I hear it faintly:- Louder yet!-
What clogs my heavy breath?
Up, all, and shout for Rudiger,

Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel,
And rose a deafening cry

That made the torches flare around,
And shook the flags on high:
66 Ho! cravens, do fear him?

ye

Slaves, traitors! have ye flown? Ho! cowards, have ye left me

To meet him here alone?

"But I defy him: - let him come!

Down rang the massy cup,

While from its sheath the ready blade
Came flashing half-way up;

And, with the black and heavy plumes
Scarce trembling on his head,

There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair,
Old Rudiger sat, dead.

OLD GRIMES

BY ALBERT G. GREENE

Old Grimes is dead, that good old man, —

We ne'er shall see him more;

He used to wear a long black coat,

All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;

His hair was some inclined to gray,-
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design;

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,

His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes

He passed securely o'er,

And never wore a pair of boots

For thirty years or more.

But good Old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown;
He wore a double-breasted vest,
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;

He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse, —
Was sociable and gay;

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze He did not bring to view,

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days, As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances,
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares
His peaceful moments ran;

And everybody said he was

A fine old gentleman.

THE KINGS

BY LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY

A man said unto his Angel:
"" My spirits are fallen low,
And I cannot carry this battle:
O brother! what shall I do?

"The terrible Kings are on me

With spears that are deadly bright, Against me so from the cradle

Do fate and my fathers fight."

Then said to the man his Angel:
"Thou wavering, witless soul,
Back to the ranks! What matter
To win or to lose the whole,

"As judged by the little judges Who hearken not well, nor see? Not thus, by the outer issue,

The Wise shall interpret thee.

"Thy will is the very, the only,
And solemn event of things:
The weakest of hearts, defying,
Is stronger than all these Kings.

"Though out of the past they gather, Mind's Doubt, and Bodily Pain,

And pallid Thirst of the Spirit
That is kin to the other twain;

"And Grief, in a cloud of banners, And ringletted Vain Desires, And Vice, with spoils upon him

Of thee and thy beaten sires,—

"While Kings of eternal evil Yet darken the hills about,

Thy part is with broken sabre
To rise on the last redoubt;

"To fear not sensible failure,
Nor covet the game at all,
But fighting, fighting, fighting,
Die, driven against the wall."

JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE

DIED IN NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER, 1820

BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK

Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days!
None knew thee but to love thee,
Nor named thee but to praise.

Tears fell, when thou wert dying,
From eyes unused to weep,
And long, where thou art lying,
Will tears the cold turf steep.

When hearts, whose truth was proven,
Like thine, are laid in earth,
There should a wreath be woven
To tell the world their worth;

And I, who woke each morrow
To clasp thy hand in mine,