Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretch'd in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! I THE LAST LEAF SAW him once before, The pavement-stones resound They say that in his prime, Not a better man was found Through the town. But now he walks the streets, And he shakes his feeble head, The mossy marbles rest On the lips that he has press'd In their bloom; And the names he loved to hear My grandmamma has said— That he had a Roman nose, But now his nose is thin, And it rests upon his chin But the old three-corner'd hat, And the breeches, and all that, Are so queer! And if I should live to be The last leaf upon the tree Let them smile, as I do now, OLD IRONSIDES AY, tear her tattered ensign down! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see Beneath it rung the battle shout, Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Oh, better that her shattered hulk Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale! THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN T was a tall young oysterman lived by the river IT side, His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide; The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim, Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him. It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid, Upon a moonlight evening, a-sitting in the shade; He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say, "I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away." Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he, "I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see; I read it in the story-book, that, for to kiss his dear, Leander swam the Hellespont, and I will swim this here." And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream, And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam; Oh, there are kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again! Out spoke the ancient fisherman: "Oh, what was that, my daughter?' ""Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water." "And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast?" "It's nothing but a porpoise, sir, that's been a-swimming past." Out spoke the ancient fisherman: my harpoon! "Now bring me I'll get into my fishin-boat, and fix the fellow soon." Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb; Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a clam. Alas! for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound, And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned; But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe, And now they keep an oyster shop for mermaids down below. THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE (From "The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table," Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Publishers) SIN IN has many tools, but a lie is the handle which fits them all. -I think, Sir, said the divinity-student,-you must intend that for one of the sayings of the Seven Wise Men of Boston you were speaking of the other day. I thank you, my young friend, was my reply,— but I must say something better than that, before I could pretend to fill out the number. -The schoolmistress wanted to know how many of these sayings there were on record, and what, and by whom said. -Why, let us see, there is that one of Benjamin Franklin, "the great Bostonian," after whom this lad was named. To be sure, he said a great many wise things, and I don't feel sure he didn't borrow this, he speaks as if it were old. But then he applied it so neatly!— "He that has once done you a kindness will be more ready to do you another than he whom you yourself have obliged." Then there is that glorious Epicurean paradox, |