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FIDELITY OF AN OLD SERVANT.

W. SHAKSPEARE.

Adam. But do not so: I have five hundred

crowns,

The thirfty hire I sav'd under your father,
Which I did store, to be my foster-nurse,
When service should in my old limbs lie lame,
And unregarded age in corners thrown.

:

Take that and he that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providentially eaters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age! Here is the gold:
All this I give you; let me be your servant,
Though I look old, yet I am strong and lusty;
For in my youth I never did apply
Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood;
Nor did not with unbashful forehead woo
The means of weakness and debility;
Therefore my age is as a lusty winter,
Frosty but kindly. Let me go with you:
I'll do the service of a younger man,
In all your business and necessities.

Orlando. Oh, good old man, how well in thee appears

The constant service of an antique world,
When service sweat for duty, not for meed;
Thou art not for the fashion of these times,
Where none will sweat but for promotion,
And having that, do choke their service up,
Even with the having; it is not so with thee.
But, poor old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree,
That cannot so much as a blossom yield,
In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry.
But come thy way, we'll go along together;
And ere we have thy youthful wages spent,
We'll light upon settled low content.

Adam. Master, go on; and I will follow thee,
To the last grap, with truth and loyalty.

THE NUN ON THE BATTLE FIELD.

177

SAUL'S ADDRESS.

LORD BYRON.

WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me when leading the hosts of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path,—
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet;
Mine be the doom which they dared not to meet!

Farewell to others; but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, that awaits us to-day!

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THE NUN ON THE BATTLE FIELD.
(An incident of the Franco-German War.)

T. D. SULLIVAN.

DEAD on the corpse-strewn battle plain
Where war's dread work is done,
She lies, amid the heaps of slain,

The pure and holy Nun :

She saw the stricken soldier fall,
And, ere the strife was o'er,

She rushed, unheeding blade or ball,
To staunch his flowing gore;
To gently raise his drooping head,
To cool his lips of flame,
To whisper, ere his spirit fled,
The Saviour's Holy Name,

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And on from one to one to pass,
'Midst those who, living yet,
Lay groaning on the crimson grass
Their streaming blood had wet;
With saintly love and tenderness
Their suffering hearts to aid,
What'er the colour of the dress,

Through which their wounds were made,
And-in whatever form of speech
They prayed to God above-
Unto their dying lips to reach
The emblem of his love.

But, ah! the battle's thundering swell
Had rolled not far away,

And still the murderous missiles fell
Where dead and dying lay;
Bullets, ill-sped, came whistling by,
Huge shot tore up the ground,
And shells, like meteors from on high,
Spread fresh destruction round.
She flinched not while they hurtled past,
Nor turned her head aside,

But when her death-wound came at last
She blest her God, and died.

THOSE WE'VE LEFT BEHIND US.

THOMAS MOORE.

As slow our ship with foamy track
Against the wind was cleaving,
Her trembling pennant still looked back
To that dear Isle 'twas leaving,
So loath we part from all we love,

From all the links that bind us:
So turn our hearts, as on we rove,
To those we've left behind us.

THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS. 179

When, round the bowl, of vanished years
We talk, with joyous seeming,
With smiles that might as well be tears,
So faint, so sad their beaming;
While memory brings us back again
Each early tie that twined us,
Oh! sweet's the cup that circles then,
To those we've left behind us!

And, when in other climes, we meet
Some isle or vale enchanting,
Where all looks flowery wild and sweet,
And nought but love is wanting;
We think how great had been our bliss
If heaven had but assigned us

To live and die in scenes like this,
With some we've left behind us!

As travellers oft look back at eve,
When eastward darkly going,
To gaze upon that light they leave

Still faint behind them glowing;—
So when the close of pleasure's day
To gloom hath near consigned us,
We turn to catch one fading ray
Of joy that's left behind us.

THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS.

On the deck stood Columbus :—the ocean's expanse, Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance.

"Back to Spain!" cry his men. "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 rudder, which creaks 'mid the billowy roar;
He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast,
And its funeral-wail through the shrouds of the
mast;

The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies,
And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified

eyes;

But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night,

Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. "Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er.'

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Day! what now dost thou see ?" "Sky and ocean-No more!"

The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping,
While mutiny near him its vigil is keeping:

"Shall he perish ?"

cry;

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'Ay! death!" is the barbarous

"He must triumph to-morrow, or, purjured, must die !"

Ungrateful and blind! shall the world-linking sea He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be?

Shall that sea on the morrow, with pitiless waves. Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves ?

The corse of an humble adventurer, then;

One day later, Columbus, the first among men!

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