CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. NGLAND'S sun was slowly set- Filling all the land with beau Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy shadowed tower; Every evening just at sunset it has told the twilight hour; ty at the close of one sad I have done my duty ever tried to do it day, And the last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny, floating hair; He with sad bowed head and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white, Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night!" just and right: Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, point- And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright; One low murmur, scarcely spoken: "Curfew must not ring to-night!" She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church door, Left the old man coming slowly paths he'd trod so oft before; Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow aglow Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro; Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark without one ray of light, Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a Upward still, her pale lips saying, "Curfew deadly poisoned dart shall not ring to-night!" She has reached the topmost ladder; o'er her | O'er the distant hills came Cromwell; Bessie hangs the great dark bell, saw him, and her brow, And the awful gloom beneath her, like the Lately white with sickening terror, glows pathway down to hell. with sudden beauty now; See the ponderous tongue is swinging: 'tis At his feet she told her story, showed her the hour of curfew now, hands all bruised and torn, And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and worn, And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and paled her brow. Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes Touched his heart with sudden pity: lit his flash with sudden light eyes with misty light; As she springs and grasps it firmly: "Cur- "Go, your lover lives!" cried Cromwell; few shall not ring to-night!" Out she swung-far out; the city seemed a tiny speck below, There 'twixt heaven and earth suspended as the bell swung to and fro, And the half-deaf sexton ringing-years he had not heard the bell And he thought the twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell. Still the maiden, clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and white, Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!" It was o'er; the bell ceased swaying, and hundred years before Human foot had not been planted; and what she this night had done Should be told in long years after as the rays of setting sun "curfew shall not ring to-night." Let the drudge of the town make riches his sport, The slave of the state hunt the smiles of a court; No care and ambition our pastime annoy, Light the skies with mellow beauty aged sires But innocence still gives a zest to our joy. with heads of white Tell their children why the curfew did not Mankind are all hunters in various degree: The priest hunts a living; the lawyer, a fee; ring that one sad night. The doctor, a patient; the courtier, a place, Though often, like us, he's flung out in the chase. There is the fairy glen, the pools I mused in youth among, The very nook where first I poured forth unconsidered song, The cit hunts a plumb, while the soldier And stood with gladness in my heart and Let the bold and the busy hunt glory and At every door strange faces where glad looks wealth; once welcomed me; All the blessing we ask is the blessing of The sunshine faded on the hills, the music health, left the brooks; With hound and with horn through the The song of its unnumbered larks was as the voice of rooks; woodlands to roam, And when tired abroad find contentment at The plough had been in all my haunts, the home. PAUL WHITEHEAD. axe had touched the grove, And death had followed: there was naught remained for me to love. SHALL I TELL YOU WHOM I LOVE? SHALL I tell you whom I love? And if such a woman move As I now shall versify, Nature did her so much right. In as many virtues dight As e'er yet embraced a heart. So much good so truly tried, Some for less were deified. Wit she hath, without desire To make known how much she hath, Lo LOVE. OVE is too great a happiness For could it hold inviolate SAMUEL BUTLER |