a THE SMACK IN SCHOOL DISTRICT school, not far away 'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, Was humming with its wonted noise Of three-score mingled girls and boys, Some few upon their tasks intent, But more on furtive mischief bent. The while the master's downward look Was fastened on a copy-book; When suddenly, behind his back, Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack! As 'twere a battery of bliss Let off in one tremendous kiss! "What's that?" the startled master cries; "That, thir," a little imp replies, "Wath William Willith, if you pleathe― The master thundered, "Hither, Will!" With smile suppressed, and birch upraised, Before the whole set school to boot What evil genius put you to't?" "Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad, W. P. PALMER. FLY TO THE DESERT, FLY WITH ME. LY to the desert, fly with me, Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Our sands are bare, but down their slope As o'er the marble courts of kings. Then come-thy Arab maid will be Oh! there are looks and tones that dart As if the very lips and eyes So came thy very glance and tone, THE QUIVER. THOMAS MOore. ESTUS. Lady! I will not forget my trust. A purer, deeper, water to the light: One weapon in shining armory, The quiver on thy shoulder, where thou keep'st OTHELLO'S DEFENCE. OST potent, grave, and reverend signiors, It is most true; true, I have married her; In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience, Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms, | Sweetener of life, and solder of society, What conjuration, and what mighty magic, (For such proceeding I am charged withal,) I won his daughter with. Her father loved me, oft invited me ; Still questioned me the story of my life, From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, I ran it through, even from my boyish days, I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from me Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. Oft have I proved the labors of thy love, And the warm efforts of the gentle heart, In grateful errors through the underwood, Sweet murmuring: methought the shrill-tongued thrush Of hairbreadth 'scapes in the imminent deadly breach; Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd every note: Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence, And portance in my travel's history: Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle, The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose Assumed a dye more deep; whilst every flower Vied with its fellow plant in luxury Of dress-Oh! then, the longest summer's day Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch Seem'd too, too much in haste; still the full heart heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process: And of the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear Would Desdemona seriously incline: But still the house affairs would draw her thence; She'd come again, and with a greedy ear She gave me for my pains a world of sighs : She swore-in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful : She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her, FRIENDSHIP. NVIDIOUS grave!-how lost thou rend in sunder Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness EUPHROSYNE. ROBERT BLAIR. MUST not say that thou wert true, Truth-what is truth! Two bleeding hearts Wounded by men, by fortune tried, Outwearied with their lonely parts, Vow to beat henceforth side by side. The world to them was stern and drear: But souls whom some benignant breath Has charm'd at birth from bloom and care, These ask no love-these plight no faith, For they are happy as they are. The world to them may homage make, And garlands for their forehead weave, And what the world can give, they takeBut they bring more than they receive. They smile upon the world; their ears To one demand alone are coy. They will not give us love and tearsThey bring us light, and warmth, and joy. On one she smiled and he was blest! She smiles elsewhere-we make a din! But 'twas not love that heaved his breast, Fair child! it was the bliss within. MATTHEW ARNOLD. THEY SIN WHO TELL US LOVE CAN DIE. HEY sin who tell us love can die In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Its holy flame for ever burneth ; From heaven it came, to heaven returneth. Then hath in heaven its perfect rest. H! hadst thou never shared my fate, But thou hast suffer'd for my sake, The poison from a wound. My fond affection thou hast seen, To think more happy thou hadst been And has that thought been shared by thee? But there are true hearts which the sight But ah! from them to thee I turn, From thy more holy mind. The love that gives a charm to home, THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY. LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. "'M sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side The place is little changed, Mary, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near— But the graveyard lies between them, Mary, I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends : But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends ! And you were all I had, Mary— My blessing and my pride; There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, That still kept hoping on. When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip, And the kind look on your brow I bless you, Mary, for that same, I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word, I'm bidding you a long farewell, They say there's bread and work for all, Were it fifty times as fair. And often in those grand old woods I'll sit and shut my eyes, Where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn When first you were my bride. & HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN. THE FICKLENESS OF PHYLLIS. E shepherds, give ear to my lay, And take no more heed of my sheep; They have nothing to do but to stray; I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove; She was fair-and my passion begun; She smiled-and I could not but love; She is faithless-and I am undone. Perhaps I was void of all thought: Perhaps it was plain to foresee, That a nymph so complete would be sought, She is faithless, and I am undone ; Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain How fair, and how fickle they be. Alas! from the day that we met, What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget The glance that undid my repose. The flower, and the shrub, and the tree, The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose, Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme. AID of Athens, ere we part, Give, O, give me back my heart! By that zone-encircled waist; Maid of Athens! I am gone, LORD BYRON. FIRST LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS. And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind JOHN CLARE, LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. HE birds, when winter shades the sky, And summer breezes play; And thus the friends that flutter near But when from winter's howling plains The little snow bird still remains, Love, like that bird, when friendship's throng WILLIAM LEggett. THE HEAVENLY FLAME. OVE is the root of creation; God's essence. Lie in his bosom like children: He made them Only to love and to be loved again. He breathed forth His spirit Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven; Quench, O quench not that flame! it is the breath of your being. HENRY WADSworth Longfellow. BILL MASON'S BRIDE. ALF an hour till train time, sir, An' a fearful dark time, too; Take a look at the switch lights, Tom, "On time?" well, yes, I guess so― Left the last station all right— You know Bill? No! He's engineer, I'll never forget the mornin' He married his chuck of a wife. 'Twas the summer the mill hands struck Just off work, every one; They kicked up a row in the village Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, Orderin' Bill to go up there, And bring down the night express. He left his gal in a hurry, And went up on Number One, Thinking of nothing but Mary, And the train he had to run. And Mary sat down by the window For it inust a' been nigh midnight But Mary heard 'em a workin' And guessed there was somethin' wrongAnd in less than fifteen minutes, Bill's train it would be along. She couldn't come here to tell us. And made for the bridge alone. A-swingin' it all the time. Well! by Jove! Bill saw the signal, On the track, in her wedding dress; An' holdin' on to the light- F. BRET HARTZ BEDOUIN SONG. ROM the desert I come to thee On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind In the speed of my desire. Under thy window I stand, And the midnight hears my cry: I love thee, I love but thee, And the stars are old, And the leaves of the Judgment Look from thy window and see My passion and my pain; I lie on the sands below, And I faint in thy disdain. Let the night-winds touch thy brow |