THE WHISKERS. "Nothing on earth but you I prize, The wealth of worlds to call you mine. The virgin heard, and thus replied: And in return will give my hand." "A sacrifice! O speak its name, For you I'd forfeit wealth and fame; Take my whole fortune-every cent-" ""Twas something more than wealth I meant." "Must I the realms of nature trace? "O no, dear sir, I do not ask "Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire "Sir, these are trifles,"--she replied- 81. 82 THE WHISKERS. You must-but still I fear to speak- 66 "O say," he cried-" dear angel, say— What must I do, and I obey; No longer rack me with suspense, Speak your commands, and send me hence." "Well, then, dear, generous youth!" she cries, On one condition I am thine; Cut those huge whiskers from your face." She said-but O, what strange surprise Like lightning from the ground he sprung, At length our hero silence broke, THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. Madam, I'd not be so disgraced, So lost to fashion and to taste, To win an empress to my arms, Though blest with more than mortal charms. To take the beau with all his hair. THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.-LONGFELLOW. [NDER a spreading chestnut-tree, UND The village smithy stands; The smith, a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat; He earns whate'er he can, And looks the whole world in the face, Week out, week in, from morn till night, Like a sexton ringing the old kirk chimes, And children, coming home from school, They love to see a flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks, that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor. 83 84 THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. He goes, on Sunday, to the church, He hears the parson pray and preach, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, And with his hard, rough hand he wipes Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, Has earned a night's repose. Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM.-DIMOND. N slumbers of midnight the sailor-boy lay, IN His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; But, watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away, And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. He dreamed of his home, of his dear, native bowers, THE SAILOR-BOY'S DREAM. The jessamine clambers in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones reply to his call. A father bends o'er him with looks of delight,— With the lips of the maid whom his bosom holds dear. The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast, Joy quickens his pulse-all his hardships seem o'er, And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest— "O God! thou hast blest me,-I ask for no more." Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye? He springs from his hammock-he flies to the deck; Like mountains the billows tumultuously swell; O sailor-boy! woe to thy dream of delight! In darkness dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss ;Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parent's fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss? O sailor-boy! sailor-boy! never again. Shall love, home, or kindred, thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main Full many a score fathom, thy frame shall decay. 85 |