8. I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear
The hoarse ivy shake over my head;

And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,
Some ugly old Abbot's white spirit appear;

For this wind might awaken the dead.”

9. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,
"That Mary would venture there now`:"

"Then wager, and lose," with a sneer he replied;
"I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow!"

10. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?"
His companion exclaim'd with a smile`;

"I shall win, for I know she will venture there now,
And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle."

11. With fearless good-humor did Mary comply`,
And her way to the Abbey she bent;
The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high`;
And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,
She shiver'd with cold as she went.

12. O'er the path so well known, still proceeded the maid,
Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight;

Through the gateway, she enter'd, she felt not afraid;
Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
Seem'd to deepen the gloom of the night.

13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
Howl'd dismally round the old pile;

Over weed-cover'd fragments still fearless she pass'd,
And arriv'd at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle.

14. Well pleas'd did she reach it, and quickly drew near,
And hastily gather'd the bough;

When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear;
She paus'd, and she listen'd, all eager to hear,

And her heart panted fearfully now!

15. The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head`:
She listen'd`; naught else could she hear.

The wind ceas'd`, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread,
For she heard in the ruins-distinctly—the tread

Of footsteps approaching her near.

16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,
She crept, to conceal herself there;

That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,
And between them, a corpse they did bear.

17. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by;

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold,
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it roll'd`;
She fell; and expected to die!

18. "Stop! the hat!" he exclaims; "Nay`, come on, and fast hide
The dead body!" his comrade replies.
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat, fear her courage supplied,
And fast through the Abbey she flies!

19. She ran with wild speed, she rush'd in at the door,
She look'd horribly eager around:

Her limbs could support their faint burden no more;
But exhausted and breathless, she sank on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound.

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,
When the name of her Richard she knew!

21. Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by ́,
His gibbet is now to be seen;

Not far from the inn, it engages the eye;
The traveler beholds it, and thinks with a sigh ́,
Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

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.
I know a brother's is, for I have lov'd
A trusting sister; and I know how broke
The heart may be with its own tenderness.
But the affection of a delicate child
For a fond father, gushing as it does
With the sweet springs of life, and living on
Through all earth's changes,

Must be holier !

The wind bore on

The leaden tramp of thousands. Clarion notes
Rang sharply on the ear at intervals;

And the low, mingl'd din of mighty hosts,
Returning from the battle, pour'd from far,
Like the deep murmur of a restless sea.

Jephthah led his warriors on

Through Mizpeh's streets. His helm was proudly set`,
And his stern lip curl'd slightly, as if praise
Were for the hero's scorn. His step was firm,

But free as India's leopard; and his mail,
Whose shekels none in Israel might bear",
Was lighter than a tassel on his frame.

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
One with a bounding footstep ́, and a brow

Like light, to meet him. Oh! how beautiful!
Her dark eye flashing like a sun-lit gem,
And her luxuriant hair', 't was like the sweep
Of a swift wing in visions. He stood still,

7.

8.

As if the sight had wither'd him. She threw
Her arms about his neck; he heeded not.

She called him "Father," but he answered not.
She stood and gaz'd upon him. Was he wroth"?
There was no anger in that blood-shot eye.
Had sickness seiz'd him? She unclasp'd his helm,
And laid her white hand gently on his brow.
The touch arous'd` him. He rais'd up his hands,
And spōke the name of Gōd in agony.

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
That he would tell her of his wretchedness.
He told her, and a momentary flush

Shot o'er her countenance: and then, the soul
Of Jephthah's daughter waken'd`, and she stood
Calmly and nobly up, and said, ""T is well;
And I will die!"

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,
Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious main"?
Pale glistening pearls, and rainbow-color'd shells,
Bright things, which gleam unreck'd of and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

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`!
High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle-thunders will not break their rest;
Keep thy red gold and gêms, thou stormy grave^!
Give back the true and brave.

5. Give back the lost and lovely! Those, for whom
The place was kept at board and hearth so long,
The prayer went up through midnight's breathless gloom,
And the vain yearning woke 'mid festal song!
Hold fast thy buried isles`, thy towers o'erthrown ́,
But all is not thine own!

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.
1. To whom, in brief, thus Abdiel stern replied:
Reign thou in hell, thy` kingdom; let me serve,
In heaven, God ever blest, and his divine,
Behests obey, worthiest to be obey'd;

Yet chains in hell, not realms, expect: meanwhile,
From me, (return'd, as erst thou saidst, from flight,)
This greeting on thy impious crest receive.

2. So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high,
Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell
On the proud crest of Satan, that no sight,
Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield,
Such ruin intercept. Ten paces huge

3.

He back recoil'd`; the tenth, on bended knee
His massy spear upstay'd`; as if on earth
Winds under ground, or waters forcing way
Sidelong, had push'd a mountain` from his seat,
Half sunk with all his pines.

Now storming fury rose,

And clamor such as heard in heaven till now
Was never; arms on armor clashing, bray'd
Horrible discord, and the maddening wheels