Our life is like a cloudy sky 'mid mountains, THOUGHT. Be this our trust, that ages (filled with light The world immutable in which alone Is but a type, as feeble as that image Francis Scott Key. AMERICAN. Key (1779-1843) owes his fame to a single patriotic song. The excellent music to which its somewhat harsh and intractable verses are set has undoubtedly done much to perpetuate its popularity. Key was born in Frederick County, Maryland, and educated at St. John's College, Annapolis. He practised law first in Fredericktown, and afterward in Washington, where he became District Attorney. A volume of his poems was published in Baltimore after his death. There is little in the collection that is memorable except "The Starspangled Banner." This was composed in 1814, on the occasion of the bombardment of Fort McHenry, when Key, a young midshipman, was a prisoner in the hands of the attacking British. THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER. Oh say! can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof, through the night, that our flag was still there. Oh! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses! Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now shines on the stream: 'Tis the star-spangled banner-oh, long may it wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave! And where is that band who so vauntingly swore No refuge could save the hireling and slave Oh! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand Between their loved home and the war's desolation: Blessed with victory and peace, may the Heavenrescued land I shall bathe me where, in the dewy air, The flowers their sweetness give. I will not touch the dusty earth,- And wherever I go, timid mortals may know, Then let them like me make ready their shrouds, Praise the Power that hath made and preserved And like me they shall sing, as to heaven they spring, it a nation! Thus conquer we must, when our cause it is just; And this be our motto-"In God is our trust!" And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free aud the home of the brave. THE WORM'S DEATH-SONG. Oh let me alone,-I've a work to be done That can brook not a moment's delay; While yet I breathe I must spin and weave, And may rest not night or day. Food and sleep I never may know, Then my rest shall be sweet in the winding-sheet I have been a base and grovelling thing, And the dust of the earth my home; But now I know that the end of my woe And the day of my bliss is come. In the shroud I make, this creeping frame But its death shall be new life to me, I shall wake, I shall wake-a glorious form I shall burst from the gloom of my opening tomb, I shall spread my new wings to the morning sun; On the summer's breath I shall live; "Death is not the end of life!" John Herman Merivale. Merivale (1779-1844) was a native of Exeter, England. Educated at Cambridge, he studied law, was a successful barrister, and in 1826 was appointed a Commissioner in Bankruptcy. The first edition of his "Orlando in Roncesvalles," a poem in five cantos, appeared in 1814. His "Poems, Original and Translated," were published by Pickering in three volumes, 1838. Some of his versions from the Greek, Latin, Italian, and German are faithful and spirited; and his short original poems, though quite unequal in merit, show no ordinary degree of literary attainment. For some of these, he frankly tells us, he is little entitled to assume the merit of entire originality; he is "fully sensible of this deficiency, or of what may be called a propensity to follow in the track of such preceding authors as were from time to time objects of his admiration." He was the father of the Rev. Charles Merivale (born 1808), author of a "History of the Romans under the Empire" (1862). "EVIL, BE THOU MY GOOD." "Evil, be thou my good"-in rage Of disappointed pride, And hurling vengeance at his God, The apostate angel cried. "Evil, be thou my good "--repeats, So deems the hermit, who abjures The world for Jesus' sake; The patriot 'mid his dungeon bars, The martyr at his stake. For He who happiness ordained The God who made us, and who knows The glorious prize hath stationed high Virtue were but a name, if Vice Had no dominion here, And pleasure none could taste, if pain And sorrow were not near. The fatal cup we all must drain Then cease to question Heaven's decree, Is but the tribute Nature pays REASON AND UNDERSTANDING. FROM "RETROSPECTION," AN UNPUBLISHED POEM. In a note to this part of his poem the author says: "The English public is not yet ripe to comprehend the essential difference between the reason and the understanding-between a principle and a maxim-an eternal truth and a mere conclusion generalized from a great number of facts. A man, having seen a million moss-roses, all red, concludes, from his own experience and that of others, that all moss-roses are red. That is a maxim with him-the greatest amount of his knowledge on the subject. But it is only true until some gardener has produced a white moss-rose-after which the maxim is good for nothing. *** Now compare this with the assurance which you have that the two sides of any triangle are together greater than the third," etc. See Coleridge's "Table-Talk.” The reasoning faculty, and that we name 1 The author, in a note, refers to the following stanza by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806), which he quotes, "although serving to convict him of unconscious plagiarism:" "Through nature's ever varying scene Is Universal Good." And a bare inference from facts, how great FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. In wanton sport my Doris from her fair Thomas Moore. THE MEETING OF THE WATERS.' Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart, Moore (1779-1852) was the son of the keeper of a small wine-store in Dublin. He was a quick child, and rhymed and recited early. A careful mother secured him the best education she could get. By 1800 he had graduated at Trinity College, Dublin, and acquired much social repute as a singer to his own accompaniment at the piano. He translated "Anacreon," and wrote amorous poems, which he would have liked to annihilate in after-years. In 1803 he went to Bermuda, where he had got an official situation, the duties of which might be performed by proxy; but his deputy proved unfaithful, and Moore incurred annoyance and pecuniary loss therefrom. Having made a short tour in the United States, and visited Washington, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, he returned to England, became a diner-out much in request "Twas that friends the beloved of my bosom were at Holland House, wrote lively Whig satires, and, after marrying a Miss Dyke, with whom he lived happily, began writing his "Irish Melodies," for which he was to receive £500 a year for seven years. He wrote "Lalla Rookh," an Oriental tale in verse, for which he got £3000. Among his prose works are a "Life of Sheridan," "Life of Byron," and "The Epicurean." In 1831 a pension of £300 a year was settled upon Moore. The latter years of the poet's life were embittered by domestic bereavements. Two of his children died. He sank into mental imbecility, and died at Sloperton Cottage, near Devizes, in his seventy-third year. Moore was kind-hearted and emotional; he loved his mother, his wife, and Ireland, and had many attached friends; but "dining-out did not deepen his character." Byron said of him, "he dearly loved a lord." Moore was at his best in his "Irish Melodies." They seem to be inseparable from the music to which he skilfully wedded them, and many have the elements of an enduring reputation. But it would be better for Moore's chance of future fame if two-thirds of what he wrote could be expunged. While in Philadelphia, Moore made the acquaintance of Joseph Dennie (1768-1812), an elegant scholar and genial companion, and editor of the first good American magazine, The Portfolio. Dennie was a native of Boston, Mass., and a graduate of Harvard, but passed the latter years of his life in Philadelphia. Here Moore was one of his guests, wrote songs for The Portfolio, and joined in the nightly gayeties. In one of his poems are these lines, referring to the friends he met at Dennie's: "Yet, yet forgive me, O ye sacred few! Whom late by Delaware's green banks I knew: I found by Delaware's green banks with you." Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING Believe me, if all those endearing young charms Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms, Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, As the sunflower turns on his god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose. 1 "The Meeting of the Waters" forms a part of that beautiful scenery which lies between Rathdrum and Arklow, in the county of Wicklow, and these lines were suggested by a visit to this romantic spot, in the summer of 1807. 2 The rivers of Avon and Avoca. |