258

A PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED.

This doth my cup with marcies fill,

This lays all thought o’ sin to rest •
I don't believe in princerple,

But, O, I du in interest.

I du believe in bein' this

Or thet, ez it may happen
One way or t’other hendiest is

To ketch the people nappin'.
It aint by princerples nor men

My preudent course is steadied ;
I scent wich pays the best, an' then

Go into it baldheaded.

I du believe thet holdin' slaves

Comes nat’ral to a Presidunt,
Let 'lone the row-de-dow it saves

To hev a Wal-broke precedunt;
Fer any office, small or gret,

I couldn't ax with no face,
Without I'd bin, thru dry an' wet,

Th’unrizzest kind o' doughface.

I du believe wutever trash

'll keep the people in blindness,
Thet we the Mexicans can thrash

Right inter brotherly kindness;
Thet bombshells, grape, an' powder'n' ball

Air good-will's strongest magnets,
Thet peace, to make it stick at all,

Must be druv in with bagnets.

In short, I firmly du believe

In Humbug generally,
Fer it's a thing thet I perceive

To hev a solid vally;
This heth my faithful shepherd been,

In pasturs sweet heth led me,
An' this'll keep the people green
To feed ez they hev fed me.

J. R. Lowell.

IVAN THE OZAR.

259

IVAN THE CZAR.

“Ivan the Terrible, having already become oid, was besieging Novgorod. The Boyards, seeing his feebleness, asked if he would not give the command of the assault to his son. His fury was so great at this proposal that nothing would appease him. His son prostrated himself at his feet. He repulsed him with a blow of such violence that in two days he died. Ivan then, in despair, became indifferent to the war, and only survived his son a few months.”—Ten Years of Exile, by Madame de Stael.

He sat in silence on the ground,

The old and haughty Czar,
Lonely, though princes girt him round,

And leaders of the war;
He had cast his jewelled sabre,

That many a field had won,
To the earth beside his youthful dead-

His fair and first-born son.

With a robe of ermine for its bed,

Was laid that form of clay,
Where the light a stormy sunset shed

Through the rich tent made way;
And a sad and solemn beauty

On the pallid face came down,
Which the lord of nations mutely watched,

In the dust, with his renown.
Low tones at last of woe and fear

From his full bosom broke-
A mouraful thing it was to hear

How then the proud man spoke !
The voice that through the combat

Had shouted far and high,
Came forth in strange, dull, hollow tones,

Burdened with agony:
“ There is no crimson on thy cheek,

And on thy lip no breath;
I call thee, and thou dost not speak-

They tell me this is death!
And fearful things are whispering

260

IVAN THE CZAR,

“Well might I know death's hue and mien

But on thine aspect, boy,
What till this moment have I seen

Save pride and tameless joy?
Swiftest thou wert to battle,

And bravest there of all :
How could I think a warrior's frame

Thus like a flower should fall ?

“I will not bear that still cold look

Rise up, thou fierce and free!
Wake as the storm wakes! I will brook

All, save this calm, from thee!
Lift brightly up, and proudly,

Once more thy kindling eyes !
Hath my word lost its power on earth ?

I say to thee, arise !
“ Didst thou not know I loved thee well ?

Thou didst not! and art gone,
In bitterness of soul, to dwell

Where man must dwell alone.
Come back, young fiery spirit,

If but one hour to learn
The secrets of the folded heart

That seemed to thee so stern.
“Thou were the first, the first fair child,

That in mine arms I pressed ;
Thou wert the bright one, that hast smiled

Like summer on my breast !
I reared thee as an eagle,

To the chase thy steps I led ;
I bore thee on my battle-horse,

I look upon thee-dead!
“ Lay down my warlike banners here,

Never again to wave,
And bury my red-sword and spear,

Chiefs, in my first-born's grave !
And leave me !--I have conquered,

I have slain-my work is done !
Whom have I slain ?-ye answer not;

Thou, too, art mute, my son !”

And thus his wild lament was poured

Through the dark resounding night,
And the battle knew no more his sword,

Nor the foaming steed his might.
He heard strange voices moaning
In every wind that sighed;
om the searching stars of heaven he shrank-
Humbly the conqueror died,

Mrs. Hemans,

A LICE.

My breast is pressed to thine, Alice,

My arm is round thee twined ;
Thy breath dwells on my lip, Alice,

Like clover-scented wind :
Love glistens in thy sunny e’e,

And blushes on thy brow;
Earth's heaven is here to thee and me,

For we are happy now!
Thy cheek is warm and saft, Alice,

As the summer laverock's breast;
And peace sleeps in thy soul, Alice,

Like the laverock on its nest.
Sweet ! lay thy heart aboon my heart,

For it is a' thine ain ;
That morning love it gie's to thee,

Which kens nae guile or stain.
Ilk starn in yonder lift, Alice,

Is a love-lighted e'e,
Filled fu' o'gladsome tears, Alice,

While watching thee and me.
This twilight hour the thoughts run back,

Like moonlight on the streams,
Till the o'erladen heart grows grit

Wi' a' its early dreams !
Langsyne amang the hills, Alice,

Where waves the breckans green,
I wander'd by the burn, Alice,

Where fairy feet had been,

While o’er me hung a vision sweet,

My heart will ne'er forget-
A dream o' summer twilight times,

When flowers wi' dew were wet !
I thought on a' the tales, Alice,

O’ woman's love and faith ;
Of truth that smiled at fear, Alice,

And love that conquer'd death ;
Affection blessing hearts and homes,

When joy was far awa',
And fear and hate ; but love, O love !

Aboon and over a'!
And then I thought wi' me, Alice,

Ane walk'd in beauty there
A being made for love, Alice,

So pure, and good, and fair-
Who shared my soul-my every hour

O'sorrow and o'mirth;
And when that dream was gone my heart

Was lonely on the earth!
Ay, lonely grew the world, Alice,

A dreary hame to me;
Without a bush or bield, Alice,

Or leafy sheltering tree;
And aye as sough'd life's raging storm,

Wi' keen and eerie blaw,
My soul grew sad, and cold my heart,

I wish'd to be awa.'
But light came o'er my way, Alice,

And life grew joy to me;
The daisy in my path, Alice,

Unclosed its gentle e'e ;
Love breathed in ilka wind that blew,

And in ilk birdie's sang ;
Wi' sunny thoughts o' summer time

The blithesome heart grew thrang.
My dreams o' youth and love, Alice,

Were a' brought back again ;
And hope upraised its head, Alice,

Like the violet after rain :