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Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow,
Kiss him once for "Somebody's" sake,
Was it a mother's, soft and white?
Been baptized in these waves of light?
God knows best! he had "Somebody's" love;
Night and morn, on the wings of prayer.
Somebody" clung to his parting hand.
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 wildA 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: Just moisten poor Jim's lips once more; and, mother, do not cry!"
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."
The cottage door is opened; the collier's step is heard;
XVI.-THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS (Translation).--
On the deck stood Columbus :- —the ocean's expanse,
"Back to Spain!" cry his men; "Put the vessel about!
He sails, but the day shows no more than the night;-
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;
The second day's past-and Columbus is sleeping,
"Shall he perish?"-" Ay! death!" is the barbarous cry;
Shall that sea on the morrow, with pitiless waves,
One day later,-Columbus, the first among men!
But, hush! he is dreaming!-A veil on the main,
And now, on his dreaming eye,-rapturous sight!—
How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams!
At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks,-
What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain?
In exchange for a world, what are honours and gains?
XVII.-THE DEATH OF NAPOLEON.-M'Lellan.
WILD was the night! yet a wilder night
They knew, by his awful and kingly look,
That he dream'd of days when the nations shook,
He dream'd that the Frenchman's sword still slew-
Like the hare before the beagle.
The bearded Russian he scourged again-
Over Egypt's sands-over Alpine snows-
On the snowy cliffs where mountain-streams
He died at the close of that darksome day-
In tl rocky land they placed his clay,
XVIII.-LUCY GRAY.-William Wordsworth.
OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray: and, when I crossed the wild,
"To-night will be a stormy night—you to the town must go; And take a lantern, child, to light your Mother through the
"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!
The wretched parents all that night went 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
They tracked them on, nor ever lost, and to the bridge they came. They followed, from the snowy bank, those footmarks, one by
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.