FATE.

HE sky is clouded, the rocks are bare;

“THE

The spray of the tempest is white in air; The winds are out with the waves at play, And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.

"The trail is narrow, the wood is dim,

The panther clings to the arching limb;

And the lion's whelps are abroad at play,
And I shall not join in the chase to-day."

But the ship sailed safely over the sea,

And the hunters came from the chase in glee;

And the town that was builded upon a rock

Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.

IN DIALECT.