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* * Dark crawled, glided dark the unspeakable swarms,

Clumped together in masses, misshapen and vast; Here clung and here bristled the fashionless forms;

Here the dark moving bulk of the hammer-fish passed; And with teeth grinning white, and a menacing motion, Went the terrible shark—the hyena of ocean.

“ There I hung, and the awe gathered icily o'er me,

So far from the earth, where man's help there was none ! The one human thing, with the goblins before me

Alone in a loneliness so ghastly-ALONE !
Deep under the reach of the sweet living breath,
And begirt with the broods of the desert of Death.

Methought, as I gazed through the darkness, that now

IT saw-a dread hundred-limbed creature—its prey ! And darted, devouring : I sprang from the bough

Of the coral, and swept on the horrible way; And the whirl of the mighty wave seized me once more : It seized me to save me, and dash to the shore.”

On the youth gazed the monarch, and marvelled. Quoth he,

“ Bold diver, the goblet I promised is thine ; And this ring I will give, a fresh guerdon to thee

Never jewels more precious shone up from the mineIf thou'lt bring me fresh tidings, and venture again, To say what lies hid in the innermost main !"

Then out spake the daughter in tender emotion

“Ah, father, my father, what more can there rest ? Enough of this sport with the pitiless ocean

He has served thee as none would, thyself has confest. If nothing can slake thy wild thirst of desire, Let thy knights put to shame the exploit of thy squire !"

The king seized the goblet, he swung it on high,

And, whirling, it fell in the roar of the tide! “ But bring back that goblet again to my eye,

And I'll hold thee the dearest that rides by my side; And thine arms shall embrace as thy bride, I decree, The maiden whose pity now pleadeth for thee."

208

MR. ORATOR PUFF.
And heaven, as he listened, spoke out from the space,

And the hope that makes heroes shot flame from his eyes; He gazed on the flush in that beautiful face

It pales—at the feet of her father she lies !
How priceless the guerdon !-a moment-a breath-
And headlong he plunges to life and to death!
They hear the loud surges sweep back in their swell,

Their coming the thunder-sound heralds along !
Fond eyes yet are tracking the spot where he fell.

They come, the wild waters, in tumult and throng,
Roaring up to the cliff-roaring back as before-
But no wave ever brings the lost youth to the shore !

Schiller, translated by Lord Lyttorr..

MR. ORATOR PUFF.

MR. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice,
The one squeaking thus, and the other down so !
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice,
For one was B alt, and the rest G below.

Oh! Oh! Orator Puff!
One voice for one orator's surely enough.
But he still talked away spite of coughs and of frowns,
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs,
That a wag once, on hearing the orator say,
“My voice is for war," ask'd him,“ Which of them pray?"

Oh, oh, &c. Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown, He tripp'd near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, “ Sinking Fund," the last words as his noddle came down.

Oh! oh! &c. “ Help! help !” he exclaim'd, in his he-and-she tones, i “ Help me out! help me out-I have broken my bones!” • “Help you out?” said a Paddy who pass'd:“what a bother! Why, there's two of you there, can't you help one another ? » Oh! oh! &c.

Thomas Moore,

THE 'RUINED COTTAGE.

209

THE RUINED COTTAGE.

NONE will dwell in that cottage, for they say
Oppression reft it from an honest man,
And that a curse clings to it. hence the vine
Trails its green weight of leaves upon the ground;
Hence weeds are in that garden; hence the hedge,
Once sweet with honeysuckle, is half dead;
And hence the grey moss on the apple-tree.

One once dwelt there, who had been in his youth
A soldier ; and when many years had passed
He sought his native village, and sat down
To end his days in peace. He had one child-
A little, laughing thing, whose large dark eyes,
He said, were like the mother's he had left
Buried in strange lands. And time went on
In comfort and content, and that fair girl
Had grown far taller than the red rose tree
Her father planted her first English birthday ;
And he had trained it up against an ash
Till it became his pride ;-it was so rich
In blossom and in beauty, it was callid
The tree of Isabel. 'Twas an appeal
To all the better feelings of the heart
To mark their quiet happiness,—their home,
In truth a home of love : and, more than all,
To see them on the Sabbath, when they came
Among the first to church ; and Isabel,
With her bright colour, and her clear glad eyes,
Bow'd down so meekly in the house of prayer;
And in the hymn her sweet voice audible :
Her father look'd so fond of her, and then
From her look'd up so thankfully to heaven !
And their small cottage was so very neat ;
Their garden fill'd with fruits, and herbs, and flowers ;
And in the winter there was no fireside
So cheerful as their own. But other days
And other fortunes came—an evil power!
They bòre against it cheerfully, and hoped
For better times, but ruin came at last;

210

THE RUINED COTTAGE.

And the old soldier left his own dear homo,
And left it for a prison. 'Twas in June,
One of June's brightest days—the bee, the bird,
The butterfly, were on their brightest wings ;
The fruits had their first tinge of summer light;
The sunny sky, the very leaves, seemed glad,
And the old man looked back upon his cottage
And wept aloud. They hurried him away,
And the dear child that would not leave his side.
They led him from the sight of the blue heaven
And the green trees into a low, dark cell,
The windows shutting out the blessed sun
With iron-grating; and for the first time
He threw him on his bed, and could not hear
His Isabel's “ good-night!” But the next morn
She was the earliest at the prison gate,
The last on whom it closed; and her sweet voice,
And sweeter smile, made him forget to pine.
She brought him every morning fresh wild flowers;
But every morning could he see her cheek
Grow paler and more pale, and her low tones
Get fainter and more faint, and a cold dew
Was on the hand he held. One day he saw
The sun shine through the grating of his cell,
Yet Isabel came not; at every sound
His heart-beat took away his breath, yet still
She came not near him. But one sad day
He mark'd the dull street through the iron bars
That shut him from the world ;-at length he saw
A coffin carried carelessly along,
And he grew desperate-he forced the bars ;
And he stood on the street, free and alone!
He had no aim, no wish for liberty-
He had only felt one want, to see the corpse
That had no mourners. When they set it down
Or e'er 'twas lowered into the new dug grave,
A rush of passion came upon his soul,
And he tore off the lid, and saw the face
Of Isabel, and knew he had no child !
He lay down by the coffin quietly-
His heart was broken!

Mrs. Maclean, L.E.L. BILLY DIP THE DYER.

211

BILLY DIP, THE DYER.

CHLOE, a maid at fifty-five,

Was at her toilet dressing; Her waiting-maid, with iron hot,

Each paper'd curl was pressing. The looking-glass her eyes engross,

While Betty humm'd a ditty ;
She gazed so much upon her face,

She really thought it pretty.
Her painted cheeks and pencil brows

She could not but approve ;
Her thoughts on various subjects turned,

At length they fixed on love.
“And shall,” said she, “a virgin life

Await these pleasing charms ? And will no sighing, blooming youth

Receive me to his arms ?
“Forbid it, love !" She scarce had spoke

When Cupid laid a trap,
For at the chamber door was heard

A soft and gentle rap.
Cried Betty, “Who is at the door ?

“Ay, tell," quoth Chloe, “ true ;" When straight a tender voice replied,

“Dear ma'am I die for you."

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A little man with bundle stood,

In sleeves and apron blue.
“ Ye powers !” cried Chloe, “what is this ? .

What vision do I see i
Is this the man, O mighty Love-

The man that dies for me?"

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