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Rush on to death, or to his work to cling,

And leave his boy unhelped to meet his fate; Which should he do? Were you, as he was tried, Would not your love outweight all else beside?

And yet the child to him was full as dear

As yours may be to you-the light of eyes, A presence like a brighter atmosphere,

The household star that shone in love's mild skies

Yet side by side with duty, stern and grim,
Even his child became as nought to him.

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My last sight upon earth may be
To see that ensign fly!"
Meanwhile the shapeless iron mass
Came moving o'er the wave,
As gloomy as a passing hearse,
As silent as the grave.

Her ports were closed; from stem to sten
No sign of life appeared:

We wondered, questioned, strained our eyes,
Joked-every thing, but feared.

She reached our range. Our broadside rang; Our heavy pivots roared;

And shot and shell, a fire of hell,

Against her side we poured.

God's mercy! from her sloping roof
The iron tempest glanced,
As hail bounds from a cottage-thatch,
And round her leaped and danced;

Or when against her dusky hull

We struck a fair, full blow,
The mighty, solid iron globes
Were crumbled up like snow.

On, on, with fast increasing speed,
The silent monster came,
Though all our starboard battery
Was one long line of flame.

She heeded not; no guns she fired;
Straight on our bows she bore;
Through riving plank and crashing frame
Her furious way she tore.

Alas! our beautiful, keen bow,
That in the fiercest blast
So gently folded back the seas,
They hardly felt we passed.

Alas! alas! my Cumberland,

That ne'er knew grief before, To be so gored, to feel so deep The tusk of that sea-boar!

Once more she backward drew apace;
Once more our side she rent,
Then, in the wantonness of hate,
Her broadside through us sent.

The dead and dying round us lay,
But our foemen lay abeam;
Her open port-holes maddened us,
We fired with shout and scream.

We felt our vessel settling fast ; We knew our time was brief: "Ho! man the pumps !" But they who worked And fought not, wept with grief.

From captain down to powder-boy,
No hand was idle then :
Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,
Fought on like sailor men.

And when a gun's crew lost a hand,
Some bold marine stepped out,
And jerked his braided jacket off,
And hauled the gun about.

Our forward magazine was drowned,

And up from the sick-bay

Crawled out the wounded, red with blood,
And round us gasping lay;-

Yes, cheering, calling us by name,
Struggling with failing breath
To keep their shipmates at the post
Where glory strove with death.

With decks afloat and powder gone,
The last broadside we gave
From the guns' heated iron lips
Burst out beneath the wave.

So sponges, rammers, and handspikes-
As men-of-war's men should-

We placed within their proper racks,
And at our quarters stood.

"Up to the spar deck! save yourselves!"
Cried Selfridge. "Up, my men!
God grant that some of us may live
To fight yon ship again!"

We turned: we did not like to go;
Yet staying seemed but vain,
Knee-deep in water; so we left;

Some swore, some groaned with pain.

We reached the deck. There Randall stood: "Another turn, men-so!" Calmly he aimed his pivot gun :

"Now, Tenny, let her go!"

It did our sore hearts good to hear
The song our pivot sang,
As rushing on from wave to wave
The whirring bomb-shell sprang.

Brave Randall leaped upon the gun,
And waved his cap in sport;

"Well done! well aimed! I saw that shell
Go through an open port!"

It was our last, our deadliest shot;
The deck was overflown;

The poor ship staggered, lurched to port,
And gave a living groan.

Down, down, as headlong through the waves
Our gallant vessel rushed;

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HE breeze had been fresh all day, with more sea than usual, and they had made great progress. At sunset they had stood again to the west, and were ploughing the waves at a rapid rate, the Pinta keeping the head, from her superior sailing. The greatest animation prevailed throughout the ships: not an eye was closed that night. As the evening darkened, Columbus took his station on the top of the castle or cabin on a high poop of his vessel, ranging his eye along the dusky horizon, and maintaining an intense and unremitting watch. About ten o'clock, he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a great distance. Fearing his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king's bedchamber, and inquired whether he saw such a light; the latter replied in the affirmative. Doubtful whether it might not yet be some delusion of the fancy, Columbus called Rodrigo Sanchez, of Segovia, and made the same inquiry. By the time the latter had ascended the round-house, the light had disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterwards in sudden and passing

ing graves;

Though hid till now, yet now behold the new world o'er the seas!

gleams, as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisher- | Yea, trust the guiding God, and go along the floatman, rising and sinking with the waves, or in the hand of some person on shore, borne up and down as he walked from house to house. So transient and uncertain were these gleams, that few attached any importance to them; Columbus, however, considered them as certain signs of land, and, moreover, that the land was inhabited.

They continued their course until in the morning, when a gun from the Pinta gave the joyful signal of land. It was first descried by a mariner named Rodrigo de Triana; but the reward was afterwards adjudged to the admiral for having previously perceived the light. The land was now clearly seen about two leagues distant; whereupon they took in sail, and lay to, waiting impatiently for the dawn.

The thoughts and feelings of Columbus in this little space of time must have been tumultuous and intense. At length, in spite of every difficulty and danger, he had accomplished his object. The great mystery of the ocean was revealed; his theory, which had been the scoff of sages, was triumphantly established; he had secured to himself a glory durable as

the world itself.

With genius, nature stands in solemn union still,
And ever what the one foretells, the other shall ful-
fill.
Frederic Schiller.

SHERIDAN'S RIDE.

P from the South at break of day,
Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay,
The

affrighted air with a shudder bore,
Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door,
The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar,
Telling the battle was on once more,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.
And wider still those billows of war
Thundered along the horizon's bar;
And louder yet into Winchester rolled
The roar of that red sea uncontrolled,
Making the blood of the listener cold,
As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,
And Sheridan twenty miles away.

It is difficult to conceive the feelings of such a man at such a moment, or the conjectures which must have thronged upon his mind, as to the land before But there is a road from Winchester town, him, covered with darkness. That it was fruitful was A good, broad highway leading down ; evident from the vegetables which floated from its And there through the flush of the morning light, shores. He thought, too, that he perceived the fra- A steed as black as the steeds of night, grance of aromatic groves. The moving light he Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight. had beheld proved it the residence of man. But As if he knew the terrible need, what were its inhabitants? Were they like those of He stretched away with his utmost speed; the other parts of the globe; or were they some Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, strange and monstrous race, such as the im- With Sheridan fifteen miles away. agination was prone in those times to give to all re- Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering south, mote and unknown regions? Had he come upon The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; some wild island far in the Indian Sea; or was this Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, the famed Cipango itself, the object of his golden Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. fancies? A thousand speculations of the kind must The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master have swarmed upon him, as, with his anxious crew's, Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, he waited for the night to pass away, wondering Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; whether the morning light would reveal a savage wil-Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, derness, or dawn upon spicy groves, and glittering With Sheridan only ten miles away. fanes, and gilded cities, and all the splendor of oriental civilization.

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TEER on, bold sailor; wit may mock thy soul
that sees the land,

And hopeless, at the helm, may droop the
weak and weary hand;

Under his spurning feet, the road
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind
Like an ocean flying before the wind,
And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire,
But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire;
Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire.
He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,
With Sheridan only five miles away.

Yet ever, ever to the west, for there the coast must The first that the General saw were the groups lie,

Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; And dim it dawns, and glimmery dawns, before thy What was done-what to do-a glance told him both, reason's eye;

And striking his spurs, with a terrible oath,

He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, be

cause

The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
With foam and with dust the black charger was gray;
By the flash of his eye, and his red nostril's play,
He seemed to the whole great army to say,
"I have brought you Sheridan all the way
From Winchester down, to save the day."

Hurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!

Hurrah, hurrah for horse and man!

And when their statues are placed on high,
Under the dome of the Union sky-
The American soldiers' Temple of Fame,
There with the glorious General's name,
Be it said in letters both bold and bright:
"Here is the steed that saved the day
By carrying Sheridan into the fight,
From Winchester-twenty miles away!”
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ

NORVAL.

Y name is Norval: on the Grampian hill
My father feeds his flocks a frugal swain,
Whose constant care was to increase his
store,

And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I longed
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rushed like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety and for succor. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hovered about the enemy, and marked
The road he took, then hastened to my friend:
Whom with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil encumbered foe.

We fought and conquered. Ere a sword was drawn
An arrow from my bow had pierced their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdained
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summoned his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,

I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps-
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I passed these towers
And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.

JOHN HOME.

THE RIDE OF PAUL VENAREZ.

AUL VENAREZ heard them say, in the frontier town, that day,

That a band of Red Plume's warriors was

upon the trail of death; Heard them tell of murder done-three men killed at Rocky Run.

"They're in danger up at Crawford's," said Venarez, under breath.

"Crawford's"-thirty miles away-was a settlement, that lay

In a green and pleasant valley of the mighty wilder

ness;

Half a score of homes was there, and in one a maiden

fair

Held the heart of Paul Venarez-" Paul Venarez' little Bess."

So no wonder he grew pale when he heard the settler's

tale

Of the men he had seen murdered yesterday, at Rocky Run.

"Not a soul will dream," he said, "of the danger that's ahead;

By my love for little Bessie, I must see that something's done."

Not a moment he delayed, when his brave resolve was made.

"Why, my man," his comrades told him when they knew his daring plan,

"You are going straight to death." But he answered, "Save your breath,

I may fail to get to Crawford's but I'll do the best I can."

O'er the forest rail he sped, and his thoughts flew on ahead

To the little band at Crawford's, thinking not of danger near.

"Oh, God help me save," cried he, "little Bess!" And

fast and free

Trusty Nell bore on the hero of the far-away frontier. Low and lower sank the sun. He drew rein at Rocky Run;

"Here these men met death, my Nellie," and he

stroked his horse's mane:

"So will they we go to warn, ere the breaking of the morn,

If we fail, God help us, Nellie!" Then he gave his horse the rein.

Sharp and keen a rifle-shot woke the echoes of the spot. "Oh, my Nellie, I am wounded," cried Venarez with a

moan,

And the warm blood from his side spurted out in a red tide,

And he trembled in the saddle, and his face had ashy

grown.

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"I will save them yet," he cried. "Bessie Lee shall To yield to that foe meant worse than death; And the men and we all worked on;

know I died For her sake." And then he halted in the shelter of It was one day more of smoke and roar, And then it would all be done. a hill:

From his buckskin shirt he took, with weak hands a little book;

And he tore a blank leaf from it. "This," said he "shall be my will."

From a branch a twig he broke, and he dipped his pen

of oak

In the red blood that was dripping from the wound below the heart.

"Rouse," he wrote, "before too late. Red Plume's

warriors lie in wait.

There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair, young, gentle thing,
Wasted with fever in the siege,

And her mind was wandering.

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knees;

"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she
said,

"Oh! then please wauken me."

Good-by, Bess! God bless you always." Then he She slept like a child on her father's floor,

felt the warm tears start.

Then he made his message fast, love's first letter, and its last;

In the flecking of woodbine-shade,
When the house-dog sprawls by the open door,
And the mother's wheel is stayed.

To his saddle-bow he tied it, while his lips were white It was smoke and roar and powder-stench, with pain.

And hopelessly waiting for death;

"Bear my message, if not me, safe to little Bess," said And the soldier's wife, like a full-tired child, he.

Then he leaned down in the saddle, and clutched

hard the sweaty mane.

Just at dusk, a horse of brown, flecked with foam, panting down

came

Seemed scarce to draw her breath.

I sank to sleep; and I had my dream
Of an English village-lane,

And wall and garden ;-but one wild scream
Brought me back to the roar again.

To the settlement at Crawford, and she stopped at There Jessie Brown stood listening
Bessie's door.

Till a sudden gladness broke

But her rider seemed asleep. Ah, his slumber was so All over her face; and she caught my hand deep

Bessie's voice could never wake him, if she called forever more.

And drew me near as she spoke :

"The Hielanders! O, dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa?

You will hear the story told by the young and by the The McGregor's-O, I ken it weel; old

In the settlement at Crawford's, of the night when

Red Plume came;

Of the sharp and bloody fight; how the chief fell, and
the flight

Of the panic-stricken warriors. Then they speak
Venarez' name

It's the grandest o' them a'!
"God bless the bonny Hielanders!

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried;
And fell on her knees; and thanks to God
Flowed forth like a full-flood tide.

Along the battery-line her cry
Had fallen among the men,

In an awed and reverent way, as men utter "Let us And they started back ;-they were there to die; pray,"

As we speak the name of heroes, thinking how they

lived and died;

So his memory is kept green, while his face and heaven

between

Grow the flowers Bessie planted, ere they laid her by his side.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

THAT last day in Lucknow fort!

We knew that it was the last;
That the enemy's lines crept surely on,
And the end was coming fast.

But was life so near them, then?
They listened for life; the rattling fire

Far off, and the far-off roar,

Were all; and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

But Jessie said, "The slogan's done;

But winna ye hear it noo?

The Campbells are comin'! It's no a dream
Our succors hae broken through!"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,

But the pipes we could not hear;

So the men plied their work of hopeless wa
And knew that the end was near.

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