Would you wrest the wreath of fame from the hand of fate? Would you write a deathless name with the good and great? and soul imbue Nobly dare the wildest storm, stem the Would you bless your fellow-men? Heart hardest gale; Brave of heart and strong of arm, you will With the holy task, and then Paddle never fail. your own canoe!" THE SWORD. "TWAS the battle-field, and the cold pale moon Looked down on the dead and the dying; | And the wind passed o'er with a dirge and a wail, [lying. Where the young and the brave were With his father's sword in his red right And the hostile dead around him, [hand, Lay a youthful chief; but his bed was the ground, And the grave's icy sleep had bound him. A reckless rover, 'mid death and doom, Passed a soldier, his plunder seeking; Careless he stepped where friend and foe Lay alike in their life-blood reeking. Drawn by the shine of the warrior's sword, The soldier paused beside it: [strength, He wrenched the hand with a giant's But the grasp of the dead defied it. He loosed his hold, and his English heart Took part with the dead before him; And he honoured the brave who died sword in hand, As with softened brow he bent o'er him. 'A soldier's death thou hast boldly died, A soldier's grave won by it; Before I would take that sword from thy hand, My own life's-blood should dye it. Thou shalt not be left for the carrion crow, Or the wolf to fatten o'er thee; Or the coward insult the gallant dead, Who in life had trembled before thee !" Then dug he a grave in the crimson earth, Where his warrior foe was sleeping; And he laid him there in honour and rest, With his sword in his own brave keeping. L. E. LANDON. BRUCE AND THE SPIDER. When, looking up with wistful eye, The Bruce beheld a spider try FOR Scotland's and for freedom's right A hut's lone shelter sought. And cheerless was that resting-place The rude, rough beams alone; Absorbed in wakeful thought he lay The sun rose brightly, and its gleam And tinged with light each shapeless beam Which roofed the lowly shed; His filmy thread to fling From beam to beam of that rude cot- One effort more, his seventh and last!--- BERNARD BARTON. |