We gazed, but not a man could speak! In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, As riveted unto the spot, Stood officers and crew. The father came on deck:-he 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; He sunk,-he rose, he lived, he moved, His father drew, in silent joy, Those wet arms round his neck, And folded to his heart his boy,- DRIVING HOME THE COWS. OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass, Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows and over the hill, Only a boy! and his father had said 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, Thrice since then had the lanes been white, For news had come to the lonely farm The summer day grew cool and late; He 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, The empty sleeve of army blue; For Southern prisons will sometimes yawn, The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies Together they followed the cattle home. THE CONFESSION.—Blackwood's Magazine, THERE'S somewhat on my breast, father, The live-long day I sigh, father, I can not take my rest, father, A weary weight oppresseth me,— 'Tis not the lack of gold, father, "Tis not that Janet's false, father, That chills my laboring breast, It's that confounded cucumber I ate, and can't digest! DAMON AND PYTHIAS; OR, TRUE FRIENDSHIP. 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; While a friend remains here in my stead." With a sneer on his brow, and a curse in his breast, "Thon shalt have," cries the tyrant, "shalt have thy request; To thy sister repair, and her nuptials attend, Enjoy thy three days, but-mark well what I say- Then to Pythias he went; and he told him his case; 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. Now with knees low to earth, and with hands to the skies, Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing, Then by anguish impelled, hope and fear alike o'er, But new perils await him; scarce 'scaped from the flood As onward he sped, lo! from out a dark wood, A band of fierce 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, 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 overcome, 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 near, Laved his limbs, slaked his thirst, and renewed his career. E* And now the sun's beams through the deep boughs are glowing, Still anguish gives strength to his wavering flight; There Philostratus meets him, (a servant grown gray "No; nothing can save his dear head from the tomb; Myself, I beheld him led forth to his doom; With confident soul he stood, hour after hour, No sneers of the tyrant that faith could o'erpower, "And is it too late? and can not I save His dear life? then, at least, let me share in his grave. That friend to his friend proved untrue; he may slay,— 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; And now they sink in each other's embrace, Not a soul, among thousands, but melts at their case; Even he, too, is moved-feels for once as he ought- Then, alternately gazing on each gallant youth, With looks of awe, wonder, and shame; "Ye have conquered!" he cries, "yes, I see now that truth,That friendship is not a mere name. Go; you're free; but, while life's dearest blessings you prove, |