And shouted, "Quick! be quick, I say!
They come they come! Away! away!"
Then sunk on the rude white floor of deal,
Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie M'Neal.

The startled colonel sprung, and pressed
The wife and children to his breast,
And turned away from his fireside bright,
And glided into the stormy night;
Then soon and safely made his way
To where the patriot army lay.

But first he bent in the dim fire-light,

And kissed the forehead broad and white,
And blessed the girl who had ridden so well
To keep him out of a prison-cell.

The girl roused up at the martial din,
Just as the troopers came rushing in,
And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan,
Saying, "Good sirs, your bird has flown.
'Tis I who have scared him from his nest ;
So deal with me now as you think best."
But the grand young captain bowed, and said
"Never you hold a moment's dread.
Of womankind I must crown you queen;
So brave a girl I have never seen.

Wear this gold ring as your valor's due;

And when peace comes I will come for you."

But Jennie's face an arch smile wore,

As she said, "There's a lad in Putnam's corps,
Who told me the same, long time ago;
You two would never agree, I know.
I promised my love to be true as steel,"
Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal.

WILL CARLETON.

HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

My liege, I did deny no prisoners,

But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
He was perfumed like a milliner;

And 'twixt his finger and thumb he held

A pouncet-box which ever and anon

He gave his nose, and took 't away again;

Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff; and still he smil'd and talk'd;

And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

He called them — untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse

Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holyday and lady terms

He question'd me; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience,

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what;

He should, or he should not; for he made me mad

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark !),

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villanous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed

So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, disjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;

And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I ponder'd, weak and

weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door. ""Tis some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamberdoor

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor,

Eagerly I wish'd the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow sorrow for the lost

Lenore

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain,

Thrill'd me-fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeat

"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door; That it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so taintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream

before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word,

"Lenore!"

This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word, "Lenore!"

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window

lattice,

Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery explore, heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore; my 'Tis the wind, and nothing more."

Let

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and Alutter

In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minnte stopp'd or

stay'd he;

But, with mein of lord or lady, perch'd above my chamber

door,

Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber-doorPerched and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art

sure no craven;

Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore;

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore?"

Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!

Much I marvel'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we can not help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamberdoor

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber

door,

With such name as "Nevermore!"

But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he utter'd not a feather then he flutter'd

Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, "Other friends have flown before

On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown