Then how my little heart did bound;
Alas! I thought it fine to see;

Nor dreamt that when the kiss went round,
There soon would be no kiss for me.

At length the bell again did ring;
There was a victory, they said;
"Twas what my father said he'd bring;
But ah! it brought my father dead.
My mother shrieked; her heart was wo:
She clasped me to her trembling knee.
Oh God! that you may never know
How wild a kiss she gave to me!

But once again--but once again,
These lips a mother's kisses felt.
That once again--that once again—
The tale a heart of stone world melt-
'Twas when, upon her death-bed laid,
Oh God! Oh God! that sight to see!
"My child!—my child!" she feebly said,
And gave a parting kiss to me.

28.

THE DYING BRIGAND.-Anonymous.

She stood before the dying man,

And her eye grew wildly bright—
"Ye will not pause for a woman's ban,
Nor shrink from a woman's might;
And his glance is dim that made you fly,
As ye before have fled :-

Look, dastards!-how the brave can die-
Beware!-he is not dead!

By his blood you have tracked him to his lair!—

Would you bid the spirit part?—

He that durst harm one single hair
Must reach it through my heart.

I cannot weep, for my brain is dry—
Nor plead, for I know not how;

But my aim is sure, and the shaft may fly,-
And the bubbling life-blood flow!

Yet leave me, while dim life remains,
To list his parting sigh;
To kiss away those gory stains,
To close his beamless eye!
Ye will not! no-he triumphs still,
Whose foes his death-pangs dread-
His was the power-yours but the will
Back-back-he is not dead!

His was the power that held in thrall,
Through many a glorious year,
Priests, burghers, nobles, princes, all
Slaves worship, hate, or fear.
Wrongs, insults, injuries thrust him forth
A bandit chief to dwell;

How he avenged his slighted worth,
Ye, cravens, best may tell!

His spirit lives in the mountain breath,
It flows in the mountain wave;
Rock-stream-hath done the work of death

Yon deep ravine-the grave!

That which hath been again may be !—

Ah! by yon fleeting sun,

Who stirs, no morning ray shall see-
His sand of life has run!"

Defiance shone in her flashing eye,

But her heart beat wild with fear;-
She starts the bandit's last faint sigh
Breathes on her sharpened ear-
She gazes on each stiffening limb,
And the death-damp chills her brow;—
"For him I lived-1 die with him!
Slaves, do your office now!"

29. THE VULTURE OF THE ALPS.-Anonymous.

I've been among the mighty Alps, and wandered thro' their vales,
And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales,
As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was

o'er,

They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard

of more

And the.e I, from a shepherd, heard a narrative of fear,
A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear.
The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous,
But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:-

"It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,
Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells;
But, patient, watching hour on hour, upon a lofty rock,
He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.

One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun was rising high,
When, from my children on the green, I heard a fearful cry,
As if some awful deed were done, a shriek of grief and pain,
A cry, I humbly trust in God, I ne'er may hear again.

I hurried out to learn the cause; but overwhelmed with fright,
The children never ceased to shriek, and from my frenzied sight
I missed the youngest of my babes, the darling of my care;
But something caught my searching eyes, slow sailing thro'
the air.

Oh! what an awful spectacle to meet a father's eye,—
His infant made a vulture's prey, with terror to descry;
And know, with agonizing heart, and with a maniac rave,
That earthly power could not avail that innocent to save!

My infant stretched his little hands imploringly to me,
And struggled with the ravenous bird, all vainly to get free:
At intervals I heard his cries, as loud he shrieked and
screamed!

Until, upon the azure sky, a lessening spot he seemed.

The vulture flapped his sail-like wings, though heavily he flew;
A mote, upon the sun's broad face, he seemed unto my view;
But once I thought I saw him stoop, as if he would alight,-
"Twas only a delusive thought, for all had vanished quite.

All search was vain, and years had passed; that child was ne'er forgot,

When once a daring hunter climbed unto a lofty spot,
From thence, upon a rugged crag the chamois never reached,
He saw an infant's fleshless bones the elements had bleached!

I clambered up that rugged cliff,-I could not stay away,-
I knew they were my infant's bones thus hastening to decay

A tattered garment yet remained, though torn to many a shred; The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon his head."

That dreary spot is pointed out to travelers passing by,
Who often stand, and musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh.
And as I journeyed the next morn, along my sunny way,
The precipice was shown to me whereon the infant lay.

30. GINEVRA.-Rogers.

She was an only child, her name Ginevra,
The joy, the pride of an indulgent father;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francisco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour,
Now frowning, smiling for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum;
And in the lustre of her youth she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francisco.

Great was the joy; but at the nuptial feast,
When all sat down, the bride herself was wanting,
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
""Tis but to make a trial of our love!"

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
"Twas but that instant she had left Francisco,
Laughing and looking back and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger;
But, now, alas she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could any thing be guessed,
But that she was not!

Weary of his life,

Francisco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

The father lived, and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something;
Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers
Full fifty years were past, and all forgotten,