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Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow,
Brush all the wandering waves of gold;
"Somebody's Darling" is still and cold.
Murmur a prayer soft and low;
They were “ Somebody's" pride, you know:
Was it a mother's, soft and white ?
Been baptized in these waves of light?
"Somebody's" heart enshrined him there;
Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.
Looking so handsome, brave, and grand;
“Somebody” clung to his parting hand.
Yearning to hold him again to the heart;
And the smiling childlike lips apart!
Pausing, to drop on his grave a tear!
“Somebody's Darling' slumbers here."
XV.—THE COLLIER'S DYING CHILD.- E. Farmer. The cottage was a thatched one, its outside old and mean, Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was blowing wild A patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child; A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown dim, It was the collier's only child-they called him Little Jim. And, oh! to see the briny tears fast flowing down her cheek As she offered up a prayer in thought; she was afraid to speak, Le st she might waken one she loved far dearer than her life, For she had all a mother's heart, that wretched collier's wife.
With hands uplifted, see, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that God will spare her boy, and take herself
instead: She gets her answer from the child-soft fall these words
from him : “Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim!
I have no pain, dear mother, now; but, oh! I am so dry :
Jim's lips once more; and, mother, do not With gentle, trembling haste, she held a tea-cup to his lipsHe smiled to thank her—then he took three little tiny sips : “Tell father when he comes from work, I said good-night'
to him ; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas, poor little Jim ! She saw that he was dying! The child she loved so dear Had uttered the last words that she could hope to hear!
The cottage door is opened; the collier's step is heard ;
XVI.-THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS (Translation).-
“Put the vessel about! We venture no further through danger and doubt.”"Three days, and I give you a world!” he replied ; “Bear up, my brave comrades ;-three days shall decide." He sails, but no token of land is in sight; He sails,—but the day shows no more than the night ;On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea!
The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o’er
The second day's past—and Columbus is sleeping,
But, hush! he is dreaming !-A veil on the main,
At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks,-
XVII. THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.-MLellan.
Hung round the Soldier's pillow;
Than the fight on the wrathful billow.
The few that his stern heart cherish'd ;
That life had nearly perish’d.
By the order hastily spoken,
And the nations' hosts were broken !
He dream'd that the Frenchman's sword still slew
Still triumph'd the Frenchman's “eagle;"
Like the hare before the beagle.
The Prussian's camp was routed-
His mighty armies shouted ;-
At the Pyramids at the mountain-
And by the Italian fountain.
On the snowy cliffs where mountain-streams
Dash by the Switzer's dwelling, He led again, in his dying dreamıs,
His hosts, the broad earth quelling. Again Marengo's field was won,
And Jena's bloody battle;
Made pale at his cannon's rattle.
A day that shall live in story:
“ And left him alone with his glory."
XVIII.-LUCY GRAY.- -William Wordsworth.
OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: and, when I crossed the wild,
snow.” “That, Father, will I gladly do! 'tis scarcely after noonThe minster-clock has just struck two, and yonder is the moon!" At this the Father raised his hook, and snapped a faggot-band; He plied his work; and Lucy took the lantern in her hand.
Not blither is the mountain roe:—with many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, that rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time: she wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb,—but never reached the town!
Thewretched parents all that nightwent shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor
sight to serve them for a guide. At daybreak, on a hill they stood that overlooked the moor: And thence they saw the bridge of wood,-a furlong from the
door. They wept, and, turning homeward, cried, “In heaven we all
shall meet!” When, in the snow, the Mother spied the print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge they tracked the
footmarks small, And through the broken hawthorn hedge, and by the long
stone wall; And then an open field they crossed; the marks were still the
same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost, and to the bridge they came. They followed, from the snowy bank, those footmarks, one by
one, Into the middle of the plank;—and farther there were none ! Yet some maintain that to this day she is a living child— That you may see sweet Lucy Gray upon the lonesome wild. O’er rough and smooth she trips along, and never looks behind; And sings a solitary song that whistles in the wind.