Light-hearted and free, o'er the mountains she sang; But alas, discontent o'er her life cast a taint, "A queen thou shalt be," the good fairy replied, So it all came to pass as the fairy had said, But her beauty was gone; she was burdened with care; Till she cried in despair "Good fairy, I pray, THE DICKENS GALLERY.-M. J. FARRAH. Within the town of Weissnichtwo And once I also chanced to stray This exhibition of the day, And first the face of little Nell And child-wife Dora filled with grace Sweet Dolly Varden stood beside And spreading scandal all around And opposite a motley crew, Smike, Toots and Marley's ghost, Micawber, Squeers and Pickwick, too; And others, quite a host. And Captain Cuttle, walking out, And fraternizing in a row Sit Wegg and Carrier John, And Scrooge, and Trotty Veck and Jo, No longer "moving on"; And Barkis, "willin', waitin'" still, Upon the wall, we see, And many more whose portraits fill And last, within a tarnished frame, And, written underneath the name, Then homeward wended I my way, In hope to find, some other day, THE BLIND FLOWER GIRL OF POMPEII. ELLA LINDSEY MATCHETT. In the following interesting poem the scene is the time of the ruin of the gay and joyous Pompeii, and at the beginning of the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius. Every reader of Bulwer's novel "The last days of Pomperi," will remember Ny. dia the blind flower girl whose unrequited love of Glaucus, fired by a jealousy of the beautiful Ione, caused her to seek peace and oblivion in the blue depths of the Mediterranean. The hour is come! What mean these words so full of gloom? A wild refrain,-the hour is come! The hour is come! these words fill all the air above, around, With tongues that know no other plaint. One mighty voice, one mighty tongue! What hour? Ah yes-I heard Olinthus say Bears me along down to the seas And yet in all this multitude am I alone! The gods protect thee, Sallust-make haste-escape! to me. Sallust, thou art his friend-farewell-(to one passing) Stay! hast thou seen Glaucus ? He curses me and says, the vengeance of the gods Pours from Vesuvius a molten rain! The air is hot, is stifling, and on my hair I feel the ashes of this fiery rain. Pompeii, all thy brightness, joy and mirth, Youth, beauty, love and song, master and slave Find then, one common grave. Oh answer! is there not one in all this surging throng I'll ask no more-oh, Athenian! Greek! My hand could guide thee to the sea. Whose voice? this is the forum. He oft comes here, he calls my name! It is I, dear heart, thy Nydia; Glaucus - thy hand! oh follow fast, I'll lead the way Down to the sea. You say we journey but to Hades, The under world, the land of shades Then be it so. Where Glaucus is can come no woe. And now the bark glides calmly on. He sleeps-I'll keep my vigils while he sleeps. Roses of mine own Thessaly, Land of Olympus,-Thessaly, Where once the soft winds kissed the brow Of poor blind Nydia-not then a slave, But free as song of bird-as perfume of sweet flowers. And bondage-by thee set free. O Glaucus! then pulsed within my veins new wine of life. The dews that fell upon the flowers of my care Seemed the ambrosia of the gods! Once kneeling at thy feet Thou didst place thy hand upon my head And tell me of the light. It seemed that zephyr, With low sweet chimings-the music sang one name, Of Harmodius and her past grandeur; Of lovely olive groves that made green walls And their pale glory. Once in my dreams Nectar and ambrosia they placed upon my lips And we were both immortal. Our barque went drifting out among the eternal stars; Far on a moonlit sea, forever and forever We held our glorious way. O Glaucus! Glaucus! I often wept my thanks, words were so poor. Ah, Glaucus! when the sad days came, Deep in my heart I knew thou didst not slay Apœcides, I knew thou couldst not murder. And when Arbaces made me prisoner in his palace I bribed his slave, and with my stylus Wrote the words to Sallust that sent thy friend to thee. I sought Calenus in those gloomy vaults In Cybeles' sacred grove he saw Arbaces, Priest of Isis, deal the fatal blow. 1 led him forth to save thy life. And in the praetor's mouth he put the words: And still the bark glides on-how deep his sleep. The soft winds stir thy hair; They say thy hair is like the sunlight Spun with threads of gold-but this I know not of Save that it must be beautiful. A moment on thy forehead, broad and smooth, I'll rest my hand-oh! what is sight? Some rare sweet blessedness revealing more than touch,— The sunlight in thy hair, the glory on thy brow? Once, kneeling at thy feet, I said Upon thy brow should be an olive crown. He twined white roses in my hair And said: "Thessalian Princess thou shalt be, fair child!" I wept such happy tears For on the ides of June I was a slave! And still the barque glides on. Oh, solemn, sacred sea, bear us to Thessaly! Glaucus! Glaucus! how sweet to touch thy band Ione! Ione! her hand in thine! Ah! she is more than friend,-thy future bride! She hath every charm,-learning, beauty, wealth and grace, High born, the gift of sight-and I am blind! Glaucus, Greek, Athenian! I can bear no more,-no longer slave, Yet slave so bound in chains That only death can set me free. Glaucus, I too shall sleep; the sea is deep and wide. O sacred sea! they forfeit future life Who go unbidden to thy cold embrace. But in the land of shades, this woe would follow me. Immortal gods! hear me in this last hour, This hour of woe. Orcus-the Avenging In pity veil thine eyes. O Jupiter, the All-seeing— Qh gently may she glide across the sea. |