Tell. Not even to know that, would I in so When I wedded thee, with what pride I used To walk these hills, and look up to my God, How happy was I in it then! I loved For two-a-breast to pass? O'ertaken there By the mountain blast, I've laid me flat, along; And I have thought of other lands, whose storms Are summer flaws to those of mine, and just Have wish'd me there the thought that mine was free Blow on! This is the land of liberty! JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. A PSALM OF LIFE. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints that perhaps another, Let us then be up and doing, LONGFELLOW. SIR BALAAM. WHERE London's column, pointing at the skies, A plain good man, and Balaam was his name: His word would pass for more than he was worth. And added pudding solemnized the Lord's: The devil was piqued such saintship to behold, And tempts by making rich, not making poor. Roused by the Prince of Air, the whirlwinds sweep The surge, and plunge his father in the deep; Then full against his Cornish lands they roar, And two rich shipwrecks bless the lucky shore. Sir Balaam now, he lives like other folks, He takes his chirping pint, and cracks his jokes : An honest factor stole a gem away: He pledged it to the knight; the knight had wit, Some scruple rose, but thus he eased his thought, "I'll now give sixpence where I gave a groat; Where once I went to church I'll now go twice— And am so clear, too, of all other vice." The tempter saw his time; the work he plied; Stocks and subscriptions pour on every side, Till all the Demon makes his full descent In one abundant shower of cent. per cent., Sinks deep within him, and possesses whole, Then dubs " director," and secures his soul. Behold, Sir Balaam, now a man of spirit, Things change their titles as our manners turn. There (so the devil ordained) one Christmas-tide A nymph of quality admires our knight, He marries, bows at court, and grows polite : Leaves the dull cits, and joins (to please the fair) The well-bred cuckolds in St. James's square: In Britain's senate he a seat obtains, And one more pensioner St. Stephen gains. My lady falls to play; so bad her chance, He must repair it; takes a bribe from France; The House impeach him; Coningsby harangues; The court forsake him, and Sir Balaam hangs. |