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7. Because her suffering life enfolds
Another dearer, feebler life,

In death-strong grasp her heart she holds,
And stills its torturing strife.

8. Last eve, they say, a field was won. Her eyes ask tidings of the fight;

But tell her of the dead alone

Who lay out in the night.

9. In mercy tell her that his name
Was not upon that fatal list;
That not among the heaps of slain
Dumb are the lips she's kissed.

10. Oh poor, pale child! Oh woman's heart!
Its weakness triumphed o'er by strength!
Love teaching pain discipline's art
And conquering at length !

CIX.-LINT.

ANONYMOUS.

1. Fiber by fiber, shred by shred,
It falls from her delicate hand
In feathery films, as soft and slow
As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow
In the lap of a summer land.

2. There are jewels of price in her roseate ears,
And gold round her white wrist coils ;
There are costly trifles on every hand,
And gems of art from many a land
In the chamber where she toils.

3. A rare bird sings in a gilded cage
At the open casement near;

A sun ray glints through a swaying bough,
And lights with a diamond radiance now
The dew of a falling tear!

4. A sob floats out to the summer air
With the song-bird's latest trill;
The gossamer folds of the drapery

Are waved by the swell of a long, low sigh,
And the delicate hands are still.

5. "Ah! beauty of earth is naught, is naught!
And a gilded youth is vain!

I have seen a sister's scarred face shine
With a youth and beauty all divine
By the soldier's couch of pain!

6. "I have read of another, whose passing shade
On their pillows the mangled kissed

In the far Crimea !" There are no more tears,
But she plucks the gems from her delicate ears,
And the gold from her slender wrist.

7. The bird still sings in his gilded cage ;
But the Angel in her heart

Hath stung her soul with a noble pain ;
And beauty is naught, and youth is vain,
While the Patriot's wounds still smart!

8. Fiber by fiber, shred by shred,

Still fall from her delicate hand
The feathery films, as soft and slow
As fall the flakes of a vanishing snow
In the lap of a summer land.

9. There are crimson stains on breasts and brows,
And fillets in ghastly coils;

The walls are lofty and white and bare,
And moaning echoes roll ever there

Through the chamber where she toils.

10. No glitter of gold on her slender wrist,
Nor gem in her roseate ears;

*Florence Nightingale, an English lady, who cared for her country's soldiers in the Crimean war, in 1854.

But a youth and a beauty all divine
In the face of the Christian maiden shine,
And her gems are the soldier's tears.

QUESTIONS.

First Stanza.

What is "lint," and for what is it used? What is a "fiber"? a "shred"? What are "feathery films"? Why is the snow called the "vanishing snow"? What person is chiefly spoken of in this selection?

Second Stanza.

Why should the "jewels " be mentioned? What kind of jewels are they? What is meant by "roseate ears"? What are on her "wrists"? her "hands"? What are 66

gems of

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Why is the "bird" mentioned? What is a "casement"? What is it to "glint"? What is the cause of the 66 tear"? What is a "diamond radiance "?

Fourth Stanza.

What is the song-bird's "latest trill"? Explain the third and fourth lines. What is "gossamer"? "drapery"? Why do the hands become still"? What kind of hands are

"delicate hands"?

Fifth Stanza.

.

What is meant by the statement that "beauty is naught"? Who says it? What is a "gilded youth"? Is anything said to prove that beauty of earth is naught? How can a scarred face" be beautiful?

Sixth Stanza.

What did the "mangled" kiss?

66

Why are there no

more tears"? Why does she "pluck the gems from her

delicate ears"? What do you think was done with the "gems and gold"?

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Ninth Stanza.

What are

What place is described in this stanza? "ghastly coils"? What takes place between the pictures presented in the sixth and ninth stanzas? What is the meaning of “ever” in the fourth line?

What lesson is taught in this poem? What is its general sentiment? How then ought the piece to be read?

CX.-SCENE FROM KING JOHN.,

SHAKSPEARE.

ACT. IV. Scene I. Northampton. A Room in the Castle.
Enter HUBERT, and two Attendants.

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand
Within the arras: when I strike my foot

Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth,

And bind the boy which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful. Hence, and watch. 1st Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the deed. Hubert. Uncleanly scruples: fear not you; look to't. [Exeunt Attendants]. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you.

Enter ARTHUR.

Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert.

Good morrow, little prince.

Hubert.
Arthur. As little prince (having so great a title
To be more prince) as may be.-You are sad.
Hubert. Indeed, I have been merrier.

Arthur.

Mercy on me!

Methinks nobody should be sad but I:
Yet, I remember, when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be as sad as night,
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practices more harm to me :
He is afraid of me, and I of him.

Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son?
No, indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven,

I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.

Hubert [Aside.] If I talk to him, with his innocent prate

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead:
Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch.
Arthur. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day.
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,

That I might sit all night, and watch with you:
I warrant I love you more than you do me.

Hubert [Aside.] His words do take possession of my

bosom.

Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] [Aside.] How now, foolish rheum!

Turning despiteous torture out of door?

I must be brief, lest resolution drop

Out at mine eyes in tender womanish tears.-
Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?

Arthur. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect.

Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hubert. Young boy, I must.

Arthur.

Hubert.

And will you?

And I will.

Arthur. Have you the heart? When your head did but

ache,

I knit my handkerchief about your brows,

(The best I had, a princess wrought it me,)
And I did never ask it you again :

And with my hand at midnight held your head,
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour,

Still and anon cheered up the heavy time,

Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief?
Or, What good love may I perform for you?
Many a poor man's son would have lain still,
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you;
But you at your sick service had a prince.
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love,
And call it cunning: do, an if you will.

If heaven be pleased that you will use me ill,
Why, then you must.-Will you put out mine eyes?
These eyes that never did nor never shall

So much as frown on you?

Hubert.

I have sworn to do it,

And with hot irons must I burn them out.

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