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: Now I'm old, I will not miss it. Girl, the curfew rings to-night!" Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow, And within her heart's deep centre Bessie made a solemn vow. She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, "At the ringing of the curfew Basil Underwood must die." "Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, point- And her breath came fast and faster, and her 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 แ 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 hunts fame; The poet, a dinner; the patriot, a name; And the practised coquette, though she seems to refuse, In spite of her airs still her lover pursues. bright hope on my brow: Ah! I had other visions then than I have visions now. I went into my native vale. Alas! what did I see? 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, With hound and with horn through the The song of its unnumbered larks was as the voice of rooks; woodlands to roam, left the brooks; 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. Drumlanrig with thy towers, There stands the tottering tower I climbed Keir with thy pasture-mountains green, and won the falcon's brood: There flows the stream I've trysted through Carse with thy lily banks and braes, and when it was wild in flood; Blackwood with thy bowers, And, fair Dalswinton, with thy walks of scented thorn and holly, Where some had toiled the day and shared the night 'tween sense and folly, Farewell, farewell! Your flowers will glad the bird and feed the bee, And charm ten thousand hearts, although no more they'll gladden me. I stood within my native vales, fast by the river brink, And saw the long and yellow corn 'neath shining sickles sink; I heard the fair-haired maidens wake of thy latter day, And her anger flames no higher Than may fitly sweeten wrath, Full of pity as may be, Though perhaps not so to me. Reason masters every sense, And her virtues grace her birth; Lovely as all excellence, Modest in her most of mirth; Likelihood enough to prove Only worth could kindle love. Such she is; and if songs know you Such a one as I have sung, Be she brown or fair, or so, That she be but somewhile young, Be assured 'tis she, or none, That I love, and love alone. And joyed to see the bandsmen smile, albeit their locks were gray; I thought on mine own musings, when men shook their tresses hoary, And said, "Alas!" and named my name, "thou art no heir of glory." ALLAN CUNNINGHAM. WILLIAM BROWNE L LOVE. OVE is too great a happiness For wretched mortals to possess ; For could it hold inviolate SAMUEL BUTLER. SELECTIONS FROM THE GREEK OF A ALCEUS. LCEUS was a native of Mitylene, on the island of Lesbos. He was born between 611 and 620 B. C. His family was influential and powerful, and he himself early joined Pittacus and others to relieve his native city from the tyranny of Melanchrus, whom they deposed and slew. Alcæus was the inventor of the metre which bears his name, and his muse embraced every variety of subject; but, unfortunately, only a few fragments of his poetry remain. He was a friend of Sappho, the Greek poetess. THE CONSTITUTION OF A STATE. What constitutes a state? Of linen roll'd; Not high-raised battlements or labored And shields that in the battle-fray mounds, Thick wall or moated gate; Not cities fair with spires and turrets crown'd. No! Men-high-minded men With powers as far above dull brutes endued, In forest, brake or den, The routed losers of the day Have cast away. Euboean falchions too are seen, As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude; The spoils of chiefs in war renowned, Men who their duties know, maintain, May there be found. But know their rights, and, knowing, dare These, and all else that here you see Prevent the long-aimed blow, chain. POVERTY. The worst of ills, and hardest to endure-- Is Penury, who with her sister-mate, THE STORM. Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep, Whilst we, betwixt them o'er the deep, In shatter'd tempest-beaten bark, With laboring ropes, are onward driven, The billows dashing o'er our dark Upheavèd deck; in tatters riven Our sails, whose yawning rents between The raging sea and sky are seen. Translation of ABRAHAM MILLS, A. M. |