Volleyed and thundered:
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well :
Into the jaws of death,

Into the mouth of hell,

Rode the six hundred.

Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sab'ring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while

All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery smoke,
Right through the line they broke:
Cossack and Russian

Reeled from the saber-stroke,

Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back-but not,
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon behind them,

Volleyed and thundered:
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well,
Came through the jaws of death,
Back from the mouth of hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred !

THE CURSE OF REGULUS.

THE palaces and domes of Carthage were burning with the splendors of noon, and the blue waves of her harbor were rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sunlight. An attentive ear could catch a low murmur, sounding from the

centre of the city, which seemed like the moaning of the wind before a tempest. And well it might. The whole people of Carthage, startled, astounded by the report that Regulus had returned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into the great square before the Senate House. There were mothers in that throng, whose captive sons were groaning in Roman fetters; maidens, whose lovers were dying in the distant dungeons of Rome; gray-haired men and matrons, whom Roman steel had made childless; men, who were seeing their country's life crushed out by Roman power; and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, the vast throng gave vent to the rage, the hate, the anguish of long years.

Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him, stood Regulus, the Roman! He stretched his arm over the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious, as though he stood at the head of his own gleaming cohorts. Before that silent command the tumult ceased-the halfuttered execration died upon the lip-so intense was the silence, that the clank of the captive's brazen manacles smote sharp on every ear, as he thus addressed them:

“Ye doubtless thought, judging of Roman virtue by your own, that I would break my plighted faith, rather than by returning, and leaving your sons and brothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet your vengeance. Well, I could give reasons for this return, foolish and inexplicable as it seems to you; I could speak of yearnings after immortality-of those eternal principles in whose pure light a patriot's death is glorious, a thing to be desired; but, by great Jove! I should debase myself to dwell on such high themes to you. If the bright blood which feeds my heart were like the slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, I should have remained at Rome, saved my life and broken my oath. If, then, you ask, why I have come back, to let you work your will on this poor body which I esteem but as the rags that cover it-enough reply for you, it is because I am a Roman! As such, here in your very capital I defy you! What I have done, ye never can undo; what ye may do, I care not. Since first my young arm knew how to wield a Roman sword, have I not routed your armies, burned your towns, and dragged your generals at my chariot wheels? And do ye now ex

pect to see me cower and whine with dread of Carthaginian vengeance? Compared to that fierce mental strife which my heart has just passed through at Rome, the piercing of this flesh, the rending of these sinews, would be but sport to me.

"Venerable senators, with trembling voices and outstretched hands, besought me to return no more to Car

thage. The generous people, with loud wailing, and wildly-tossing gestures, bade me stay. The voice of a beloved mother-her withered hands beating her breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, tears flowing down her furrowed cheeks-praying me not to leave her in her lonely and helpless old age, is still sounding in my ears. Compared to anguish like this, the paltry torments you have in store is as the murmur of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the mountain storm. Go! bring your threatened tortures! The woes I see impending over this ated city will be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should tingle with its agony. I die-but mine shall be the triumph; yours the untold desolation. For every drop of blood that falls from my veins, your own shall pour in torrents! Wo, unto thee, O Carthage! I see thy homes and temples all in flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women wailing for the dead. Proud city! thou art doomed the curse of Jove, a living, lasting curse is on thee! The hungry waves shall lick the golden gates of thy rich palaces, and every brook run crimson to the sea. Rome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy heart-strings, and all thy homes shall howl in wild response of anguish to her touch. Proud mistress of the sea, disrobed, uncrowned and scourged-thus again do I devote thee to the infernal gods!

"Now, bring forth your tortures! Slaves! while ye tear this quivering flesh, remember how often Regulus has beaten your armies and humbled your pride. Cut as he would have carved you! Burn deep as his curse!"

HERE SHE GOES-AND THERE SHE GOES.

Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
Stopped at a tavern on their way;
Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
And woke to breakfast on the best.

The breakfast over, Tom and Will
Sent for the landlord and the bill;
Will looked it over; "Very right-
But hold! what wonder meets my sight?

Tom! the surprise is quite a shock !"

"What wonder? where ?" "The clock! the clock!"

Tom and the landlord in amaze

Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
And for a moment neither spoke;
At last the landlord silence broke:

You mean the clock that's ticking there?
I see no wonder, I declare;

Though may be, if the truth were told,
'Tis rather ugly-somewhat old;
Yet time it keeps to half a minute,
But, if you please, what wonder's in it ?"

"Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,
"The clock in Jersey near the mill,
The very image of this present,

With which I won the wager pleasant ?"
Will ended with a knowing wink-

Tom scratched his head, and tried to think.
"Sir, begging pardon for inquiring,"
The landlord said, with grin admiring,
"What wager was it ?"

"You remember,

It happened, Tom, in last December,
In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
That it was more than he could do,
To make his finger go and come
In keeping with the pendulum,
Repeating, till one hour should close,.
Still here she goes-and there she goes
He lost the bet in half a minute."

"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
And fifty dollars be the bet."
"Agreed, but we will play some trick
To make you of the bargain sick !”
"I'm up to that!"

"Don't make us wait;

Begin, the clock is striking eight."
He seats himself, and left and right
His finger wags with all his might,

And hoarse his voice, and hoarser grows,
With "here she goes-and there she goes !"

"Hold" said the Yankee, "plank the ready !" The landlord wagged his fingers steady

While his left hand, as well as able,
Conveyed a purse upon the table.

66

Tom, with the money let's be off!” This made the landlord only scoff;

He heard them running down the stair,
But was not tempted from his chair;
Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
So poor a trick shan't win the bet."
And loud and loud the chorus rose
Of "here she goes-and there she goes !"
While right and left his finger swung,
In keeping to his clock and tongue.

His mother happened in, to see
Her daughter; "Where is Mrs. B-
When will she come, as you suppose?
Son !"

"Here she goes-and there she goes !" "Here! where ?"-the lady in surprise His finger followed with her eyes;

Son, why that steady gaze and sad ? Those words-that motion-are you mad? But here's you wife-perhaps she knows, And".

"Here she goes-and there she goes !"

His wife surveyed him with alarm,
And rushed to him and seized his arm;
He shook her off, and to and fro

His finger persevered to go,

While curled his very nose with ire,

That she against him should conspire,

And with more furious tone arose

The "here she goes-and there she goes!"

"Lawks!" screamed the wife, "I'm in a whirl! Run down and bring the little girl;

She is his darling, and who knows

But"

"Here she goes-and there she goes!”

"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus ?
Good Lord! what will become of us?
Run for a doctor-run-run-run-
For Doctor Brown, and Doctor Dun,
And Doctor Black, and Doctor White,
And Doctor Grey, with all your might.