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Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

THERE was a sound of revelry by night;

And Belgium's capital had gathered then

Her beauty and her chivalry; and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it? No: 't was but the wind,
Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is -- it is - the cannon's opening roar!

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated. Who could guess If evermore should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar
And near, the beat of the alarming drum,

Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; -
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come! they come!"

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills
Have heard and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:-
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers

With the fierce native daring, which instils

The stirring memory of a thousand years:

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,

Grieving

if aught inanimate e'er grieves —

Over the unreturning brave — alas !

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow,

In its next verdure; when this fiery mass

Of living valor, rolling on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low!

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life;

Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay;

The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife;
The morn, the marshalling in arms; the day,
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover - heaped and pent,
Rider and horse- friend, foe-in one red burial blent!

LITTLE JIM.

HE cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean,

THE

Yet everything within that cot was wondrous neat and clean: The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her childA little worn-out creature 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 she might waken one she loved far better than her life,
For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife:
With hands uplifted, see! she kneels beside the sufferer's bed,
And prays that he will spare her boy, and take herself instead.

She gets her answer from her child - soft fall 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 dry — Just 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 from work, I said good-night to

him;

-

And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor "Little Jim."

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 heard -
The 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 bed;
His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain conceal –
And see! his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel;
With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly ask of Him,
In heaven once more to meet again their own poor "Little

Jim."

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OVER

OVER THE RIVER.

the river they beckon to me,

Loved ones who crossed to the other side;

The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue;
He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angels that met him there---
The gate of the city we could not see;
Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands, waiting to welcome me.

Over the river the boatman pale

Carried another, the household pet;
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see her yet!

She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands,

And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

For none return from those quiet shores,
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;

We hear the dip of the golden oars,

And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail;

And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts They cross the stream and are gone for aye.

We may not sunder the vail apart

That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more

Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;

Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore,
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the waters cold,

And list to the sound of the boatman's oar.
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale
To the better shore of the spirit-land.

I shall know the loved who have gone before,
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The angel of death shall carry me.

THE

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.

THE warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire: "I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!-Oh! break my father's

chain !"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this

day:

Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his

way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band,

With one that 'midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land: Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he,

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The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed - his proud breast heaved-his cheek's hue came and went

He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent,

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