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PARODY-THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view !
And every old stump that my infancy knew.
on the mountain, the calves in the meadow,
I remember with pleasure my grandfather's goggles,
Which rode so majestic astraddle his nose ; And the harness, oft mended with tow-string and "toggles,"
That belonged to old Dolly, now free from her wocs. And fresh in my heart is the long maple wood-pile,
Where often I've worked with beetle and wedge, Striving to whack up enough to last for a good while,
And grumbling because my old axe had no edge. And there was the kitchen, and pump that stood nigh it,
Where we sucked up the drink through a quill in the spouts And the hooks where we hung up the pumpkin to dry it; And tbe old cider pitcher,
no doing without :') The brown carthen pitcher, the nozzle-cracked pitcher, The pain-easing pitcher, no doing without.” And there was the school-house, away from each dwelling, Where school-ma’ams would govern with absolute sway:
me my rithmetic,” reading, and spelling, And “whaled me like blazes » about every day! I remember the ladder that swung in the passage,
Which led to the loft in the peak of the house :
The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling
wild, As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child : A little worn-out creature, his once bright eyes grown din: It was a collier's wife and child, they called him little
And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her
cheek, As she offered up the prayer, in 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 Ile would spare her boy, and take herself
She gets her answer from the child : soft fall the words
from him, Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon little Jim, I have no pain, dear mother, now, but 01 I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't you With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; lle smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip.
• Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-niglit
to him, And, mother, now I'll go to sleep.” Alas! poor little Jim! She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved sc
dear, Ilad uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear: The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a word.
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.-T. B. Macaulay.
the town ??
Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the gate :
may ; I, with two more to help me, will hold the foe in play.
“In you straight path a thousand may well be stopped by
three. Now who will stand on either hand, and keep the bridge
with me?" Then out spake Spurius Lartius-a Ramnian proud was
he"Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, and keep the bridge
And out spake strong Herminius—of Titian blood was
he"I will abide on thy left side, and keep the bridge with
thee." "Horatius," quoth the Consul, “as thou sayest, so let it
be. And straight against that great array, forth went the
Soon all Etruria's noblest felt their hearts sink to see
Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back; And, as they passed, beneath their feet they felt the tim
bers crack; But when they turned their faces, and on the further shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, they would have crossed
once more. But, with a crash like thunder, fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck lay right athwart the
stream; And a long shout of triumph rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops was splashed the yellow foam.
And, like a horse unbroken when first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, and tossed his tawny
mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, rejoicing to be free, And battlement, and plank, and pier, whirled headlong to
Alone stood brave Horatius, but constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, and the broad flood
behind. “ Down with him!” cried false Sextus, with a smile on his
pale face. "Now yield thee,” cried Lars Porsena, “now yield thee to
Round turned he, as not deigning those craven ranks to
see ; Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, to Sextus naught spake
But he saw on Palatinus the white porch of his home,
“0, Tiber! father Tiber! to whom the Romans pray, A Roman’s life, a Roman's arms, take thou in charge this So he spake, and, speaking, sheathed the good sword by
his side, And, with his harness on his back, plunged headlong in
the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow was heard from either bank; But friends and foes, in dumb surprise, stood gazing where
he sank. And when above the surges they saw his crest appear, Rome shouted, and e'en Tuscany could scarce forbear to But fiercely ran the current, swollen high by muaths of
rain : And fast his blood was flowing; and he was sore in pain, And heavy with his armor, and spent with changing blows. And oft they thought him sinking—but still again he rose. Never, I ween, did swimmer, in such an evil case, Struggle through such a raging flood safe to the landing
place: But his limbs were borne up bravely by the brave heart
within, And our good father Tiber bare bravely up his chin.
“ Curse on him !" quoth false Sextus ; will not the villain
drown ? But for this stay, ere close of day we should have sacked
the town list “Heaven help him !" quoth Lars Porsena, “and bring
him safe to shore; For such a gallant feat of arms was never seen before."
And now he feels the bottom ;-now on dry earth he
stands; Now round him throng the Fathers to press his gory
hands. And, now with shouts and clapping, and noise of weeping He enters through the River Gate, borne by the joyous
IF you cannot on the ocean
Sail among the swiftest fleet,