TAY, jailor, stay, and hear my woe!

STA

She is not mad who kneels to thee! For what I'm now too well I know,

And what I was, and what should be. I'll rave no more in proud despair;

My language shall be mild, though sad; But yet I firmly, truly swear,

I am not mad, I am not mad!

My tyrant husband forged the tale
Which chains me in this dismal cell;
My fate unknown my friends bewail-
O jailor, haste that fate to tell!
O, haste my father's heart to cheer!

His heart at once 'twill grieve and glad
To know, though kept a captive here,
I am not mad, I am not mad!

He smiles in scorn, and turns the key;
He quits the grate, I knelt in vain;
His glimmering lamp still, still I see-
'Tis gone! and all is gloom again.
Cold, bitter cold! no warmth! no light!
Life, all thy comforts once I had;
Yet here I'm chained, this freezing night,
Although not mad; no, no, not mad!
'Tis sure some dream, some vision vain;
What! I, the child of rank and wealth-
Am I the wretch who clanks this chain,
Bereft of freedom, friends and health? .
Ah! while I dwell on blessings fled,

Which nevermore my heart must glad, How aches my heart, how burns my head; But 'tis not mad; no, 'tis not mad!

Hast thou, my child, forgot, ere this,

A mother's face, a mother's tongue? She'll ne'er forget your parting kiss,

Nor round her neck how fast you clung; Nor how with her you sued to stay;

Nor how that suit your sire forbade; Nor how I'll drive such thoughts away! They'll make me mad, they'll make me mad!

His rosy lips, how sweet they smiled!

His mild blue eyes, how bright they shone! None ever bore a lovelier child,

And art thou now forever gone? And must I never see thee more,

My pretty, pretty, pretty lad?

I will be free! unbar the door!

I am not mad! I am not mad!

O hark, what mean those yells and cries? His chain some furious madman breaks; He comes-I see his glaring eyes;

Now, now, my dungeon grate he shakes. Help! Help!-he's gone!-O fearful woe,

Such screams to hear, such sights to see! My brain, my brain-I know, I know I am not mad, but soon shall be.

Yes, soon; for lo, yon! while I speak

Mark how yon demon's eyeballs glare! He sees me; now, with dreadful shriek, He whirls a serpent high in air. Horror!-the reptile strikes his tooth

Deep in my heart, so crushed and sad; Aye. laugh, ye fiends; I feel the truth; Your task is done-I'M MAD! I'M MAD! -Matthew Gregory Lewis.

O

F all the rides since birth of time, Told in story or sung in rhyme On Apuleius's Golden Ass,

Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human hack,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borak-

The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's out from Marblehead !

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead !

Body of turkey; head of owl,
Wings adroop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.

Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:

"Here's Flud Oirson, for his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt,
By the women o' Marble 'ead"
Wrinkled scolds, with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,

With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,
Over and over the Mænads sang:

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt, Torr'd an' futhered an' corr'd in a corrt

By the women o' Marble 'ead!"

Small pity for him!-he sailed away
From a leaking ship, in Chaleur Bay-
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own towns-people on her deck!
"Lay by lay by !" they called to him,
Back he answered, "Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!"
And off he sailed through fog and rain!

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead !

Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore,
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea,
Looked for the coming that might not be !
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away?

Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead !

Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed,

Little the wicked skipper knew

Of the fields so green and the sky so blue,
Riding there in his sorry trim,

Like an Indian idol, glum and grim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear,
Of voices shouting, far and near :

"Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt By the women o' Marble'ead!"

'Hear me, neighbors!" at last he cried-
"What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin,
To the nameless horror that lives within?
Waking or sleeping I see a wreck,
And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Hate me and curse me-I only dread
The hand of God, and the face of the dead!"
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead !

Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent to the fish horn's bray,
Sea worn grandsires, cripples bound,
Hulks of old sailors run aground,
Shook head and fist, and hat and cane,

And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Marble'ead!"

The wife of the skipper lost at sea

Said, "God has touched him! why should we?"
Said an old wife mourning her only son,
"Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!"
So with soft relentings and with rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they let him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone in his shame and his sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead.

-John Greenleaf Whittier.

I pledged our hearts, my love and I

WE my arms

I in my arms the maiden clasping;

I could not tell the reason why,

But O, I trembled like an aspen !

Her father's love she bade me gain;
I went, and shook like any reed!

I strove to act the man-in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.
-Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Ο

VER the hill to the poorhouse I'm trudgin' my

weary way

I, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray

I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, As many another woman, that's only half as old.

Over the hill to the poorhouse-I can't make it quite clear !

Over the hill to the poorhouse-it seems so horrid queer!

Many a step I've taken a toilin' to and fro,

But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go.

What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame?
Am I lazy or crazy? am I blind or lame?

True, I am not so supple, nor yet so awful stout,
But charity ain't no favor, if one can live without.

I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day,
To work for a decent livin', an' pay my honest way;
For I can earn my victuals, an' more too, I'll be bound,
If anybody only is willin' to have me round.

Once I was young and han'some-I was, upon my soul

Once my cheeks were roses, my eyes as black as coal; And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say,

For any kind of reason, that I was in their way.

'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free,
But many a house an' home was open then to me;
Many a han'some offer I had from likely men,
And nobody ever hinted that I was a burden then.

And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart,

But he and all the neighbors would own I done my part;

For life was all before me, an' I was young an' strong, And I worked the best that I could in tryin' to get along.

And so we worked together; and life was hard but gay, With now and then a baby, for to cheer us on our way; Till we had a half a dozen, an' all growed lean and neat,

An' went to school like others, and had enough to eat.

So we worked for the child'r'n, and raised 'em every [to 've done, Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought

one;

Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks condemn,

But every couple's childr'n's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones !

I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my

sons;

And God He made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray,

I've noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way.

Strange, another thing; when our boys an' girls was grown,

And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone, When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be,

The Lord of Hosts he came one day an' took him away from me.

Still I was bound to struggle; an' never to cringe or fall

Still I worked for Charley, for Charley was now my all; And Charley was pretty good to me, with scarce a word or frown,

Till at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town.

She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile

She was quite conceity, and carried a heap o' style : But if ever I tried to be friends, I did with her I know; But she was hard and proud, an' I couldn't make it go.

She had an eddication, an' that was good for her; But when she twitted me on mine 'twas carryin' things too fur:

An' told her once 'fore company (an' it almost made her sick),

That I never swallowed a grammar, or 'et a 'rithmetic.

So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done-
They was a family of themselves, and I another one;
And a very little cottage for one family will do,
But I have never seen a house that was big enough for

two.

An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye,

An' it made me independent, an' then I didn't try,

But I was terribly staggered, an' felt it like a blow, When Charley turned ag'in me, an' told me I could go.

I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, And she was always a-hintin' how snug it was for us all; And what with her husband's sister, and what with child'rn three,

'Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, For Thomas' buildings'd cover the half of an acre lot; But all the child'rn was on me-I couldn't stand their sauce

And Thomas said I needn't think I was coming there to boss.

An' then I wrote to Rebecca-my girl who lives out West,

An' to Isaac, not far from her-some twenty miles at best;

And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there, for any one so old,

And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold.

So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about

So they have well nigh soured me, an' wore my old heart out;

But still I've borne up pretty well, an' wasn't much put down,

Till Charley went to the poormaster, an' put me on the

town.

Over the hill to the poorhouse-my children dear, good-bye!

Many a night I've watched you when only God was nigh;

And God 'll judge between us; but I will al'ays pray
That you shall never suffer the half I do to-day.
-Will M. Carleton.

MORAL.

So, oft in theologic wars The disputants, I ween, Rail on in utter ignorance

Of what each other mean, And prate about an elephant Not one of them has seen! -John Godfrey Saxe.

C

OME take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly's ball and the Grasshopper's
feast.

The trumpeter, Gad-fly, has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.

So said little Robert, and pacing along,
His merry companions came forth in a throng,
And on the smooth graas, by the side of a wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood,

Saw the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
For an evening's amusement together repair.
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back.

And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange and blue.
And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down,
And the Hornet, in jacket of yellow and brown;

Who with him the Wasp, his companion did bring, But they promised that evening to lay by their sting. And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole, And brought to the feast his blind brother, the Mole.

And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell,
Came from a great distance, the length of an ell,
A mushroom their table, and on it was laid
A water dock leaf, which a tablecloth made.

The viands were varions, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought her honey to crown the repast.

Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a corner looked up to the skies.
And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversion to see,
Mounted high overhead, looked down from a tree.
Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight line.

From one branch to another, his cobwebs he slung.
Then quick as an arrow he darted along.
But just in the middle-Oh! shocking to fell-
From his rope in an instant, poor harlequin fell.

Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread,

Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread.
Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring,
Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing.

He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight,
Then chirped his own praises the rest of the night.
With step so majestic the Snail did advance,
And promised the gazers a minuet to dance.