Puslapio vaizdai

Now day may break and bugle sound,
And whoop and hollow ring around,
And o'er his couch the stag may bound,
But Keeldar sleeps for ever.

Dilated nostrils, staring eyes,

Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise,
He knows not that his comrade dies,
Nor what is death-but still
His aspect hath expression drear,
Of grief and wonder, mix'd with fear,
Like startled children when they hear
Some mystic tale of ill,

But he that bent the fatal bow,
Can well the sum of evil know,
And o'er his favourite, bending low,
In speechless grief recline;
Can think he hears the senseless clay,
In unreproachful accents say,
"The hand that took my life away,
Dear master, was it thine?

"And if it be, the shaft be bless'd,
Which sure some erring aim address'd,
Since in your service prized, caress'd
I in your service die ;

And you may have a fleeter hound,
To match the dun-deer's merry bound,
But by your couch will ne'er be found
So true a guard as I."

And to his last stout Percy rued
The fatal chance, for when he stood
'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud,
And fell amid the fray,

E'en with his dying voice he cried,"
Had Keeldar but been at my side,
Your treacherous ambush had been spied-
I had not died to-day?"

Remembrance of the erring bow

Long since had join'd the tides which flow,

Conveying human bliss and woe
Down dark oblivion's river;
But Art can Time's stern doom arrest,
And snatch his spoil from Lethe's1 breast,
And, in her Cooper's colours drest,

The scene shall live for ever.

1. Give me some history of Percy Rede. 2. What suggested the stanzas to Sir Walter Scott?

3. Describe the jovial three as they might be seen at sunrise.

4. Why" Cheviot's rueful day"? 5. What were the names and qualities of master, steed, and hound?

6. In what way did the three spend the live-long day?

7. Describe the scene at the thicket that concealed the deer.

8. Of the wood of what tree were bows chiefly made?

9. Did the shaft shot by Percy Rede wound the deer?

10. Which animal did it accidentally kill?


11. What mean you by the "faithless yew"?

12. What things shall no more rouse noble Keeldar?

13. How looked the horse as he stood by the hound?

14. Who must feel the loss in the highest degree?

15, What may he be supposed to think he hears Keeldar say?

16. By whom was bold Percy Rede murdered?

17. What were among his last words? 18. What art keeps this beautiful story in remembrance?

19. In what way is it now preserved besides by Cooper's picture?


"How still and peaceful is the grave!
Where, life's vain tumults past,

Th' appointed house, by Heav'n's decree,
Receives us all at last."

I saw thee in thy beauty! thou wert graceful as the fawn,
When in very wantonness of glee it sports upon the lawn:
I saw thee seek the mirror, and when it met thy sight
The very air was musical with thy burst of wild delight.

I saw thee in thy beauty! with thy sister by thy side;
She a lily of the valley, thou a rose in all its pride:
I look'd upon thy mother-there was triumph in her eyes,
And I trembled for her happiness, for grief had made me wise.

I saw thee in thy beauty! with one hand among her curls-
The other with no gentle grasp had seized a string of pearls;
She felt the pretty tresspass, and she chid thee, though she

And I knew not which was lovelier, the mother or the child.

A river in the infernal regions whose waters caused forgetfulness.

I see thee in thy beauty! for there thou seem'st to lie
In slumber resting peacefully: but, oh! the change of eye-
That still serenity of brow-those lips that breathe no more,
Proclaim thee but a mockery fair of what thou wert of yore.

I see thee in thy beauty! with thy waving hair at rest,
And thy busy little fingers folded lightly on thy breast;
But thy merry dance is over, and thy little race is run,
And the mirror that reflected two can now give back but one!

I see thee in thy beauty! as I saw thee on that day!
Bht the mirth that gladden'd then thy home fled with thy
life away.

I see thee lying motionless upon the accustom'd floor;
But my heart hath blinded both mine eyes, and I can see no
Mrs. A. Watts.


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THOU happy, happy elf!

(But stop-first let me kiss away that tear)
Thou tiny image of myself!

(My love, he's poking peas into his ear)
Thou merry laughing sprite !

With spirits feather light,

Uutouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin,
(See! see! the child is swallowing a pin!)

Thou little tricksy Puck!

With antic joys so funnily bestuck,

Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire!

(Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!

In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents (Bless the boy!
There goes my ink!)

Thou cherub-but of earth!
Fit play-fellow for Fays by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,

(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!)
Thou human humming bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny,
(Another tumble-that's his precious nose!)
Thy father's pride and hope!

(He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint (Where did he learn that squint?)

Thou young domestic dove!

(He'll have that jug off with another shove!)
Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are those torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!

(He'll climb upon the table-that's his plan ?) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, (He's got a knife!)

Thou enviable being!

No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky forseeing,
Play on, play on,

My elfin John!

Toss the light ball-bestride the stick,
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,
With many a lamblike frisk

(He's got the scissors snipping at your gown,)

Thou pretty opening rose !

(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
Balmy, and breathing music like the south,
(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star,
(I wish that window had an iron bar!)
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove.
(I'll tell you what, my love,

I cannot write, unless he's sent above!)

1. Whether must you speak the words within parentheses in a LOWER or a HIGHER tone?

2. Is the child in the room where the father is writing?

3. What prevents the father from going steadily on with the ode?

4. What was the cause of the first inter

Thomas Hood.

ruption? of the second? of the third?
5. What is the father writing when he
notices the tear?

6. What expression has he just used when he finds Master Johnny putting peas into his ear?

7. What expression when he finds him swallowing the pin, &c., &c.


It is the choice time of the year,
For the violets now appear;

Now the rose receives its birth,

And pretty primrose decks the earth.
Then to the May-pole come away,
For it is now a holiday.


As I was lying in bed this morning, enjoying one of those half dreams, half reveries, which are so pleasant in the country, when the birds are singing about the window, and the sun-beams peeping through the curtains, I was roused by the sound of music. On going down stairs, I found a number of villagers, dressed in their holiday clothes, bearing a pole ornamented with garlands and ribbons, and accompanied by the village band of music, under the direction of the tailor, the pale fellow who plays on the clarionet. They had all sprigs of hawthorn, or, as it is called, "the May," in their hats, and had brought green branches and flowers to decorate the Hall door and windows, They had come to give notice that the May-pole was reared on the green, and to invite the household to witness the sports. The Hall, according to custom, became a scene of hurry and delighted confusion. The servants were all agog with May and music; and there was no keeping either the tongues or the feet of the maids quiet, who were anticipating the sports of the green, and the evening dance.

I repaired to the village at an early hour to enjoy the merry-making. The morning was pure and sunny, such as a May morning is always described. The fields were white with daisies, the hawthorn was covered with its fragrant blossoms, the bee hummed about every bank, and the swallow played high in the air about the village steeple. It was one of those genial days when we seem to draw in pleasure with the very air we breathe, and to feel happy we know not why. Whoever has felt the worth of worthy man, or has doted on lovely woman, will, on such a day, call them tenderly to mind, and feel his heart all alive with long-buried recollections. "For thenne," says the excellent romance of King Arthur, "lovers call again to their mynde old gentilnes and old servyse, and many kind dedes that were forgotten by negligence."

Before reaching the village, I saw the May-pole towering above the cottages, with its gay garlands and streamers, and heard the sound of music. Booths had been set up near it, for the reception of company; and a bower of green branches and flowers for the Queen of May, à fresh, rosy-cheeked girl of the village.

A band of morris-dancers were capering on the green in their fantastic dresses, jingling with hawks' bells, with a boy dressed up as Maid Marian, and the attendant fool rattling his box to collect contributions from the bystanders. The gipsy-women, too, were already plying their mystery in by-corners of the village, reading the hands of the simple country girls, and, no doubt, promising them all good husbands.Washington Ircing.

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