THE SHIPWRECK. (BYRON.)

THERE were two fathers in this ghastly crew,
And with them their two sons, of whom the one
Was more robust and hardy to the view;

But he died early: and when he was gone,
His nearest messmate 1 told his sire, who threw
One glance on him, and said, 'Heaven's will be done:
I can do nothing;' and he saw him thrown

Into the deep, without a tear or groan.

The other father had a weaklier child,
Of a soft cheek, and aspect delicate;
But the boy bore up long, and with a mild
And patient spirit held aloof his fate :
Little he said, and now and then he smiled,
As if to win a part from off the weight

He saw increasing on his father's heart,
With the deep, deadly thought that they must part.

And o'er him bent his sire, and never raised

His eyes from off his face, but wiped the foam From his pale lips, and ever on him gazed :

And when the wished-for shower at length was come, And the boy's eyes, with the dull film half glazed,

Brightened, and for a moment seemed to roam,
He squeezed from out a rag some drops of rain
Into his dying child's mouth;--but in vain!

The boy expired. The father held the clay,
And looked upon it long; and when at last

1 Messmate, a companion; one who messes or eats with another.

Death left no doubt, and the dead burden lay

Stiff on his heart, and pulse and hope were past, He watched it wistfully until away

'Twas borne by the rude wave wherein 'twas cast : Then he himself sank down all dumb and shivering, And gave no sign of life, save his limbs quivering.

'Twas twilight, and the sunless day went down
Over the waste of waters; like a veil,
Which, if withdrawn, would but disclose the frown
Of one whose hate is masked but to assail.
Thus to their hopeless eyes the night was shown,

And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale,

And the dim, desolate deep: twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here.

Then rose from sea to sky the wild farewell—

Then shrieked the timid, and stood still the braveThen some leaped overboard with dreadful yell, As eager to anticipate their grave;

And the sea yawned around her, like a hell,

And down she sucked with her the whirling wave,

Like one who grapples with his enemy,

And strives to strangle him before he die.

And first one universal shriek there rushed,
Louder than the loud ocean-like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied by a convulsive splash,

A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony.

THE FARMER AND THE COUNSELLOR.
(HORACE SMITH.)

A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas,
Who was esteem'd a mighty wit,
Upon the strength of a chance hit,
Amid a thousand flippances,
And his occasional bad jokes

In bullying, bantering, brow beating,
Ridiculing, and maltreating

Women or other timid folks,
In a late cause resolved to hoax
A clownish Yorkshire farmer—one
Who, by his uncouth look and gait,
Appear'd expressly meant by Fate
For being quizz'd and play'd upon.
So having tipp'd the wink to those
In the back rows,

Who kept their laughter bottled down
Until our wag should draw the cork,
He smiled jocosely on the clown,

And went to work.

'Well, Farmer Numskull, how go calves at York?'

6

Why, not, sir, as they do with you,

But on four legs instead of two!'

'Officer!' cried the legal elf,

Piqued at the laugh against himself,

'Do, pray, keep silence down below there—

Now look at me, clown, and attend :

Have I not seen you somewhere, friend?'
'Yees-very like-I often go there!'

6

Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic,'
The counsel cried with grin sardonic;
'I wish I'd known this prodigy,
This genius of the clods, when I

On circuit was at York residing—
Now, Farmer, do for once speak true-
Mind, you're on oath, so tell me, you
Who doubtless think yourself so clever,
Are there as many fools as ever

In the West Riding?'

Why, no, sir-no; we've got our share,

But not so many as when you were there!'

ATTEND, all ye who list, to hear our noble England's praise: I tell of the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient

days,

When that great fleet invincible against her bore in vain, The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. It was about the lovely close of a warm summer day, There came a gallant merchant-ship full sail to Plymouth

Bay;

1 Armada. In 1588 Philip II. of Spain attempted to invade England with a fleet of 130 large ships, having on board 20,000 soldiers and 2,630 cannon. An English fleet of 140 ships was soon equipped, and though the vessels were small, they were manned by the best seamen and the bravest hearts in England.' Lord Howard was the admiral, and under him served Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher. The Spanish ships were at length seen from Plymouth, and Howard sailed out to meet them. He poured in his shot with such effect that the great Armada soon retreated up the English Channel into the North Sea. Being unable to face the English in their rear, the only way back to Spain lay round the north of Scotland, but storms overtook them, and only about fifty shattered hulks returned to Spain.