the troops
Before the chief defile.

Marshals and generals round
In circle formed appear:
The chief to the first a word
Then whispers in his ear.

The word goes down the ranks
Resounds along the Seine ;
That word they give, is-France,
The answer- -Saint-Hélène :

'Tis there, at midnight hour,
The Grand Review, they say,

Is by dead Cæsar held,

In the Champs-Elysées.



A GRECIAN youth of talents rare,
Whom Plato's philosophic care

Had formed for virtue's nobler view,
By precept and example too,

Would often boast his matchless skill
To curb the steed and guide the wheel;
And as he passed the gazing throng
With graceful ease, and smacked the thong,
The idiot wonder they expressed

Was praise and transport to his breast.

At length, quite vain, he needs must show

His master, what his art could do ;
And bade his slaves the chariot lead
To Academus' sacred shade.

The trembling grove confessed its fright,
The wood-nymphs started at the sight,
The Muses dropt the learned lyre,
And to the inmost shades retire.
Howe'er, the youth with forward air
Bows to the sage, and mounts the car:
The lash resounds, the coursers spring,
The chariot marks the rolling ring,
And gathering crowds with eager eyes
And shouts, pursue him as he flies.
Triumphant to the goal returned,
With nobler thirst his bosom burned.
And now along the indented plain
The selfsame track he marks again,
Pursues with care the nice design,
Nor ever deviates from the line.

Amazement seized the circling crowd;
The youths with emulation glowed;
E'en bearded sages hailed the boy,
And all, but Plato, gazed with joy.
For he, deep-judging sage, beheld
With pain the triumph of the field;
And when the charioteer drew nigh,
And flushed with hope had caught his eye-

"Alas! unhappy youth!" he cried,


Expect no praise from me," and sighed : “With indignation I survey

Such skill and judgment thrown away,
The time profusely squandered there
On vulgar arts beneath thy care,
If well employed at less expense,
Had taught thee honour, virtue, sense;
And raised thee from a coachman's fate,
To govern men, and guide the state.”

(From the German of STOLBERG.)

WOE is me! oh where, oh where
Doth my spirit drive me? where ?
These wild torrents roll to me
Abel's blood! It is the sea!

E'en to earth's remotest verge
Vengeance doth me onward urge!
Where no tongue did e'er complain,
Abel's blood has banished Cain !

Woe is me! My brother's blood
Thunders in the roaring flood!
In the rocky beach's sound!
In the cavern's loud rebound!

As the waves beat round the rock,
So my spirit feels the shock
Of grief and rage, anguished mood,
Dread of heaven, Abel's blood!

Open, waves, your surging tide! For the earth, when Abel died, Drank the blood of him I slew, Heard the curse of vengeance too!

Open, waves, your surging tide!
And disclose your bed all wide!
Ah! 'tis vain! revenge has might
In the realm of ancient night;

In the darkest, deepest deep,
Abel's shade would near me keep-
Near me, though I took my flight
To the highest mountain's height.

Should this frame dissolve away,
Of the whirlpool-storm the prey,
Yet, oh yet, would Cain still dread
Heaven's anger on his head!

Knowing now no end, no age,
My tormented spirit's rage
(Time's remotest bound'ries past)
Through unceasing years will last.

Vengeance on my head I drew,
Th' instant I my brother slew!
Woe is me! oh, woe is me!
Dread of heaven follows me!



JOHN GILPIN was a citizen

Of credit and renown,

A train-band captain eke was he

Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
"Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.

To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.

My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,

Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we."

He soon replied, "I do admire

Of woman-kind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.

I am a linen-draper bold,

As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That 's well said;
And for that wine is dear,

We will be furnished with our own,

Which is both bright and clear."

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