It falls!-there is a shriek of lamentation They're still'd!-the noblest hearts within the nation- -Years have pass'd since that fatal scene of dying, In their coffins, still those sever'd heads are lying, Oh! they preach to us, those still and pallid features- XXII.-THE IRISH WIFE.-Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee. 491 I WOULD not give my Irish wife for all the dames of the Saxon land- Oh! what would be this home of mine-a ruin'd, hermit-haunted placeBut for the light that nightly shines upon its walls from Kathleen's face? What comfort in a mine of gold-what pleasure in a royal life,— If the heart within lay dead and cold—if I could not wed my Irish wife? I knew the law forbade the banns-I knew my king abhorred her raceWho never bent before their clans, must bow before their ladies' grace. Take all my forfeited domain; I cannot wage, with kinsmen, strife; Take knightly gear and noble name,—but I will keep my Irish wife! My Irish wife has clear blue eyes-my heaven by day, my stars by night And twin-like truth and fondness lie within her swelling bosom white. I HEARD the dogs howl in the moonlight night, -All the dead that ever I knew Going one by one, and two by two! On they passed, and on they passed; Schoolmates, marching as when we played Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade, Many long-forgot, but remember'd then! And first, there came a bitter laughter; I strive to recall it, if I may ! XXIV. THE LAST MEETING OF EVANGELINE AND GABRIEL. W. H. Longfellow. IN that delightful land, which is washed by the Delaware's waters, Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the city: Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, the oppressor; The poor crept to die in the alms-house, home for the homeless. Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she passed; for her presence Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling of wonder, Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flowers dropped from her fingers! Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such terrible anguish, Then he beheld, in a dream, once more, the home of his childhood; Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, walking under their shadow, As in the days of her youth, Evangeline arose in his vision. Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, kneeling beside him, Sweet was the light of his eyes; but it suddenly sank into darkness, As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind at a casement. All was ended now-the hope, and the fear, and the sorrow; All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied longing; Still stands the forest primeval; but far away from its shadow, In the heart of the city, they lie unknown and unnoticed: Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have ceased from their labours; XXV.-BARBARA FRIETCHIE.-J. G: Whittier. Ur, from the meadows rich with corn, clear in the cool September morn, the clustered spires of Frederick stand, green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep,-apple and peachtree fruited deep,-fair as a garden of the Lord to the eyes of the famished rebel horde; on that pleasant morn of the early fall when Lee marched over the mountain-wall,-over the mountains winding down, horse and foot, into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, forty flags with their crimson bars, flapped in the morning wind: the sun of noon looked down, and saw not one!-Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then, bowed with her fourscore years and ten; bravest of all in Frederick town, she took up the flag the men hauled down: in her attic-window the staff she set, to show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat, left and right, he glanced; the old flag met his sight. "Halt!"-the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!"-out blazed the rifle-blast. It shivered the window, pane and sash; it rent the banner with seam and gash. Quick, as it fell from the broken staff, Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf; she leaned far out on the window-sill, and shook it forth with a royal will. 'Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, but spare your country's flag!" she said. 66 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, over the face of the leader came; the nobler nature within him stirred to life at that woman's deed and word: “Who touches a hair of yon gray head dies like a dog! March on!" he said.-All day long through Frederick-street sounded the tread of marching feet: all day long that free flag toss'd over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell on the loyal winds that loved it well; and, through the hill-gaps, sunset-light shone over it with a warm "good-night!" Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, and the rebel rides on his raids no more! Honour to her!-and let a tear fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier! Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, flag of Freedom and Union, wave! Peace, and order, and beauty, draw round thy symbol of light and law; and ever the stars above look down on thy stars below, in Frederick town! XXVI.—A ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH CAMP.-Robert Browning. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon, a mile or so away: On a little mound, Napoleon stood on our storming day; With neck outthrust you fancy how!-legs wide, arms lock'd behind, As if to balance the prone brow, oppressive with its mind. Just as perhaps he mused,-"My plans that soar, to earth may fall, To see your flag-bird flap his vans, where I, to heart's desire, The Chief's eye flashed; but presently softened itself-as sheathes he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" dead! Nay," (his soldier's pride touched to the quick) And, his Chief beside, smiling the Boy fell XXVII.- -MEASURING THE BABY.-Anonymous. WE measured the riotous baby against the cottage-wall; His eyes were as wide as blue-bells-his mouth like a flower unblown; Two bare little feet, like funny white mice, peeped out from his snowy gown; And we thought, with a thrill of rapture, that yet had a touch of pain, When June rolls around with her roses, we'll measure the baby again. —Ah me! in a darkened chamber, from the sunshine shut away, Through tears that fell like a bitter rain, we measured the baby to-day; And the little bare feet that were dimpled, and sweet as a budding rose, Lay side by side together, in the hush of a long repose. Up from the dainty pillow, white as the risen dawn, The fair little face lay smiling, with the light of heaven thereon; And the dear little hands, like rose-leaves dropped from a rose, lay still, Never to catch at the sunshine, that crept to the shrouded sill! We measured the sleeping baby with ribbons white as snow, For the shining rosewood coffin that waited him below; And out of the darkened chamber we went, with a childless moan!— To the height of the sinless Angels our little one had grown! XXVIII.—THE CURFEW BELL.-Anonymous. THE summer sun was slowly setting o'er the mountains far away, |