The printer then cough'd and sigh'd-
The stars were growing dim,

And he upward glanced at the morning sky,
And he dully thought it were good to die,
And death would be rest to him.

His heart was tired of beating;
He pray'd to the Lord above

To pity a man whose heart had been riven
By toil, for other men's interest given,—
And he sought His mercy and love.

He hied to his humble home;

His infant awoke to cry,

Oh, father! oh, mother! I'm hungry for bread!" And the printer bowed with an aching head, On his Mary's bosom to die.

Oh, ye who have never known

The richness found in a crust

When nothing is seen on the desolate shelf,
And the poor man's pocket is empty of pelf,-
Receive my story on trust.

Say not in your careless scorn,
What boots the tale to you?

The rhymer who traces these rough-written lines,
Has known of such sufferers in other-day-times,
And much of his rhyme is true.

Remember this holy truth,

The man who aloof hath stood

When a heart-broken brother for succour did crave, And stretch'd not a finger to bless and to save,

Is verily guilty of blood!

THOMAS MACKELLAR.

FROM R. BUCHANAN'S "IDYLLS OF INVERBURN."

211

PART V.

Special Forms of Derse.

BLANK VERSE.

[That the scholar may be aided to a clear idea of blank verse, we give three specimens differing much in minor points, but very good illustrations. The first is a little picture from Mr. Robert Buchanan's "Idylls of Inverburn."]

FROM R. BUCHANAN'S "IDYLLS OF INVERBURN."

My father was a shepherd-old and poor,

Who, dwelling 'mong the clouds on norland hills,
His tartan plaidie on, and by his side

His sheep-dog running, redden'd with the winds
That whistle southward from the Polar Seas:

I follow'd in his footsteps when a boy,

And knew by heart the mountains round our home;
But when I went to Edinglass, to learn

At college there, I look'd about the place,
And heard the murmur of the busy streets
Around me in a dream ;-and only saw

The clouds that snow around the mountain tops,
The mists that chase the phantom of the moon
In lonely mountain tarns,-and heard the while,
Not footsteps sounding hollow to and fro,

But wild winds, wailing through the woods of pine.
Time passed, and day by day those sights and sounds
Grew fainter, till they troubled me no more.

[The second is from Mr. Bayard Taylor's "Prophet," and is a speech of David Starr to his friends.]

FROM Mr. BAYARD TAYLOR'S "PROPHET."

FORGET that you have ever lived ere now.
As strips the serpent her uneasy skin,

And comes forth new and shining, cast ye out
Old hopes and hates, old passions and desires.
Be as a fallow field that waits new seed :
Take rain and sunshine in their times; lie bare
To the invisible influence of heaven;

And be assured from your warm breast shall spring
The holy harvest! Ye have welcomed me

With faithful hearts and voices; so, henceforth
No more as one that in the wilderness

Cries to the stocks and stones shall I be heard,
But as a father 'mid his children teach,
And as a brother 'mid his brethren love,
And as one chosen lead ye all to share
An equal power and glory.

[The third is from one of Mr. Longfellow's "New England Tragedies
'Giles Corey "-and is from the mouth of Richard Gardner.]

FROM LONGFELLOW'S "NEW ENGLAND TRAGEDIES.”

HERE stands the house as I remember it,
The four tall poplar-trees before the door;
The house, the barn, the orchard, and the well,
With its moss-covered bucket and its trough!
The garden, with its hedge of currant-bushes:
The woods, the harvest-fields; and, far beyond,
The pleasant landscape stretching to the sea.
But everything is silent and deserted!
No bleat of flocks, no bellowing of herds,
No sound of flails, that should be beating now;
Nor man nor beast astir. What can this mean?]

CALM AFTER STORM IN SUMMER.

213

SONNETS.

[The Sonnet is a poem in fourteen lines, which, in its stricter forms, has only four rhymes, though five is now-a-days most common. It is divided into three parts; an octave, that is, eight lines with two rhymes, and two terzets with either two or three rhymes. The sonnet originated with the earlier Italian writers, and was carried to its highest perfection by Dante, Petrarch, Cavalcanti, and Cardinal Bembo. It was introduced into English by Wyatt and Surrey; and through Milton, Wordsworth, and others, who wrote it with great power and finish, it has become a recognised English form. Most great English poets have written specimens of it, and some who have written nothing else that can be called great have produced memorable sonnets, and among these is Hartley Coleridge. Mr. Matthew Arnold also has high rank as a sonnet-writer. Shakespeare wrote many sonnets, but he used great liberties with the form. We think it not out of place to give a few specimens of recent sonnets here, as the pupil, with a very little attention, will readily gather from them a true idea of the form, as those we give are all very near to the most approved original Italian style.]

CALM AFTER STORM IN SUMMER.

THE storm has passed: the sun comes forth again :
Refreshed the husbandman returns to toil :
Beneath the scythe the green grass falls a spoil,

And all things own the magic of the rain.

The magpie chatters, and the wren would strain
His tiny throat, his bigger peers to foil

By overpowering; brooks shine; bindweeds coil
Yet closer in the hedge: the thrush is fain

To fill the ways with music, and the lark

Soars singing; while from grass and flower and tree
Are wafted odours more than incense sweet.

From far we hear the shepherd's collie bark
In bounding on his charges; and the bee
Softly in woodbine seeks a still retreat.

J.

THE PRINTING-PRESS.

IN boyhood's days we read with keen delight
How young Aladdin rubbed his lamp and raised
The towering Djin whose form his soul amazed,
Yea, who was pledged to serve him day and night.

But Gutenberg evoked a giant sprite

Of vaster power, when Europe stood and gazed
To see him rub his types with ink. Then blazed
Across the lands a glorious shape of light

Who stripped the cowl from priests, the crown from kings,
And hand in hand with Faith and Science wrought
To free the struggling spirit's limed wings,

And guard the ancestral throne of sovereign Thought.
The world was dumb. Then first it found its tongue,
And spake, and heaven and earth in answer rung.

THE OCEAN STEAMER.

WITH Streaming pennons, scorning sail and oar,
With steady tramp and swift-revolving wheel,
And even pulse from throbbing heart of steel,
She plies her arrowy course from shore to shore.

In vain the siren calms her steps allure;

In vain the billows thunder on her keel. Her giant form may toss and rock and reel, And shiver in the wintry tempests roar ;