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THE COLD WATER-MAN.

Who peopled all the city's street
A hundred years ago?

Who filled the church with faces meek,

A hundred years ago?

The sneering tale
Of sister frail,

The plot that work'd

Another's hurt

Where, O where, are plots and sneers,
The poor man's hopes, the rich man's fears,
That were so long ago?

Where are the graves where dead men slept
A hundred years ago?
Who, whilst living, oft-times wept,
A hundred years ago?
By other men

They knew not then

Their lands are tilled,

Their homes are filled

Yet Nature then was just as gay,
And bright the sun shone as to-day,
A hundred years ago!

375

XLI.--THE COLD WATER-MAN.

It was an honest fisherman

I knew him passing well,-
And he lived by a little pond,
Within a little dell.

For science and for books, he said
He never had a wish,-
No school to him was worth a fig,
Except a school of fish.

A cunning fisherman was he,
His angles all were right;
The smallest nibble at his bait

Was sure to prove 'a bite!'

J. G. SAXE.

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'Twas all in vain with might and main
He strove to reach the shore-
Down-down he went to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before!

The moral of this mournful tale,
To all is plain and clear,—

That drinking habits bring a man
Too often to his bier;

And he who scorns to take the pledge,'

And keep the promise fast,

May be, in spite of fate, a stiff

Cold water-man at last!

FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST.

377

XLII-A SEA FOG.

CRABBE.

WHEN all you see through densest fog is seen;
When you can hear the fishers near at hand
Distinctly speak, yet see not where they stand;
Or sometimes them and not their boat discern,
Or, half conceal'd, some figure at the stern;
Boys who, on shore, to sea the pebble cast,
Will hear it strike against the viewless mast;
While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain,
At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.
'Tis pleasant then to view the nets float past,
Net after net, till you have seen the last ;
And as you wait till all beyond you slip,
A boat comes gliding from an anchored ship,
Breaking the silence with the dipping oar,
And their own tones, as laboring for the shore;
Those measured tones with which the scene agree,
And give a sadness to serenity.

BOWLES

XLIII-FUNERAL OF CHARLES THE FIRST.

THE castle clock had tolled midnight—
With mattock and with spade,

And silent, by the torches' light,

His corse in earth we laid.

"Peace to the dead" no children sung,

Slow pacing up the nave;

No prayers were read, no knell was rung,
As deep we dug his grave.

We only heard the winter's wind,
In many a sullen gust,

As o'er the open grave inclined,
We murmured, "Dust to dust!”

A moonbeam, from the arches' height,
Stream'd as we paced the stone;

The long aisles started into light,
And all the windows shone.

We thought we saw the banners then,
That shook along the walls,
While the sad shades of mailed men,
Were gazing from the stalls:

'Tis gone! again, on tombs defaced,
Sits darkness more profound,
And only, by the torch, we traced
Our shadows on the ground.

And now the chilly, freezing air,
Without, blew long and loud;
Upon our knees we breathed one prayer
Where he slept in his shroud.

We laid the broken marble floor-
No name, no trace appears—
And when we closed the sounding door
We thought of him with tears.

XLIV. THE FOUR ERAS.

THE lark has sung his carol in the sky ;

ROGERS.

The bees have hummed their noon-tide harmony;
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,

Still in Llewellyn hall the jests resound:
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,

Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their pray'r,
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire

The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.

A few short years—and then these sounds shall haï
The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.

Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin;
The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine:

THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.

And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,

The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled.
"'Twas on these knees he sat so oft and smiled."
And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
Soon issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung,
And violets scattered round; and old and young,
In every cottage porch, with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,

Another voice shall come from yonder tower;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy has been;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,

He rests in holy earth with them that went before.

379

XLV.—THE SEMINOLE'S REPLY.

BLAZE, with your serried columns !
I will not bend the knee;
The shackles ne'er again shall bind
The arm which now is free.
I've mailed it with the thunder,
When the tempest muttered low;
And when it falls, ye well may dread
The lightning of its blow.

I've scared ye in the city,

I've scalped ye on the plain;

Go, count your chosen where they fell
Beneath my leaden rain !

I scorn your proffered treaty;

The pale face I defy ;

Revenge is stamped upon my spear,
BLOOD!" my battle-cry.

And "

G. W. PATTEN.

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