8. I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear, For this wind might awaken the dead.” 9. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "Then wager, and lose," with a sneer he replied; 10. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, 11. With fearless good-humor did Mary comply`, 12. O'er the path so well known, still proceeded the maid, Through the gateway, she enter'd, she felt not afraid; 13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd, Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle. 14. Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear; And her heart panted fearfully now! 15. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head`: The wind ceas'd`, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, Of footsteps approaching her near. 16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, 17. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold, 18. "Stop! the hat!" he exclaims; "Nay`, come on, and fast hide 19. She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door, Her limbs could support their faint burden no more; 20. Ere yet her pale lips could her story impart, For a moment, the hat met her view: Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, O Heaven! what cold horror thrill'd through her heart, 21. Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by ́, Not far from the inn, it engages the eye; XXXIX. JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. FROM N. P. WILLIS. FOR the scene which this describes, see the eleventh chapter of the Book of Judges, from the 29th verse through. 1. SHE stood before her father's gorgeous tent, To listen for his coming. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. I have thought, A brother's and a sister's love was much. Must be holier ! The wind bore on The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes And the low, mingl'd din of mighty hosts, Jephthah led his warriors on Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set`, But free as India's leopard; and his mail, His crest was Judah's kingliest, and the look Of his dark, lofty eye might quell a lion. He led on; but thoughts Seem'd gathering round which troubled him. The veins Upon his forehead were distinctly seen, And his proud lip was painfully compress'd. He trod less firmly`; and his restless eye Glanc'd forward frequently, as if some ill He dar'd not meet, were there. His home was near, And men were thronging, with that strange delight They have in human passions, to observe The struggle of his feelings with his pride. He gaz'd intensely forward. A moment more, And he had reach'd his home; when lo! there sprang Like light, to meet him. Oh! how beautiful! 7. 8. As if the sight had wither'd him. She threw She called him "Father," but he answered not. She knew that he was stricken then, and rush'd Again into his arms, and with a flood Of tears she could not stay, she sobb'd a prayer Shot o'er her countenance: and then, the soul And when the sun had set, Then she wās dēad-but not by violence. 1. WHAT hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells, We ask not such from thee`. 2. Yet more, thy depths have more!-What wealth untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness, lies? Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold, Won from ten thousand royal argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful main ́! Earth claims not these again! 3. Yet more, thy depths have more! Thy waves have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by. Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old. Sea-weed o'ergrown the halls of revelry: Dash o'er them, ocean, in thy scornful play! Man yields thêm to decay. 4. Yet more! thy billows and thy depths have more`! The battle-thunders will not break their rest; 5. Give back the lost and lovely! Those, for whom XLI. BATTLE IN HEAVEN. FROM MILTON. JOHN MILTON, the acknowledged prince of British poets, was born in London, in 1608. In early life he was a diligent student, and before he attained the age of seventeen, knew six languages almost as familiarly as his own. His immortal poem, the Paradise Lost, was written after he was stricken with blindness. In the latter part of his life he lived in retirement, and died in 1674. This lesson is adapted to the cultivation of a low tone. Yet chains in hell, not realms, expect: meanwhile, 2. So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high, 3. He back recoil'd`; the tenth, on bended knee Now storming fury rose, And clamor such as heard in heaven till now |