Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught:
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought,
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

1

(CAMPBELL.)

ON Linden when the sun was low,

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden showed another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,2
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet-sound arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade

And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.

e;

1 Hohenlinden is a village in Bavaria where the Austrians were completely defeated by the French in December 1800. The word means tall lindens or lime-trees.

2 Both armies were put in motion during the night-each attempting to surprise the other. They met in a forest before daylight during a snowstorm.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
Then rushed the steed to battle driven;
And volleying like the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.

But redder still these fires shall glow
On Linden's hills of purpled snow;
And bloodier still shall be the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

"Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud, rolling dun,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun1

Shout 'mid their sulphurous canopy.

The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry.

Few, few shall part where many

meet!

The snow shall be their winding-sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall mark a soldier's sepulchre.

1 Frank and Hun were the names anciently applied to the French and Austrians.

2 Munich, on the river Iser, is the capital of Bavaria. It contains one of the finest collections of paintings in Europe.

William C. Bryant, an American poet of some note, was born in Massachusetts in 1794. It was intended that he should be a lawyer. but that profession he soon abandoned, and became editor of a New York paper. He published a volume of poems in 1832.

CHAINED in the market-place he stood,

A man of giant frame,

Amid the gath'ring multitude

That shrunk to hear his name;

All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground;
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly but well that chief had fought-
He was a captive now;

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow.

The scars his dark broad bosom wore
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake—
'My brother is a king;

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring;

And send me where my brother reigns,
And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,
And gold-dust from the sands.'

'Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain ;
That bloody hand shall never hold
The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave
Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave

In lands beyond the sea.'

Then wept the warrior chief, and bade

To shred his locks away;

And, one by one, each heavy braid
Before the victor lay.

Thick were the plaited locks, and long,
And deftly hidden there

Shone many a wedge of gold among
The dark and crispèd hair.

'Look! feast thy greedy eye with gold, Long kept for sorest need;

Take it thou askest sums untold-
And say that I am freed.

Take it; my wife, the long, long day,
Weeps by the cocoa-tree,

And my young children leave their play
And ask in vain for me.'

'I take thy gold; but I have made
Thy fetters fast and strong,
And ween that by the cocoa shade
Thy wife will wait thee long.'
Strong was the agony that shook
The captive's frame to hear,
And the proud meaning of his look
Was changed to mortal fear.

His heart was broken-crazed his brain;
At once his eye grew wild-
He struggled fiercely with his chain,
Whisper'd, and wept, and smiled.
Yet wore not long those fatal bands;
And once, at shut of day,

They drew him forth upon the sands-
The foul hyena's prey!