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Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright flamingoes flew ;
From morn till night he followed their flight

O'er plains where the tamarind grew,
Till he saw the roofs of the Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.
At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyæna scream,
And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream;
And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream.
The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty ;
And the blast of the desert cried aloud

With a voice so wild and free,
That he started in his sleep, and smiled

At their tempestuous glee.
He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day ;
For death had illumined the land of sleep,

And his lifeless body lay
A worn-out fetter, that the soul
Had broken and thrown away.

- Longfellow.

THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL AND THE

GRASSHOPPER'S FEAST.

COME, take up your hats, and away let us haste,
To the Butterfly's Ball and the Grasshopper's Feast;
The trumpeter Gadfly has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.
On the smooth-shaven grass, by the side of a wood,
Beneath a broad oak which for ages had stood,
See the children of earth, and the tenants of air,
To an evening's amusement together repair.

THE CHAMPION'S BANNER.

203
And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back;
And there came the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their relations, green, orange, and blue.
And there came the Moth, with her plumage of down,
And the Hornet with jacket of yellow and brown,
Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,
But they promised, that evening, to lay by their sting.
Then the sly little Dormouse peeped out of his hole,
And led to the feast his blind cousin, the Mole ;
And the Snail, with her horns peeping out of her shell,
Came, fatigued with the distance, the length of an ell.
A mushroom the table, and on it was spread
A water-dock leaf, which their tablecloth made ;
The viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought the honey to sweeten the feast.
With steps more majestic the Snail did advance,
And he promised the gazers a minuet to dance ;
But they all laughed so loud that he drew in his head,
And went in his own little chamber, to bed.
Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night,
Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with his light.
So home let us hasten while yet we can see,
For no watchman is waiting for you or for me !

-Roscoe.

THE CHAMPION'S BANNER. THERE was joy in merry England, in the cottage, in the hall, From where blue Teviot rippling flows to Dover's sea-girt wall, When the high-souled Prince William came, the champion of

our cause, To defend our pure religion, our liberties, and laws. There was joy when into Exeter the champion's army passed, And banners from the housetops were floating in the blast; The gazers thronged the windows, and garlands decked the

street, The bells pealed from the steeples, and the war-drums wildly

beat ;

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Whilst trumpets blared defiance, to all who dared gainsay
The good Prince William's right to wear old England's crown

that day.

air ;

THE CHAMPION'S BANNER.

205 As thro' the densely-crowded street, a goodly sight to see, In glittering helms and corslets rode the hero's chivalry : How shouted each bold Briton, as freely, widely spread, The good Prince William's banner came towering overhead, Thrilled at the bright words glowing in rich embroidery there, Shouts from ten thousand manly throats pealed upward thro' the For in the champion's motto the old land lives again,-Her pure faith and her “ liberties” he sweareth to “maintain.” Lo! where the hero rideth, with lofty look and high : No marvel that for such a prince true men should bravely die. See, his old foeman Schomberg in peace rides with him now, O’er many a well-fought field hath beamed his laurel-wreathéd

brow. There Bentinck, Solmes, and Mackey come, like brothers hand

in hand, And filled the rear, in warrior pride, lamented Ossory's band. Gone is that glorious pageant, the sight is seen no more, Save in the misty dreamland of the vanished days of yore. Gone are those noble heroes to their last and holy rest, Quenched is the fiery zeal which glowed in every patriot's breast. Their battle-blades and helmets are coated thick with rust, And the strong right hands that grasped those swords have

crumbled into dust. And that bright and holy banner, hath that too passed away? Or on its glorious motto doth still the sunlight play In some lofty gothic minster, where many banners wave In grandeur, o'er the last long home of the mighty and the brave? Hath mildew dimmed the fiery words once brightly blazoned there? Or hath oblivion's dull cold hand effaced the motto rare ? No! though the silk has perished, the words shall never die, Still shall true voices ring them, like a pæan to the sky; Whilst hearts shall glow and pulses beat, o daughter f the main, Thy laws, thy liberties, thy creed, we nobly will maintain ; And the good champion's motto a legacy shall be To us, the brave free children of the Island of the Sea ; And if ever foreign foemen assail this sea-girt strand, We'll shout the champion's motto thro' all our native land; O’er crag and dell we'll send it forth in all its pristine might; And with stout heart and mighty voice cry, “God defend the right."

-7. M. Brindley.

THE BURIAL OF MOSES. By Nebo's lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave;
And no man knows that sepulchre,

And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God ukturned the sod,

And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral

That ever passed on earth; But no man heard the trampling,

Or saw the train go forthNoiselessly as the daylight

Comes back when night is done, And the crimson streaks on ocean's cheek

Grows into the great sun. Noiselessly as the spring-time

Her crown of verdure weaves, And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves ; So, without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept, Silently down from the mountain's crown

The great procession swept. Perchance the bald old eagle

On grey Beth-Peor's height, Out of his lonely eyrie

Looked on the wondrous sight; Perchance the lion stalking

Still shuns that hallowed spot, For beast and bird have seen and heard

That which man knoweth not.

But when the warrior dieth,

His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,

Follow his funeral car;

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