And colder still the winds did blow, And darker hours of night came on, And deeper grew the difting snow: Her limbs were chill'd, her strength-was gone: "Oh, God!" she cried, in accents wild, "If I must perish, save my child!" She stripd'd her mantle from her breast, And round the child-she wrapp'd the vest, At dawn-a traveller passed by, ΤΟ ROSABELLE. Ah! can I now in words impart, My waking thought, my nightly dream, And now, dear girl, if yet ungiven, The tribute of thy pure warm heart. SOFTLY MURMUR. (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) Softly murmur, gentle breezes, In my breast has made its home, Softly murmur, gentle waters, Softly murmur, gentle voices, In the mansions of the blest. THE PATRIOT'S SONG. (PHILIP LAWRENCE.) When vile Secession rears its dastard form, Avenge your country's wrongs! Come from the hills where Freedom sits enthroned. Avenge your country's wrongs! Strike for the land of beauty and of worth, Avenge your country's wrongs! 66 The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, Yet every thing within that cot was wond'rous neat and clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, A patient mother watched beside the death-bed of her child A little worn-out creature-his once bright eyes grown dim; It was the collier's wife and child-they called him "Little Jim." And oh, to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, As she offered up a prayer of thought-she was afraid to speak, Lest the night 'waken one she loved far better than her life, For she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife With hands uplifted, see! she kneels beside the suf ferer's bed And prays that he will spare her boy, and take herself instead. She gets her answer from her child-soft fall these words for him: "Mother, the angels they do smile, and beckon 'Little Jim.' I have no pain, dear mother, now, but oh! I am so dry Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and, mother, don't ye cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held a tea-cup to his lips; He smiled to thank her as he took three little tiny sips "Tell father, when he comes home from work, I said good-night to him; And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor "Little Jim." She saw that he was dying-the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words that she might ever hope to hear, The cottage door is opened-the collier's step is heard The father and the mother meet, but neither spake a word. He felt that all was over-he knew his child was dead, He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed; His quivering lips give token of the grief he'd fain conceal And see! his wife has joined him—the stricken couple kneel; With hearts bowed down with sadness they humbly ask of Him In heaven once more to meet again their own poor "Little Jim." HORATIUS. (MACAULAY.) "Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, Then out spake Spurius Lartius, "I will abide on thy left side, "Horatius," quoth the Consul, "As thou sayest, so let it be." |