slaughtered victims into the air, and abroad over the neighboring streets. All was confusion, uproar, terror and dismay. The crowds sought safety in the houses of the nearest inhabitants, and the porches of the palaces. Aurelian and the senators, and those nearest him, fled to the interior of the temple. The heavens blazed with the quick flashing of the lightning, and the temple itself seemed to rock beneath the voice of the thunder I never knew in Rome so terrific a tempest. The stoutest trembled, for life hung by a thread. Great numbers, it has now been found, fell a prey to the fiery bolts. The capitol itself was struck, and the brass statue of Vespasian in the forum thrown down and partly melted. The Tiber in a few hours overran its banks, and laid much of the city on its borders under water. But ere long the storm was over. The retreating clouds, but still sullenly muttering in the distance as they rolled away, were gaily lighted up by the sun, which again shone forth in his splendor. The scattered limbs of the victims were collected and again laid upon the altar. Dry wood being brought, the flames quickly shot upward and consumed to the last joint and bone the sacred offerings. Fronto once more stood before the altar, and now, uninterrupted, performed the last office of the ceremony. Then around the tables spread within the temple to the honor of the gods, feasting upon the luxuries contributed by every quarter of the earth, and filling high with wine, the adverse omens of the day were by most forgotten. But not by Aurelian. No smile was seen to light up his dark countenance. The jests of Varus and the wisdom of Porphyrius alike failed to reach him. Wrapped up in his own thoughts he brooded gloomily over what had happened, and strove to read the interpretation of portents so unusual and alarming. THE MAY QUEEN.-TENNYSON. I. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear; II. There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine; But none so fair as little Alice, in all the land, they say, So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. III. I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake, If you do not call me loud when the day begins to break; But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds and garlands gay, IV. As I came up the valley whom think ye should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree? He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. V. He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. VI. They say he's dying all for love, but that can never be; They say his heart is breaking, mother-but what is that to me? There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me any summer day, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. VII. Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, And you'll be there, too, mother, to see me made the Queen; For the shepherd lads on every side 'ill come from far away, And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. VIII. The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers, IX. The night winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow-grass, X. All the valley, mother, 'ill be fresh and green and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'ill merrily glance and play, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. XI. So you must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May. NEW YEAR'S EVE. I. If you're waking call me early, call me early, mother dear, It is the last New-year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the mould and think no more of me. II. To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind; III. Last May we made a crown of flowers: we had a merry day; IV. There's not a flower on all the hills; the frost is on the pane: I wish the snow would melt and the sun come out on high: V. The buiding rook 'ill caw from the windy tall elm-tree, And the tufted plover pipe along the fallow lea, And the swallow 'ill come back again with summer o'er the wave, VI. Upon the chancel-casement, and upon that grave of mine, When you are warm-asleep, mother, and all the world is still. VII. When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light On the oat-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. VIII. You'll bury me, my mother, just beneath the hawthorn shade, And you'll come sometimes and see me where I am lowly laid; I shall not forget you, mother, I shall hear you when you pass, With your feet above my head in the long and pleasant grass. IX. I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; X. If I can I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face; Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away. XI. Good-night, good night, when I have said good-night for evermore XII. She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary floor; Let her take 'em; they are hers; I shall never garden more; XIII. Good night, sweet mother; call me before the day is born. CONCLUSION. I. I thought to pass away before, and yet alive I am; II. O sweet is the new violet, that comes beneath the skies, III. It seemed so hard at first, mother, to leave the blessed sun, And that good man, the clergyman, has told me words of peace. IV. O blessings on his kindly voice and on his silver hair! And blessings on his whole life long, until he meet me there! A thousand times I blest him, as he knelt beside my bed. V. He show'd me all the mercy, for he taught me all the sin. VI. I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or the death-watch beat, VII. All in the wild March-morning I heard the angels call; VIII. For lying broad awake I thought of you and Effie dear; I saw you sitting in the house, and I no longer here; With all my strength I pray'd for both, and so I felt resign'd, IX. I thought that it was fancy, and I listen'd in my bed, And then did something speak to me-I know not what was said; For great delight and shuddering took hold of all my mind, And up the valley came again the music on the wind. X. But you were sleeping; and I said, "It's not for them; it's mine." XI. So now I think my time is near. I trust it is. I know |