Puslapio vaizdai
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And there came the maiden, all frantic and wild,
To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory.

And there came the consort, that struggled in vain
To stem the red tide of a spouse that bereft her;
And there came the mother, that sunk 'mid the slain,
To weep o'er the last human stay that was left her.

O bloody Gilboa! a curse ever lie

Where the king and his people were slaughtered together! May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die, Thy flocks to decay, and thy forests to wither!

THE CAMELEON.

BY JAMES MERRICK.

Oft has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark;
With eyes that hardly serv'd at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post:
Yet round the world the blade has been,
To see whatever could be seen;
Returning from his finished tour,
Grown ten times perter than before.
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will stop:
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
I've seen and sure I ought to know."-
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers of such a cast,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that;
Discours'd awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Cameleon's form and nature.
"A stranger animal," cries one,
"Sure never liv'd beneath the sun :
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoined;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever saw so fine a blue ?"

"Hold there," the other quick replies,
""Tis green, I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, Sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast survey'd
Extended in the cooling shade.

'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I assure ye."
"Green !" cries the other in a fury;

66 Why, Sir, d'ye think I've lost my eyes?"
""Twere no great loss," the friend replies;
"For if they always serve you thus,
You'll find them of but little use."
So high at last the contest rose,
From words they almost came to blows:
When luckily came by a third;
To him the question they referr'd,
And begg'd he'd tell them, if he knew,
Whether the thing was green or blue.
"Sirs," cries the umpire, "cease your pother;
The creature's neither one nor t'other.
I caught the animal last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light;
I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet-
You stare-but, Sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it."-" Pray, Sir, do;
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."-
"And I'll be sworn, that, when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well then, at once to ease the doubt,"
Replies the man, I'll turn him out;
And when before your eyes I've set him,
If you don't find him black, I'll eat him."
He said and full before their sight
Produc'd the beast, and lo !-'twas white.
Both star'd, the man look'd wond'rous wise-
"My children," the Cameleon cries
(Then first the creature found a tongue),
You all are right, and all are wrong:
When next you talk of what you view,
Think others see as well as you;
Nor wonder, if you find that none
Prefers your eye-sight to his own."

66

WILLIAM AND MARGARET.

BY DAVID MALLET.

'Twas at the silent, solemn hour,
When night and morning meet;
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.

Her face was like an April morn,
Clad in a wintry cloud;
And clay-cold was her lily hand,
That held her sable shroud.

So shall the fairest face appear,

When youth and years are flown: Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown.

Her bloom was like the springing flower,
That sips the silver dew;

The rose was budded in her cheek,
Just opening to the view.

But love had, like the canker-worm,
Consumed her early prime;

The rose grew pale, and left her cheek-
She died before her time.

"Awake," she cried, "thy true love calls, Come from her midnight grave;

Now let thy pity hear the maid,

Thy love refused to save.

"This is the dark and dreary hour, When injured ghosts complain;

When yawning graves give up their dead, To haunt the faithless swain.

"Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
Thy pledge and broken oath !
And give me back my maiden vow,
And give me back my troth.

"Why did you promise love to me, And not that promise keep?

Why did you swear my eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep?

"How could you say my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin heart,
Yet leave that heart to break?

"Why did you say my lip was sweet,
And made the scarlet pale?
And why did I, young witless maid!
Believe the flattering tale?

"That face, alas! no more is fair,
Those lips no longer red:

Dark are my eyes, now closed in death,
And every charm is fled.

"The hungry worm my sister is ;
This winding-sheet I wear:

And cold and weary lasts our night,

Till that last morn appear.

"But hark! the cock has warned me hence;

A long and last adieu!

Come see, false man, how low she lies,

Who died for love of you."

The lark sung loud; the morning smiled
With beams of rosy red;

Pale William quaked in every limb,
And raving left his bed.

He hied him to the fatal place,

Where Margaret's body lay;

And stretched him on the green grass turf,
That wrapt her breathless clay.

And thrice he called on Margaret's name,
And thrice he wept full sore;

Then laid his cheek to her cold grave,
And word spake never more.

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.

BY THE REV. C. WOLFE.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

528

ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE.

We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not in sheet nor in shroud we bound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;

But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,-
But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half our heavy task was done,

When the clock struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard the distant and random gun
That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory;

We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone-
But we left him alone with his glory.

ALONZO THE BRAVE AND THE FAIR IMOGENE.

BY MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.

A warrior so bold and a virgin so bright,
Conversed as they sat on the green;

They gazed on each other with tender delight:
Alonzo the Brave was the name of the knight-
The maiden's, the Fair Imogene.

"And oh !" said the youth, "since to-morrow I go,
To fight in a far distant land,

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