Of flowers that bloom, or birds that sing, But, when the foxes bark aloud When round the fire the people crowd, When frost is splitting stone and wall, His home is by the North Pole's shores, Now from the North he's hither hied, -A GREYPORT LEGEND. HEY ran through the streets of the seaport THEY town; They peered from the decks of the ships that lay; The cold sea-fog that came whitening down Was never as cold or white as they. "Ho, Starbuck and Pinckney and Tenterden ! Run for your shallops, gather your men, Scatter your boats on the lower bay." Good cause for fear! In the thick mid-day The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, Said a hard-faced skipper, " God help us all! And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side. The fog drove down on each labouring crew, Veiled each from each and the sky and shore: There was not a sound but the breath they drew, And the lap of water and creak of oar; And they felt the breath of the downs, fresh blown O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, But not from the lips that had gone before. They come no more. But they tell the tale, For the signal they know will bring relief: Through channels whose waters never fail. It is but a foolish shipman's tale, But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, Bret Harte. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. UR bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. Stay, stay with us!-rest; thou art weary and worn ! And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away. Campbell. THE CHOICE OF KING MIDAS. MIDAS, King of Phrygia, several thousand years ago, Was a very worthy monarch, as the classic annals show You may read 'em at your leisure, when you have a mind to doze, In the finest Latin verses, or in choice Hellenic prose. Now this notable old monarch, King of Phrygia, as aforesaid, (Of whose royal state and character there might be vastly more said), Though he occupied a palace, kept a very open door, And had still a ready welcome for the stranger and the poor. Now it chanced that old Silenus, who, it seems, had lost his way, Following Bacchus through the forest, in the pleasant month of May, (Which wasn't very singular, for at the present day The followers of Bacchus very often go astray-) Came at last to good King Midas, who received him in his court, Gave him comfortable lodgings, and-to cut the matter short With as much consideration treated weary old Silenus As if the entertainment were for Mercury or Venus. Now when Bacchus heard the story, he proceeded to the king, And says he, "By old Silenus you have done the handsome thing; |