THE DYING BOY.1

I KNEW a boy, whose infant feet had trod
Upon the blossoms of some seven springs,

And when the eighth came round, and called him out
To gambol in the sun, he turned away,

And sought his chamber, to lie down and die!

'Twas night-he summoned his accustomed friends,
And, on this wise, bestowed his last bequest :-

"Mother! I'm dying now

There is deep suffocation in my breast,
As if some heavy hand my bosom prest;
And on my brow

"I feel the cold sweat stand;

My lips grow dry and tremulous, and my breath
Comes feebly up. Oh! tell me is this death?
Mother! your hand-

"Here—lay it on my wrist,

And place the other thus, beneath my head,
And say, sweet mother;—say, when I am dead,
Shall I be missed?

"Never beside your knee

Shall I kneel down again at night to pray,
Nor with the morning wake, and sing the lay

You taught to me!

(1) The deep pathos of these lines cannot but recommend them to every heart capable of feeling.

"Oh, at the time of prayer,

When you look round and see a vacant seat,
You will not wait then for my coming feet-
You'll miss me there!"

"Father! I'm going home!

To the good home you speak of, that blest land
Where it is one bright summer always, and
Storms do not come.

I must be happy then,

From pain and death you say I shall be free-
That sickness never enters there, and we
Shall meet again!”

"Brother!-the little spot

I used to call my garden, where long hours
We've stayed to watch the budding things and flowers,
Forget it not!

"Plant there some box or pineSomething that lives in winter, and will be A verdant offering to my memory,

And call it mine!"

Sister! my young rose-tree

That all the spring has been my pleasant care, Just putting forth its, leaves so green and fair, give to thee.

"And when its roses bloom,

I shall be gone away-my short life done!
But will you not bestow a single one
Upon my tomb ?"

You

"Now, mother! sing the tune

sang last night-I'm weary and must sleep! Who was it called my name ?-Nay, do not weep, You'll all come soon!"

Morning spread over earth her

rosy wings-
And that meek sufferer, cold and ivory pale,
Lay on his couch asleep! The gentle air
Came through the open window, freighted with
The savoury odours of the early spring-
He breathed it not !—The laugh of passers by
Jarred like a discord in some mournful tune,
But marrèd not his slumbers-he was dead!

Anonymous.

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye:
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem,
But one alone the Saviour speaks-
It is the star of Bethlehem!

Once on the raging seas I rode;

The storm was loud, the night was dark;
The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed

The wind that tossed my foundering bark;
Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose-

It was the star of Bethlehem!

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace:
Now, safely moored, my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever and for evermore

The star-the star of Bethlehem!

METRICAL FEET.

TROCHEE trips from lōng to shōrt;

From long to long, in solemn sort,

Slow Spōndee stalks; strong foot! yet ill able

Evěr to come up with Dactyl trĭsyllǎblě.

Iambics march from shōrt to lōng;

Kirke White.

With ǎ leap and ǎ bound the swift Anăpæsts thrōng;
One syllable long, with one short at each side,

Amphibrǎchy's hastes with a stately stride;

First and last being lõng, middle shōrt, Amphĭmacer

Strikes his thundering hoofs like ǎ proud high-bred racer.

N

Coleridge.

THE HOMERIC HEXAMETER DESCRIBED AND
EXEMPLIFIED.1

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

STRONGLY it bears us along in swelling and limitless billows, Nothing before and nothing behind but the sky and the ocean Coleridge.

THE OVIDIAN ELEGIAC METRE DESCRIBED AND EXEMPLIFIED.2

FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHILLER.

In the Hexameter rises the fountain's silvery column;
In the Pentameter aye falling in melody back.

ON A CATARACT.3

FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG.

UNPERISHING Youth!4

Thou leapest from forth

The cell of thy hidden nativity;

Never mortal saw

The cradle of the strong one;

Coleridge.

(1) Though brief, these specimens of versification are of rare beauty, and finely exemplify the flexibility of our native tongue.

The scheme is:

ཆ |

The original German is subjoined:

"Schwindelnd trägt er dich fort auf rastlos strömenden Wogen;
Hinter dir siehst du, du siehst vor dir nur Himmel und Meer."

"Im Hexameter steigt des Springquells flüssige Säule ;

Im Pentameter drauf fällt sie melodisch herab."

(3) These lines-a transfusion rather than a translation of Stolberg's conceptions as a specimen of pure rhymth without rhyme, are perhaps unparalleled in the English language. They are musical, vigorous, and in every sense adapted to the subject; even, perhaps, in their occasional obscurity.

(4) Unperishing youth-i. e. the torrent is boldly personified as a sort of infant Hercules.

Never mortal heard

The gathering of his voices;

The deep murmured' charm of the son of the rock,
That is lisped evermore at his slumberless fountain.
There's a cloud at the portal, a spray-woven veil
At the shrine of his ceaseless renewing;

It embosoms the roses of dawn,

It entangles the shafts of the noon,

And into the bed of its stillness

The moonshine sinks down as in slumber,

That the son of the rock, that the nursling of heaven,
May be born in a holy twilight!

Coleridge.

AGAINST CRUELTY TO ANIMALS.

THE heart is hard in nature, and unfit
For human fellowship, as being void
Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike
To love and friendship both, that is not pleased
With sight of animals enjoying life,

Nor feels their happiness augment his own.
I would not enter on my list of friends
(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility,) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
An inadvertent step may crush the snail
That crawls at evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarned,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too. The spring time of our years
Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all.
Mercy to him that shows it,3 is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,

(1) Deep murmured, &c.—the gurgling of the water on issuing from the spring. (2) Embosoms, &c.-i. e. the veil of mist catches the rosy tints of the morning,

as well as the more direct beams of noon.

(3) "Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy." Matt. v. 7.