And lo! in the dwelling whose walls were so bare,
What fairy had furnished this wonderful fare?
With fire on the hearth, and such comforts to show,
They waked to behold them, both mother and Joe!
Now, was it Kris Kringle who heard in his flight
So mournful a story that cold, wintry night?

I trow 'twas the friend that Joe met on the street,
When selling his papers thro' storm and thro' sleet,
That brightened his home and his sorrow beguiled
For love of the loving, the holy Christ child!

XXVII.-GOUGAUNE BARRA.

CALLANAN.

THERE is a green Island in lone Gougaune Barra,
Where Allua of songs rushes forth as an arrow;

In deep-valleyed Desmond :-a thousand wild fountains
Come down to that lake, from their home in the mountains;
There grows the wild ash, and a time-stricken willow
Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow ;
As, like some gay child, that sad monitor scorning,
It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning.

And its zone of dark hills-oh! to see them all bright'ning
When the tempest flings out its red banner of lightning;
And the waters rush down, 'mid the thunder's deep 1attle,
Like clans from their hills at the voice of the battle ;
And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming,
And wildly from Mullagh he eagles are screaming ;-
Oh! where is the dwelling in valley, or high land,
So meet for a bard as this lone little island?

How oft, when the summer sun rested on Clara,
And lit the dark heath on the hills of Ivera,

Have I sought thee, sweet spot, from my home by the ocean,
And trod all thy wilds with a minstrel's devotion;

And thought of thy Bards, when assembling together
In the cleft of thy rocks, or the depth of thy heather,
They fled from the foemen's dark bondage and slaughter,
And waked their last song by the rush of thy water.

High sons of the lyre, oh! how proud was the feeling,
To think while alone through that solitude stealing,
Though loftier minstrels green Erin can number,
I only awoke your wild harp from its slumber,

And mingled once more with the voice of those fountains
The songs even Echo forgot on her mountains;

And gleaned each gray legend, that darkly was sleeping
Where the mist and the rain o'er their beauty were creeping.

Least bard of the hills! were it mine to inherit
The fire of thy harp, and the wing of thy spirit,

With the wrongs which like thee to our country has bound me;
Did your mantle of song fling its radiance round me,

Still, still in those wilds might young Liberty rally,
And send her strong shout over mountain and valley ;
The star of the West might yet rise in its glory,
And the land that was darkest, be brightest in story.

I too shall be gone;-but my name shall be spoken
When Erin awakes, and her fetters are broken;
Some Minstrel will come, in the summer eve's gleaming,
When Freedom's young light on his spirit is beaming,
And bend o'er my grave with a tear of emotion,
Where calm Avon-Buee seeks the kisses of ocean;
Or plant a wild wreath, from the banks of that river,
O'er the heart, and the harp, that are sleeping for ever.

XXVIII, EARTH'S NOBLEMEN.

THE noblest men I know on earth,

Are men whose hands are brown with toil,

Who, backed by no ancestral graves,

Hew down the woods, and till the soil,

And win thereby a prouder name

Than follows kings' or warriors' famę.

The working men, what'er their task,
Who carve the stone or bear the hod,

They bear upon their honest brows

The royal stamp and seal of God ;
And worthier are their drops of sweat
Than diamonds in a coronet.

God bless the noble working men,
Who rear the cites of the plain;
Who dig the mines, who build the ships

And drive the commerce of the main.
God bless them! for their toiling hands
Have wrought the glory of all lands.

XXIX. THREE DAYS IN THE LIFE OF COLUMBUS

66

(TRANSLATION)-DELAVIGNE.

N the deck stood Columbus :-the ocean's expanse, Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. Back to Spain!" cry his men ; "Put the vessel about! We venture no further through danger and doubt.”"Three days, and I give you a world !" he replied;

"Bear up, my brave comrades ;-three days shall decide." He sails,—but no token of land is in sight;

He sails, but the day shows no more than the night ;-
On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee
The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea!

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er The rudder which creaks 'mid the billowy roar ; He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast, And its funeral-wail through the shrouds of the mast; The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies, And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes; But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night, Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light. "Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er.". "Day! what now dost thou see?"—"Sky and ocean. more!"

No

The second day's past-and Columbus is sleeping,
While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping :

"Shall he perish ?"-"Ay! death!" is the barbarous cry; "He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, mut die !'' Ungrateful and blind!-shall the world-linking sea,

He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be?

Shall that sea on the morrow, with pitiless waves,

Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves? The corse of an humble adventurer, then ;

One day later,-Columbus, the first among men !

But, hush he is dreaming!-A veil on the main,
At the distant horizon, is parted in twain;
And now, on his dreaming eye,-rapturous sight!-
Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night!
Oh, vision of glory! how dazzling it seems!
How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams!
How blue the far mountains! how glad the green isles!
And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles!
"Joy! joy!" cries Columbus, "this region is mine!"
Ah! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine!

At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks,-
"Land! land!" cry the sailors; "land! land!"-He awakes-
He runs,-yes! behold it!-it blesseth his sight,-
The land! Oh, dear spectacle! transport! delight!
Oh, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain !
What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain?
He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne,—
His King will repay all the ills he has known.

In exchange for a world, what are honors and gains?
Or a crown? But, how is he rewarded?—with chains!

XXX. THE GLADIATOR.

J. A. JONES.

THEY led a lion from his den, the lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain ;
And there he stood, stern foe of men, and shook his flowing mane.

There's not of all Rome's heroes ten, that dare abide this game.

His bright eye nought of lightning lacked; his voice was like the cataract.

They brought a dark-haired man along, whose limbs with gives of brass were bound;
Youthful he seemed, and bold, and strong, and yet unscathed of wound.
Blithely he stepped among the throng, and carelessly threw around

A dark eye, such as courts the path of him who braves a Dacian's wrath.

Then shouted the plebeian crowd,-rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne there spake aloud a voice,—“Be the bold man unbound !
And by Rome's sceptre, yet unbowed, by Rome, earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold, the unequal strife, though doomed to death, shall save his life."

Joy was upon that dark man's face; and thus, with laughing eye spake he: "Loose ye the Lord of Zara's waste, and let my arms be free;

'He has a martial heart,' thou sayest ;-but oh! who will not be

A hero when he fights for life, for home and country, babes and wife?

"And thus I for the strife prepare; the Thracean falchion to me bring,
But ask th imperial leave to spare the shield,—a useless thing.
Where I a Samnite's rage to dare, then o'er me would I fling
The broad orb; but to lion's wrath the shield were but a sword of lath."

And he has bared his shining blade, and springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the strife, but briefly played;-the desert-king lies low;
His long and loud death-howl is made; and there must end the show.
And when the multitude were calm, the favored freed man took the palm.

"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside ?" he knelt, that dark man ;-o'er his brow

Was thrown a wreath in crimson dyed; and fair words gild it now :

"Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried to lay a lion low;

And from our presence forth thou go'st to lead the Dacians of our host."

Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride, and grieved and gloomily spake he;
"My cabin stands where blithely glide proud Danube's waters to the sea :
I have a young and blooming bride, and I have children three ;—
No Roman wealth or rank can give such joy as in their arms to live.

"My wife sits at the cabin door, with throbbing heart and swollen eyes ;-
While tears her cheek are coursing o'er, she speaks of sundered ties ;
She bids my tender babes deplore the death their father dies;
She tells these jewels of my home, I bleed to please the rout of Rome.

"I cannot let those cherubs stray without their sire's protecting care,
And I would chase the griefs away which cloud my wedded fair.
The monarch spoke; the guards obey; and gates unclosed are:
He's gone!—No golden bribes divide the Dacian from his babes and bride.

XXXI. THE PAUPER'S DEATH-BED.

MRS. SOUTHEY.

TREAD softly--bow the head-in reverent silence bow ;--no passing bell doth toll, yet an immortal soul is passing now. Stranger? however great, with lowly reverence bow: there's one in that poor shed-one by that paltry bed -greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, lo! Death doth keep his state! Enter no crowds attend; enter-no guards defend this palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold, no smiling courtiers tread; one silent woman stands, lifting, with meagre hands, a dying head. No mingling voices sound-an infant wail alone; a sob suppressed-again that short deep gasp, and then the parting groan! Oh! change-oh, wondrous change! burst are the prison bars. This moment there, so low, so agonised; and now beyond the stars! Oh! changestupendous change! there lies the soulless clod; the sun eternal breaks-the new immortal wakes-wakes with his God!

XXXII.—THE BURNING PRAIRIE,

ALICE CAREY,

THE prairie stretched as smooth as a floor,

As far as the eye could see,

And the settler sat at his cabin door,
With his little girl on his knee ;
Striving her letters to repeat,

And pulling her apron over her feet.

His face was wrinkled but not old,

For he bore an upright form,

And his shirt sleeves back to the elbow rolled,

They showed a brawny arm.

And near in the grass with toes upturned,

Was a pair of old shoes, cracked and burned.

A dog with his head betwixt his paws,
Lay lazily dozing near,

Now and then snapping his tar black jaws
At the fly that buzzed in his ear;
And near was the cow-pen, made of rails,
And a bench that held two milking-pails.

In the open door an ox-yoke lay,
The mother's odd redoubt,
To keep the little one, at her play

On the floor, from falling out;

While she swept the hearth with a turkey wing,

And filled her tea-kettle at the spring.

The little girl on her father's knee,

With eyes so bright and blue,

From A, B, C, to X, Y, Z,

Had said her lesson through;

When a wind came over the prairie land,

And caught the primer out of her hand.