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We gazed, but not a man could speak!

With horror all aghast, –
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek,

We watched the quivering mast.
The atmosphere grew thick and hot,

And of a lurid hue;-
As riveted unto the spot,

Stood officers and crew.
The father came on deck:-lie gasped,

“O, God! thy will be done!" Then suddenly a rifle grasped,

And aimed it at his son. "Jump, far out, boy, into the wave!

Jump, or I fire,” he said;
That only chance your life can save;

Jump, jump, boy!” He obeyed.
He sunk,-he rose,- he lived,-he moved,

And for the ship struck out.
On board we hailed the lad beloved,

With many a manly shout.
His father drew, in silent joy,

Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart his boy,

Then fainted on the deck.


Out of the clover and blue-eyed grass,

He turned them into the river-lane; One after another he let them pass,

Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows and over the hill,

He patiently followed their sober pace; The merry whistle for once was still,

And something shadowed the sunny face. Only a boy ! and his father had said

He never could let his youngest go: Two already were lying dead

Under the feet of the trampling foe. But after the evening work was done,

And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun,

And stealthily followed the foot-path damp,

Across the clover and through the wheat,

With resolute heart and purpose grim, Though cold was the dew on his hurrying feet,

And the blind bats ilitting startled him. Thrice since then had the lanes been white,

And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; And now, when the cows came back at night,

The feeble father drove them home. For news had come to the lonely farm

That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm

Could never lean on a son’s again. The summer day grew cool and late;

Ile went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate,

He saw them coming, one by one, Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess,

Shaking their horns in the evening wind, Cropping the buttercups out of the grass

But who was it following close behind ?
Loosely swang in the idle air

The empty sleeve of army blue;
And worn and pale, from the crisping hair,

Locked out a face that the father knew ;-
For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn,

And yield their dead unto life again;
And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn

In golden glory at last may wane.
The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes;

For the heart must speak when the lips are dumba And under the silent evening skies

Together they followed the cattle home.

'Tis not the lack of gold, father,

Nor lack of worldly gear;
My lands are broad and fair to see,

My friends are kind and dear;
My kin are leal and true, father,

They mourn to see my grief,
But, oh! 'tis not a kinsman's hand

Can give my heart relief!
'Tis not that Janet's false, father,

'Tis not that she's unkind;
Though busy flatterers swarm around,

I know her constant mind,
'Tis not the coldness of her heart

That chills my laboring breast, -
It's that confounded cucumber

I ate, and can't digesi!


William Peter. “HERE, guards!" pale with fear, Dionysius, cries, “Here guards, yon intruder arrest!

'Tis Damon-but ha! speak, what means this disguise ? And the dagger which gleams in thy vest ?". “'Twas to free,” says the youth, “this dear land from its chains ! "Free the land ! wretched fool, thou shalt die for thy pains.” “I am ready to die—I ask not to live, Yet three days of respite, perhaps thou may'st give,

For to-morrow, my sister will wed,
And 'twould damp all her joy, were her brother not there;
Then let me, I pray, to her nuptials repair,

While a friend remains here in my stead.” With a sneer on his brow, and a curse in his breast, “Thou shalt have,” cries the tyrant, “shalt have thy rejuest;

To thy sister repair, and her nuptials attend,
Enjoy thy three days, but-mark well what I say-
Return on the third ; if, beyond that fixed day,
There be but one hour's, but one moment's delay,

That delay shall be death to thy friend !"
Then to Pythias he went; and he told him his case;
That true friend answered not, but, with instant embrace,

Consenting, rushed forth to be bound in his room;
And now, as if winged with new life from above,
To his sister he flew, did his errand of love,
And, ere a third morning had brightened the grove,

Was returning with joy to his doom.

But the heavens interpose,

Stern the tempest aroge,
And when the poor pilgrim arrived at the shore,

Swoll'n to torrents, the rills

Rushed in foam from the hills,
And crash went the bridge in the whirlpool's wild roar.
Wildly gazing, despairing, half frenzied he stood;
Dark, dark were the skies, and dark was the flood,

And still darker his lorn heart's emotion ;
And he shouted for aid, but no aid was at hand,
No boat ventured forth from the surf-ridden strand,
And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er the lessening land,

And the stream was becoming an ocean.
Now with knees low to earth, and with hands to the skies,
"Still the storm, God of might, God of mercy !” he cries-

“O, hush with Thy breath this loud sea;
The hours hurry by,--the sun glows on high;
And should he go down, and I reach not yon town,

My friend-he must perish for me!"
Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing,
And waves upon waves still dissolved without ceasing,

And hour after hour hurried on ;
Then by anguish impelled, hope and fear alike o'er,
He, reckless, rushed into the water's deep roar;
Rose-sunk-struggled on-till, at length, the wished shore,-

Thanks to Heaven's outstretched hand-it is won ! But new perils await him; scarce 'scaped from the flood

And intent on redeeming each moment's delay, As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark wood,

A band of fiercé robbers encompassed his way. “What would ye ?” he cried, “save my life, I have nought;" "Nay, that is the king's.”—Then swift having caught A club from the nearest, and swinging it round With might more than man's, he laid three on the ground,

While the rest hurried off in dismay.
But the noon's scorching flame

Soon shoots through his frame,
And he turns, faint and way-worn, to Heaven with a sigh-

“From the flood and the foe,

Thou'st redeemed me, and oh!
Thus, by thirst over come, must I effortless lie,
And leave him, the beloved of my bosom, to die ?”

Scarce uttered the word,

When startled he heard
Purling sounds, sweet as silver's, fall fresh on his ear;

And lo! a small rill

Trickied down from the hill!
He heard, and he saw, and, with joy drawing riear,
Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and renewed his career.

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And now the sun's beams through the deep boughs are glowing, And rock, tree, and mountain, their shadows are throwing,

Iluge and grim, o'er the meadow's bright bloom; And two travelers are seen coming forth on their way, And just as they pass, he hears one of them say

“'Tis the hour that was fixed for his doom i"

Still anguish gives strength to his wavering flight;
On he speeds; and lo! now in eve's reddening light

The domes of far Syracuse blend ;--
There Philostratus meets lim, (a servant grown gray
In his house,) crying, "Back! not a moment's delay

No cares can avail for thy friend.
"No; nothing can save his dear head from the tomb;

So think of preserving thy own.
Myself, I beheld him led forth to his doom;

Ere this his brave spirit has flown!
With confident soul he stood, hour after hour,

Thy return never doubting to see;
No sneers of the tyrant that faith could o'erpower,

Or shake his assurance in thee!"

“And is it too late? and can not I save

Ilis dear life? then, at least, let me share in luis grave.
Yes, death shall unite us! no tyrant shall say,
That friend to his friend proved untrue; le may slay, -
May torture,-may mock at all merev and ruth,

But ne'er shall he doubt of our friendship and truth." 'Tis sunset: and Damon arrives at the gate,

Sees the scaffold and multitudes gazing below;
Already the victim is bared for his fate,

Already the deathsman stands armed for the blow;
When lark! a wild voice which is echoed around,
“Stay -'tis (-it is Damon, for whom he was bound !"
And oor they sink in each other's embrace,

And are weeping for joy and despair;
Not a soul, anong thousands, but melts at their case;

Which swift to the monarch they bear;
Even he, too, is moved-feels for once as he onght-
And commands, that they both to his throne shall be brought


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