And they made a molten image,
And set it up on high,

And there it stands unto this day
To witness if I lie.

It stands in the Comitium,
Plain for all folk to see,
Horatius in his harness,
Halting upon one knee;
And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,

How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

*

*

*

*

*

And in the nights of winter,

When the cold north winds blow,
And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow;
When round the lonely cottage
Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus
Roar louder yet within;

When the oldest cask is opened,
And the largest lamp is lit,

When the chestnuts glow in the embers,
And kid turns on the spit;

When young and old in circle

Around the firebrands close;
When the girls are weaving baskets,
And the lads are shaping bows;

When the goodman mends his armour,
And trims his helmet's plume;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily
Goes flashing through the loom ;
With weeping and with laughter
Still is the story told,

How well Horatius kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.

MACAULAY.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh, quit this mortal frame;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper,-Angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,—
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath,-
Tell, me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes: it disappears

Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
Oh! Grave! where is thy victory?

Oh! Death! where is thy sting?

РОРЕ.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS.

Ir was the schooner Hesperus,

That sailed the wintry sea;

And the skipper had taken his little daughter,

To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes, as the fairy-flax,
Her cheeks like the dawn of day,

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds,
That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm,
With his pipe in his mouth,

And watched how the veering flaw did blow
The smoke now West now South.

Then up and spake an old sailor,
Had sailed the Spanish Main,
"I pray thee, put into yonder port,
For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring,

And to-night no moon we see!

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe,
And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind,
A gale from the North-east;
The snow fell hissing in the brine,
And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm and smote amain
The vessel in its strength;

She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed,
Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter,

And do not tremble so;

For I can weather the roughest gale,

That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat,

Against the stinging blast;

He cut a rope from a broken spar,

And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring,

""Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!

And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?"

"Some ship in distress, that cannot live, In such an angry sea!"

“O father! I see a gleaming light,

O say, what may it be?'

But the father answered never a word :

A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark,

With his face to the skies,

:

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she may be ;

And she thought of Christ who stilled the waves On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear,
Through the whistling sleet and snow,

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between
A sound came from the land;

It was the sound of the trampling surf
On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.