"Talitha, in the dialect of the people, a term of endearment used towards a young maiden."-Dean Alford on "St. Mark's Gospel."

THE WELL OF BETHLEHEM.

THE king was faint with battle; and he stood

With weary face and garments rolled in blood,

An exile from the city of his God.

The heat and burden of the day were sore,
And he must see, with hope deferred once
more,

The sunshine fade from every hill and dale,
And twilight fold his land of Israel.

The Earth was faint with battle; and she lay

With weary face and garments rolled in blood,

An exile from the presence of her God, Through all the heat and burden of the day.

The noise confused of her great captains, shouting

Hoarsely against each other in the fight,

His captains stood around him; but the And the deep voice of all creation groaning,

king

Forgot the clangour and the glittering

Of sword and spear, and all the pomp of war,

Gave her no rest by either day or night; And all her pleasant seas were turnéd now To seas of death, and could not cool her brow.

-Toward the sunset stood the low, gray | And as she lay, and fevered with the pain Of her long anguish, in a dream she turned

hill

Of Bethlehem afar.

He saw a vision of the old sweet days,
When, as the custom is in Israel,
His mother went along the shady ways
By moonlight to the well;

Even in the desert hot and desolate

He felt again the touch of that sweet
breeze,

He heard the murmur of the olive-trees
That wave beside the gate.

Fair vision this, for warrior of might
Athirst and weary from the headlong fight,
-Above him fiery heavens, and beneath
The bitter waters of the Sea of Death;
And, "Oh! that one would bring to me,"
he said,

"Or e'er it be too late,

again

To that sweet home which God had laid

upon her breast

In the far spring-time for her children's
rest;

And His own presence in the garden, and
His Word,

Which, mingled with the breeze, her soft
trees stirred,

Had given her a fountain ever sweet,

And ever springing round His blessed

feet,

Where Earth might drink, and smile, and
praise her Lord.

And in her dream she lifted up her voice,
And, "Oh! that one would bring to me,"
she said,
"While I in anguish wait,

Of the water from the Well of Bethlehem, Of the water from the Well of Paradise,
Which is beside the gate!"
Which is beside the gate!"

Three mighty men, full armed for the A mighty Man, full armed for the fight,
Burst through the foemen with resistless

fight,

DEATH OF DE ARGENTINE.

ALREADY Scattered o'er the plain,-
Reproof, command, and counsel, vain,—
The rearward squadrons fled amain,
Or made but doubtful stay :-
In vain the royal Edward threw
His person 'mid the spears,
Cried "Fight!" to terror and despair,
Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair,
And cursed their caitiff fears;
Till Pembroke turned his bridle rein,
And forced him from the fatal plain.
With them rode Argentine, until
They gained the summit of the hill,

But quitted there the train :—
"" In yonder field a gage I left,-
I must not live, of fame bereft;

I needs must turn again.

Speed hence, my liege, for on your trace
The fiery Douglas takes the chase,
I know his banner well.

God send my sovereign joy and bliss,
And many a happier field than this:—
Once more, my liege, farewell!"

Again he faced the battle-field,—
Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield.

66

Beneath that blow's tremendous sway,—
The blood gushed from the wound;
And the grim Lord of Colonsay

Hath turned him on the ground,
And laughed in death-pang, that his
blade

The mortal thrust so well repaid!

Now toiled the Bruce, the battle done,
To use his conquest boldly won;
And gave command for horse and spear
To press the Southron's scattered rear,
Nor let his broken force combine,
-When the war-cry of Argentine

Fell faintly on his ear!

Save, save his life!" he cried; Oh! save
The kind, the noble, and the brave!"
The squadrons round free passage gave;
The wounded knight drew near.

He raised his red-cross shield no more;
Helm, cuish, and breast-plate, streamed
with gore;

Yet, as he saw the king advance,

He strove, even then, to couch his lance:-
The effort was in vain!

The spur-stroke failed to rouse the horse;

Now then," he said, and couched his Wounded and weary, in mid course

spear,

"My course is run,-the goal is near:
One effort more, one brave career,

Must close this race of mine!"
Then in his stirrups rising high,
He shouted loud his battle-cry,
"Saint James for Argentine!"

And, of the bold pursuers, four

The gallant knight from saddle bore;
But not unharmed;-a lance's point
Has found his breast-plate's loosen'd
joint,

An axe has razed his crest:
But still on Colonsay's fierce lord,
Who pressed the chase with gory sword,
He rode with spear in rest,
And through his bloody tartans bored,
And through his gallant breast.
Nailed to the earth, the mountaineer
Yet writhed him up against the spear,
And swung his broad-sword round!
-Stirrups, steel-boot, and cuish gave
way

He stumbled on the plain.
Then foremost was the generous Bruce,
To raise his head, his helm to loose.
-"Lord, earl, the day is thine!
My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate,
Have made our meeting all too late :
Yet this may Argentine,

As boon from ancient comrade, crave,
A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave."

MISERIES OF ROYALTY.

O HARD condition, twin-born with great- | Canst thou, when thou command'st the

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,

Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage But, like a lackey, from the rise to set sweet,

Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night

But poisoned flattery? O, be sick, great Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,

VANITY OF POWER.

No matter where; of comfort no man | That rounds the mortal tempels of a king

speak:

Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs;
Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes
Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth,
Let's choose executors, and talk of wills:
And yet not so,—for what can we be-
queath,

Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Our lands, our lives and all are Boling-
broke's,

Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,

Scoffing his state, and grinning at his

pomp;

Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with
looks;

Infusing him with self and vain conceit,—
As if this flesh, which walls about our
life,

And nothing can we call our own but Were brass impregnable; and humoured death,

And that small model of the barren earth
Which serves as paste and cover to our

bones.

thus,

Comes at the last, and with a little pin Bores through his castle wall, and-farewell king!

For Heaven's sake let us sit upon the Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and ground,

And tell sad stories of the death of kings:How some have been deposed; some slain in war;

blood

With solemn reverence: throw away respect,

Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty, Some haunted by the ghosts they have de- For you have but mistook me all this posed;

while :

Some poisoned by their wives; some sleep- I live with bread like you, feel want, taste ing killed;

All murdered: for within the hollow Need friends: subjected thus,

crown

grief,

How can you say to me I am a king?

SHAKSPEARE.

PRINCE HENRY AND THE CROWN.

WHY doth the crown lie here upon his pil- | Perforce must move.--My gracious lord!

low,

Is tears, and heavy sorrows of the blood;
Which nature, love, and filial tenderness,
Shall, O dear father, pay thee plenteously:
My due, from thee, is this imperial crown;
Which, as immediate from thy place and
blood,

Derives itself to me. Lo, here it sits,—
[Putting it on his head.
Which Heaven shall guard; and, put the
world's whole strength

There lies a downy feather, which stirs Into one giant arm, it shall not force
not:

Did he suspire, that light and weightless

down

This lineal honour from me. This from
thee

Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.
SHAKSPEARE.