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Then drew the pith like the heart of a man,
Steadily from the outside ring,
Then notched the poor dry empty thing
In holes, as he sate by the river.

“This is the way,” laughed the great god Pan,

(Laughed while he sate by the river!) “ The only way since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed;" Then dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed,

He blew in power by the river.

Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan,

Piercing sweet by the river,
Blinding sweet, O great god Pan!
The sun on the hill forgot to die,
And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly

Came back to dream on the river.

Yet half a beast is the great god Pan,

•To laugh, as he sits by the river,
Making a poet out of a man.
The true gods sigh for the cost and the pain
For the reed that grows nevermore again

As a reed with the reeds of the river.




I see before me the Gladiator lie:

He leans upon his hand-his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony,

And his droop'd head sinks gradually low-

And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,

Like the first of a thunder shower; and now The arena swims around him-he is gone, Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who



He heard it, but he heeded not-his

Were with his heart, and that was far away.
He reck'd not of the life he lost nor prize,

But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his


barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother,-he, their sire,

Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday-
All this rush'd with his blood--shall he expire
And unavenged ?-Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!



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teacher sat alone
While twilight gathered on;
And not a sound was heard around,

The boys and girls were gone.

The weary teacher sat alone,

Unnerved and pale was hə;
Bowed 'neath a yoke of care, he spoke
In sad soliloquy:

"Another round, another round,

Of labor thrown away-
Another chain of toil and pain

Dragged through a tedious day.

“Of no avail is constant zeal,

Love's sacrifice is loss,
The hopes of morn, so golden, turn,

Each evening, into dross.

“I squander on a barren field

My strength, my life, my all;



The seeds I sow will never grow,

They perish where they fall.”

He sighed, and low upon his hands

His aching brow he prest:
And o'er his frame ere long there came

A soothing sense of rest.

And then he lifted up his face,

But started back aghast-
The room by strange and sudden change

Assumed proportions vast.

It seemed a Senate-hall, and one

Addressed a listening throng;
Each burning word all bosoms stirred,

Applause rose loud and long.

The 'wildered teacher thought he knew

The speaker's voice and look, “And for his name," said he, “the same

Is in my record book.”

The stately Senate-hall dissolved

A church rose in its place, Wherein there stood a man of God,

Dispensing words of grace.

And though he spoke in solemn tone,

And though his hair was gray,
The teacher's thought was strangely wrought-

“I whipped that boy to-day."

The church, a phantasm, vanished soon

What saw the teacher then ?

In classic gloom of alcoved room

An author plied his pen.

“My idlest lad!” the teacher said,
Filled with a new surprise
Shall I behold his name enrolled
Among the great and wise?"

The vision of a cottage home

The teacher now descried;
A mother's face illumed the place

Her influence sanctified.

6 A miracle! a miracle!

This matron, well I know,
Was but a wild and careless child,

Not half an hour ago.

“And when she to her children speaks

Of duty's golden rule,
Her lips repeat, in accents sweet,

My words to her at school."

The scene was changed again, and lo,

The school-house rude and old, Upon the wall did darkness fall,

The evening air was cold.

“A dream!” the sleeper, waking, said,

Then paced along the floor,
And whistling slow and soft and low,

He locked the school-house door.

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