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parley, they are surely lost. This is as true here. We should reälize by act the words “ awake! arise!” in as quick, as inme. diate a succession as they were uttered by the poet. The man who springs from his bed at once on waking is the only conqueror; he shakes off the heaviness of his chain, the cloudy dulness of his slumber, the confusëdness of his dreams, and so “ Richard 's himself again.”

The first touch of light is like that of Ithuriël'sEt spear, – it strikes him, and he starts up in his proper likeness. And, 0, the happiness of the vindication! It is then, only, that we quaff the first flowings into our cup; the briskness, the spirit, the sparkling liveliness, of the young day. The early-rising man has the same conscious comfort through the day as the prudent, thrifty householder has through life; he is beforehand with the world; he has laid up something in advance, and that of no ordinary worth, but an inestimable thing, the most precious of all treasures, — Time. He takes the day by the forelock; he drives it, instead of being driven, cr, rather, dragged along by it. For my whole life through, this difficulty of early rising has been a quicksand in my course. I have set my buoys upon it at last; let others make their profit of my experience.



1. It is the midnight hour:— the beauteous sea,

Calm as the cloudless heaven, the heaven disclosed
While many a sparkling star, in quiet glee,
Far down within the watery sky reposes.

The mighty moon, she sits above,
Encircled with a zone of love;
A zone of dim and tender light,
That makes her wakeful eye more bright;
She seems to shine with a sunny ray,
And the night looks like a mellowed day.

2. And, lo! upon the murmuring waves

A glorious shape appearing!
A broad-winged vessel, through the shower

Of glimmering lustre steering! -
As if the beauteous ship enjoyed

The beauty of the sea,
She lifteth up her stately head,

And saileth joyfully.

A lovely path before her lies,

A lovely path behind ; She sails amid the loveliness

Like a thing with heart and mind.

3. Fit pilgrim through a scene so fair,

Slowly she beareth on;
A glorious phantom of the deep,

Risen up to meet the moon.
The moon bids her tenderest radiance fall

On her wavy streamer and snow-white wings,
And the quiet voice of the rocking sea

To cheer the gliding vision sings. 0! ne'er did sky and water blend

In such a holy sleep,
Or bathe in brighter quietude

A roamer of the deep.


4. But, list! a low and moaning sound

At distance heard, like a spirit's song!
And now it reigns above, around,

As if it called the ship along.
The moon is sunk, and a clouded gray

Declares that her course is run,
And, like a god who brings the day,

Up mounts the glorious sun.
Soon as his light has warmed the seas,
From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze.
And that is the spirit whose well-known song
Makes the vessel to sail in joy along.

5. No fears hath she! her giant form

O’er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm would go
'Mid the deep darkness white as snow !
But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o’er a mountain side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!
Hush, hush, thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last

6. Five hundred souls in one instant of dread

Are hurried o'er the deck ;
And fast the miserable ship

Becomes a lifeless wreck.
Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash like thunder.
Her sails are draggled in the brine,

That gladdened late the skies,
And her pennant that kissed the fair moonshine

Down many a fathom lies.
Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow-hues

Gleamed softly from below,
And Aung a warm and sunny flush

O’er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the cõral rocks are hurrying down,
To sleep amid colors as bright as their own.

7 0! many a dream was in the ship

An hour before her death ;
And sights of home with sighs disturbed

The sleeper's long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea,
The sailor heard the humming tree,

Alive through all its leaves,
The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage door,

And the swallow's song in the eaves.
llis arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy

To the dangers his father had passed;
And his wife — by turns she wept and smiled
As she looked on the father of her child

Returned to her heart at last.

8. He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll,

And the rush of waters is in his soul.
Astounded the reeling deck he paces,
'Mid hurrying forms and ghastly faces ; --

The whole ship's crew are there.
Wailings around and overhead,
Brave spirits stupefied or dead,

And madness and despair.

9. Now is the ocean's bosom bare,

Unbroken as the floating air ;
The ship hath melted quite away,
Like a struggling dream at break of day.
No image meets my wandering eye,
But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky.
Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapor dul
Bedims the waves so beautiful;
While a low and melancholy moan
Mourns for the glory that hath flown.



[Scene — The corner of two principal Streets. The Town Pump talk:

ing through its nose.]

Part FIRST 1. Noon, by the north clock! Nôon, by the east! High noon, too, by these hot sunbeams, which fall, scarcely aslope, upon my head, and almost make the water bubble and smoke in the trough53 under my nose. Truly we public characters have a tough time of it! And among all the town officers, chosen at March meeting, where is he that sustains, for a single year, the burden of such manifold duties as are imposed, in perpetuity,E1 upon the Town Pump? The title of “ town treasurer " is rightfully mine, as guardian of the best treasure that the town has. The overseers of the poor ought to make me their chairman, since I provide bountifully for the pauper, without expense to him that pays taxes. I am at the head of the fire department, and one of the physicians to the boarder of health.

2. As a keeper of the peace, all water-drinkers will confess me equal to the constable. I perform some of the duties of the town clerk, er by promulgating public notices, when they are pasted on my front. To speak within bounds, I am the chief person of the municipality, - and exhibit, moreover, an admirable pattern to my brother officers, by the cool, steady, upright, downright, and inipartial discharge of my business, and the constancy with which I stand to my post. Summer or winter, nobody seeks me in vain; for, all day long, I am seen at the busiest corner, just above the market, stretching out my arms to rich and poor alike; and at night I hold a lantern over my head, both to show where I am and keep people out of the gutters.

3. At this sultry noontide I am cupbearer to the parched populace, for whose benefit an iron62 goblet is chained to my waist. Like a dram-seller on the mall, at muster-day, I cry aloud to all and sundry in my plainest accents, and at the very tiptop of my voice, “ Here it is, gentlemen! Here is the good liquor! Walk up, walk up, gentlemen, walk up, walk up! Here is the superior stuff! Here is the unadulterated ale of father Adam, better than Cognac, Et Hollands, Jamaica, strong beer, or wine of any price; here it is by the hogshead or the single glass, and not a cent to pay! Walk up, gentlemen, walk up, and help yourselves.” ... 4. It were a pity if all this outcry should draw no customers. Here they come. A hot day, gentlemen! Quaff, and away again, so as to keep yourselves in a nice cool sweat. You, my friend, will need another cupful, to wash the dust out of your throat, if it be as thick there as it is on your cow-hide shoes. I see that you have trudged half a score of miles to-day; and, like a wise man, have passed by the taverns, and stopped at the running brooks and well-curbs. Otherwise, betwixt heat without and fire within, you would have been burnt to a cinder, or melted down to nothing at all, in the fashion of a jelly-fish. Drink, and make room for that other fellow, who seeks my aid to quench the fiery fever of last night's potations, which he drained from no cup of mine.

5. Welcome, most ru'bicunder sir! You and I have been great strangers hitherto ; nor, to express the truth, will my nose be anxious for a closer intimacy, till the fumes of your breath be a little less potent. Mercy on you, man! the water absolutely hisses down your red-hot gullet, and is converted quite to steam. Fill again, and tell me, on the word of an honest toper, did you ever, in collar, tavern, or any kind of a dram-shop, spend the price of your children's food for a swig half so delicious ? Now, for the first time these ten years, you know the flavor of cold water. Good-by; and, whenever you are thirsty,35 remember that I keep a constant supply at the old stand.

6. Who next? -0, my little friend, you are let loose from school, and come hither to scrub your blooming face, and drown the memory of certain taps of the fěr'ule, and other school-boy troubles, in a draught52 from the Town Pump. Take it, pure as the current of your young life. Take it, and may your heart and tongue never be scorched with a fiercer thirst than now! There, my dear child, put down the cup, and yield your place to this elderly gentleman, who treads so tenderly over the stones that I suspect he is afraid of breaking them.

7. What! he limps by without so much as thanking me, as if my hospitable offers were meant only for people who have no wine cellars. Well, well, sir! no harm done, I hope! Go draw the cork, tip the decanter; but when your great toe shall set you a-roaring, it will be no affair of mine. If gentlemen love the pleasant titillationer of the gout, it is all one to the Town Pump. This thirsty dog, with his red tongue lolling out, does not scorn my hospitality, but stands on his hind legs, and laps eagerly out of the trough. See how lightly he capers away again! Jowler, did your worship ever have the gout?

8. Are you all satisfied ? Then wipe your mouths,co my good friends ; ard, while my spout has a moment's lēisure, I will delight the town with a few historical reminiscences. In far antiquity, beneath a darksome shadow of venerable boughs, a spring

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