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For vengeance ! Rouse, ye Romans ! rouse, ye slaves ! Have


brave sons Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die! Have ye daughters fair ? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonoured ! and if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans !
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
Was greater than a king !—and once again-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !-once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free! her sons
Shall walk with princes !


(EDWARD FARMER.) The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and

mean, Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and


The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling

wild, A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her

child A little worn-outcreature—his once bright eyes grown dim; It was the collier's wife and child—they called him

“ Little Jim."

And oh, to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her

cheek, As she offered up a prayer of thought—she was afraid to

speak, Lest that might 'waken one she loved far better than her

life, For she had all mother's heart, had that poor collier's With hands uplifted, see ! she kneels beside the sufferer's


bed And prays that God will spare her boy, and take herself


She gets her answer from her child—soft fell these words

from him. “Mother, the angels they do smile, and beckon "Little

Jim.' I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh ! I am so dryJust moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't ye

cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to his

lips; He smiled to thank her as he took three little tiny sips“Tell father, when he comes home from work, I said good

night to him ; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor “Little


She saw that he was dying—the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope to

hear, The cottage door is opened—the collier's step is heardThe father and the mother meet, but neither spake a

word. He felt that all was over-he knew his child was dead, He took the candle in his hand, and walked toward the


His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain con

cealAnd see ! his wife has joined him—the stricken couple


With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly ask

of Him In heaven once more to meet again their own poor

“ Little Jim."



The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
Was straightened for the grave; and, as the folds
Sank to the still proportions, they betrayed
The matchless symmetry of Absalom.
His helm was at his feet: his banner, soiled
With trailing through Jerusalem, was laid
Reversed, beside him: and the jewelled hilt,
Whose diamonds lit the passage of his blade,
Rested, like mockery, on his covered brow.
The soldiers of the king trod to and fro,
Clad in the garb of battle; and their chief,
The mighty Joab, stood beside the bier,
And gazed upon the dark pall steadfastly,
As if he feared the slumberer might stir.
A slow step startled him. He grasped his blade,
As if a trumpet rang; but the bent form
Of David entered, and he gave command,
In a low tone, to his few followers,
And left him with his dead. The king stood still
Till the last echo died; then, throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe :-

" Alas!

my noble boy! that thou should'st die ! Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair ! That death should settle in thy glorious eye,

And leave his stillness in this clustering hair ! How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,

My proud boy, Absalom !

“Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,

As to my bosom I have tried to press thee!

How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee, And hear thy sweet My father !' from those dumb

And cold lips, Absalom !

The grave hath won thee! I shall hear the gush

Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung ;But thou no more with thy sweet voice shalt come

To meet me, Absalom !

“ And oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token ! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,

To see thee, Absalom !

And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,

With death so like a gentle slumber on thee! And thy dark sin "oh! I could drink the cup,

If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer home,

My lost boy, Absalom !”

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child ; then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer.
And, as if strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently,—and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.



It was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter

To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax,

Her cheeks like the dawn of day,
And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds

That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,

His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow

The smoke now west, now south.

Then up and spake an old sailor,

Had sailed the Spanish main, “I pray thee put into yonder port,

For I fear a hurricane.

“ Last night the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see !"
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,

And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,

A gale from the north-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,

And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain

The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,

Then leaped her cable's length.

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