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She gave me for my pains a world of sighs;
She swore—in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange,
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful-
She wished she had not heard it, yet she wished
That heaven had niade her such a man:she thanked


And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had passed,
And I loved her that she did pity them.


“ I HEAR thee speak of the better land,
Thou call'st its children a happy band;
Mother! O where is that radiant shore,
Shall we not seek it and weep no more?
Is it where the flower of the orange blows,
And the fire-flies dance through the myrtle boughs ?”

“Not there, not there, my child !”
“ Is it where the feathery palm trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ?
Or midst the green islands on glittering seas,
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange bright birds, on their starry wings,
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?”

“Not there, not there, my child !” “Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the secret mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand, Is it there, sweet mother, that better land ?

“Not there, not there, my child !”

“Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy!
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair-
Sorrow and death may not enter there:
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb,

It is there, it is there, my child !”

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore 'mid snow and ice,
A banner, with the strange device,

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,

In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
And from his lips escaped a groan,

Excelsior! . “ Try not the Pass !” the old man said ; “ Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide!” And loud that clarion voice replied, . Excelsior ! “O stay!” the maiden said, “and rest Thy weary head upon this breast !” A tear stood in his bright blue eye, But still he answered, with a sigh,


“ Beware the pine-tree's withered branch !
Beware the awful avalanche !”
This was the peasant's last good night!
A voice replied, far up the height,


At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft repeated prayer,
A voice cried through the startled air,


A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,
Still grasping in his hand of ice
That banner, with the strange device,


There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay,
And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,


. WIFE'S DUTY.-Shakspeare.

FYE! fỹe! unknit that threatening unkind brow ;
And dart not scornful glances from those eyes,
To wound thy lord, thy king, thy governor : ;
It blots thy beauty, as frosts bite the meads;
Confounds thy frame, as whirlwinds shake fair buds;
And in no sense is meet, or amiable.
A woman moved, is like a fountain troubled, '
Muddy, ill-seeming, hick, bereft of beauty :
And, while it is so, none so dry or thirsty ;
Will deign to sip, or touch one drop of it.

Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper,
Thy head, thy sovereign ; one that cares for thee,
And for thy maintenance : commits his body
To painful labour, both by sea and land;
To watch the night in storms, the day in cold,
While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ;
And craves no other tribute at thy hands,
But love, fair looks, and true obedience ;-
Too little payment for so great a debt.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
Even such, a woman oweth to her husband :
And, when she's froward, peevish, sullen, sour,
And not obedient to his honest will,
What is she but a foul contending rebel,
And graceless traitor to her loving lord ?-
I am ashamed, that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy, or sway,
When they are bound to serve, love, and obey.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth,
Unapt to toil and trouble in the world ;.
But that our soft condition, and our hearts,
Should well agree with our external parts ?


COME listen to another song,

Should make your heart beat high, '.
Bring crimson to your forehead,

And the lustre to your eye;-
It is a song of olden time

Of days long since gone by,
-. And of a Baron stout and bold

As e'er wore sword on thigh !
Like a brave old Scottish cavalier,

All of the olden time! ...,

He kept his castle in the north,

Hard by the thundering Spey;
And a thousand vassals dwelt around,

All of his kindred they,
And not a man of all that clan

Had ever ceased to pray
For the Royal race they loved so well,
Though exiled far away
From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers,

All of the olden time !

His father drew the righteous sword

For Scotland and her claims, Among the loyal gentlemen

And chiefs of ancient names,
Who swore to fight or fall beneath

The standard of King James,
And died at Killicrankie pass
With the glory of the Græmes;
Like a true old Scottish cavalier,

All of the olden time!

He never owned the foreign rule,

No master he obeyed,
But kept his clan in peace at home,

From foray and from raid ;
And when they asked him for his oath,

He touched his glittering blade,
And pointed to his bonnet blue,
That bore the white cockade :
Like a leal old Scottish cavalier,

All of the olden time!

At length the news ran through the land

The PRINCE had come again ! That night the fiery cross was sped

O’er mountain and through glen;

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