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Salem, Jerusalem, capital of Judea.
Though the virgins of Salem * lament,
Be the judge and the hero unbent ! 35 I have won the great battle for thee,
And my father and country are free !
Gush'd, flowed out
" HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN.”—Mrs. Hemans. FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS (1793–1835), a distinguished English poetess, was born at Liverpool, but spent her early life in Wales. Her best poem is the Forest Sanctuary, but her minor pieces are most popular, such as The Graves of a Household, The Voice of Spring, &c. She died at Dublin.
The bark * that held a prince went down, Bark, also spelt
barque, meaning a
Son, Prince William,
of Henry I., 5 He lived, for life may long be borne
drowned in 1120, on Ere sorrow break its chain ;*
his return from Nor
mandy, a province in Why comes not death to those who mourn ? France. He never smiled again!
Break its chain, be
fore death comes and There stood proud forms * around his throne,
ends one's grief and
sufferings. IO The stately and the brave;
Proud forms, persons But which could fill the place of one
of high birth or title. That one beneath the wave ? Before him passed the young and fair
Reckless, not caring In pleasure's reckless * train,
for consequences. 15 But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair :
Festal, in the midst
of mirth and joy, as He never smiled again !
at a feast.
Minstrel, a man who He sat where festal * bowls went round, sang verses, accomHe heard the minstrels * sing,
panying himself on
the harp. He saw the tourney's * victor crowned
Tourney, tourna20 Amidst the knightly ring :
ment, a mock fight,
which knights A murmur of the restless deep
fought to show their Was blent * with every strain, *
skill in arms. A voice of winds that would not sleep :
Knightly ring, a com.
pany of knights. He never smiled again !
Knighthood was the
highest distinction 25 Hearts in that time closed o'er the trace for those who followed Of vows once fondly poured ;
the profession of arms.
Blent, mingled or
Strain, sound, song,
Graves which true love had bathed with tears
Were left to Heaven's bright rain;
He* never smiled again !
THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
An easy entrance, night and day. Port, a harbour, a Not far away we saw the port,* place of safety for
The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,Dismantled fort, a
The lighthouse,—the dismantled fort, *place of defence in The wooden houses, quaint * and brown. former times, now no longer used, so there. fore stripped of its We sat and talked until the night, cannon, &c.
Descending, filled the little room ;
Our faces faded from the sight,
We spake of many a vanished scene,
Of what we once had thought and said,
And who was changed, and who was dead ;
And all that fills the hearts of friends, Secret, unknown, When first they feel, with secret * pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again. Swerving, wandering, The first slight swerving
* of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
Or say it in too great excess.
Had something strange, I could but mark;
A mournful rustling in the dark,
Oft died the words upon our lips, 30 As suddenly from out the fire Built of the wreck of stranded * ships,
Strand, to run The flames would leap and then expire. shore, to be wrecked. And, as their splendour * flashed and failed,
Splendour, brightWe thought of wrecks upon the main,35 Of ships dismasted,* that were hailed *
whose masts had And sent no answer back again.
been torn away by
the storm. The windows, rattling in their frames,
Hail, to call to at a
distance, The ocean, roaring up the beach, *
Beach, the shore of * blast,—the bickering * flames,
the sea. Ali mingled vaguely * in our speech.
Gusty, stormy, tempestuous.
Bickering, to burn Until they made themselves a part
with an unsteady
light. Of fancies floating through the brain,
Vaguely, without cerThe long-lost ventures of the heart,
tainty, not sure. That send no answers back again.
Glow, to shine with 45 O flames that glowed !* O hearts that yearned !* intense heat.
They were indeed too much akin,*
Yearn, to feel earnest desire.
THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.-Mrs. Hemans.
The stately * Homes of England,
Stately, very grand,
noble in appearance. How beautiful they stand ! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, *
Ancestral trees, very
old, planted by the O'er all the pleasant land !
forefathers of the pre5 The deer across their greensward * bound
Greensward, green Through shade and sunny gleam,
turf. And the swan glides* past them with the sound Glides
, moves quickly
and with ease.
Hearth, the fireside.
bright red light of
the fire. There woman's voice flows forth in song, Glorious page of old, Or childhood's tale is told ;
some story of olden
times in which great 15 Or lips move tunefully along
and noble deeds are Some glorious page of old.*
the Bower, a shady en. closure or recess in a garden ; the homes appear, from the number of trees surrounding them, as if they were built in bowers.
Silvery brooks, the
The blessed Homes of England !
How softly on their bowers
That breathes fronı Sabbath hours !
Floats through their woods at morn ;
Of breeze and leaf are born.
And round the hamlet-fanes. *
30 And fearless there the lowly * sleep,
As the bird beneath their eaves.*
Long, long, in hut and hall,
To guard each hallowed * wall !
And bright the flowery sod,
THE IVY GREEN.—Dickens.
CHARLES DICKENS (1812–1870), a native of Landport, Portsmouth. In early life he was connected with the press as a parliamentary reporter. The Pickwick Papers early established his reputation as the greatest living humorist. He was admired by a universal circle of readers. Chief works: Nicholas Nickleby, Old Curiosity Shop, David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Bleak House, &c. Dainty, being very On a dainty * plant is the Ivy * green, particular as to one's
That creepeth o'er ruins old ! food ; hard to please. Ivy,
On right choice food are his meals, I ween, * evergreen creeping plant.
In his cell so lone and cold. I ween, I believe.
The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, 5 Whim, a fancy, a
To pleasure his dainty whim ; sudden change of the And the mould'ring dust that years have made mind.
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
Staunch, trusty, sound, firm.
Hug, to clasp tightly.
Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch * old heart has he ;
To his friend, the huge Oak Tree !
And his leaves he gently waves,
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
And nations have scattered been ;
From its hale * and hearty green.
Shall fatten on the past;
Creeping on where time has been, 30 A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.
Stately, very beautiful, grand to look at.
of a clan.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.–Campbell. THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777–1844) was a native of Glasgow, and rose to early fame by the publication of his Pleasures of Hope in 1799. Other poems: Gertrude of Wyoming, a tale of Pennsylvania; Theodoric, a Swiss story; and a number of lyrics, which are, perhaps, the finest in the language.
A CHIEFTAIN,* to the Highlands * bound, Chieftain, the head
Highlands, the moun.
tainous districts in To row us o'er the ferry.”
the north and west of
Scotland. 5 “Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, * Ferry, a place where This dark and stormy water ?”
people “Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, *
Lochgyle, a small arm And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
of the sea which runs
off in a north-west « And fast before her father's men
direction from Loch
Long. 10 Three days we've fled together ;
Ulva's isle, a small For, should he find us in the glen,*
island on the west My blood would stain the heather.
Glen, a narrow valley
among “His horsemen hard behind us ride;
tains, Should they our steps discover,
Heather, the heath,
a smali 15 Then who will cheer my bonny bride
sbrub. When they have slain her lover ?"
are rowed across a water.
coast of Mull.