84 THE BEGGAR. For idle hopes, or useless musings given: Who dreams away his powers, The reckless slumberer shall not wake to heaven! THE BEGGAR. A few weeks since a mendicant appeared in our village, pale and emaciated and convulsed with spasmodic affection, brought on to all appearance, by an irritation of wounds received in the battles of our independence. The many and deep scars with which his scull and breast and arms were disfigured, evinced that the tragedy of our revolution had been to him no bloodless drama. He asked not for the means to pamper appetite. His face bespoke him an honest and a temperate man. He begged only, for humanity's sake, a pittance to support nature till he could reach his few surviving friends further north. It was an affecting sight to see an old man-a veteran of that sacred war, (in which he had lost three sons) begging an alms to aid him on to the spot, where, in the wretched hovel which he could call his own, he might put up his last prayer for his ungrateful country, cover his face with his tattered mantle and die.-Vermont American. AND thou hast seen, thou sayst, old man, The Lion in his ire, When from his strained and blood shot eye, And thou hast heard, old man, thou sayst, The terror of his roar, That echoed 'mid our mountain rocks, And rang along our shore. THE BEGGAR. And thou hast stood unblenchingly When carnage waved her dripping wing, God help thee, father, for the world, It sheltereth not the shelterless, Ay, it can gaze upon the front Why left they not thy weltering corse On Bunker's smoking steep 85 When through thy brow the death-shot ploughed That furrow broad and deep? Or why on Yorktown's crimson plain Didst thou not yield thy breath? Far better had that bloody sleep, Then hadst thou bled as Warren bled, 86 GENIUS SLUMBERING. God give thee, father, words to beg- GENIUS SLUMBERING. BY J. G. PERCIVAL, He sleeps, forgetful of his once bright fame; That once in transport drew his spirit on; And yet not all forgotten sleeps he there; Seemed living with the crown of light he wore; He sleeps, and yet, around the sightless eye There hovers still the light of other days; GENIUS SLUMBERING. He will not sleep forever, but will rise Fresh to more daring labors; now, even now, As the close shrouding mist of morning flies, The gathered slumber leaves his lifted brow; From his half-opened eye, in fuller beams, His wakened spirit streams. Yes, he will break his sleep; the spell is gone'; Keen as the famished eagle darts her wing; He rushes forth to conquer: shall they take- way, 87 When he forgot the contest-shall they take, The spirit cannot always sleep in dust, Dimly awhile, but cannot wholly die; 88 GENIUS WAKING. GENIUS WAKING. BY J.. G. PERCIVAL. + SLUMBER'S heavy chain hath bound thee— Where is now thy fire? Feebler wings are gathering round thee— Shall they hover higher? Can no power, no spell, recall thee O, could glory so appal thee, With his burning beams! Thine was once the highest pinion In the midway air; With a proud and sure dominion, Thou didst upward bear. Like the herald, winged with lightning, From the Olympian throne, Thou wert there alone. Where the pillared props of heaven Glitter with eternal snows, Far above the rolling thunder, Rent its sulphury folds asunder, |