Stream from the church-tower, red and high-
A lurid 1 mark and dread to see;

And awesome bells they were to mee,
That in the dark rang "Enderby."

18. They rang, the sailor lads to guide

From roofe to roofe who fearlèss rowed;
And I-my sonne was at my side,

And yet the ruddy beacon glowed;

And yet he moaned beneath his breath,

66

"O come in life, or come in death!

O lost! my love, Elizabeth."

19. And didst thou visit him no more?

Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare;

The waters laid thee at his dōore,

Ere yet the early dawn was clear.
Thy pretty bâirns in fåst embrace,
The lifted sun shōne on thy face,
Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place.

20. That flow strewed wrecks åbout the gråss,
That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea;

A fatal ebbe and flōw, ålås !

To manye mōre than myne and mee:
But each will mōurn his own (she sayth);
And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.

21. I shall never hear her mōre

By the reedy Lindis shōre,
"Cushȧ, Cushȧ, Cushȧ!" calling
Ere the early dews be falling;

I shall never hear her song,

22. I shall never see her mōre

Where the reeds and rushes quiver,

Shiver, quiver;

Stand beside the sobbing river,
Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling,
To the sandy lonesome shōre;
I shall never hear her calling--
"Leave your meadow gråsses mellōw,
Mellow, mellow;

Quit your eowslips, cowslips yellow;
Come uppe Whitefoot, come uppe Lightfoot;
Quit your pipes of parsley hollow,

TH

HE WIND, one môrning, sprang up from sleep,
Saying, "Now for å frolic! now for a leap!

Now for a madcap galloping chase!

I'll make a commotion1 in every place!"

2

2. So it swept with ȧ bustle right through a great town,
Creaking the signs, and scattering down

Shutters, and whisking, with mercilèss squalls,
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls.
There never was heard a much lustier shout,

3

As the apples and oranges tumbled about;

4

And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes
Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

1 Com mō'tion, distûrbed or fōrci

ble motion; disorder.

2 Bustle (bus'l), great stir.

3 Lus'ti er, healthier; stronger.

4 Urchin (er'chin), å mischievous child.

3. Then ȧway to the fields it went blustering and humming,
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming.
It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly1 eows,
And tossed the colts' manes all åbout their brows-
Till, offended at such a familiar salute,

They all tûrned their backs, and stood silently mute.2
4. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks;
Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks;
Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveler grave on the king's highway.

5. It was not too nice to bustle the bags

Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags. "Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. 6. Through the fŏrèst it rōared, and cried gayly, “Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!"

And it made them bow without more ȧdo,

Or it cracked their great branches through and through. 7. Then it rushed, like å monster, o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm;

And they ran out, like bees, in a midsummer swarm.
There were dames, with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,
To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;

The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed ȧloud,
And the hens crept to roost, in a terrified crowd :
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.
8. But the wind had påssed on, and had met in å lane

With a schoolboy, who pȧnted and struggled in vain ;
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood,
With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. HOWITT. 5

1 Mā' tron ly, elderly; like å mother.

2 Müte, hindered from speaking; silent; å dumb attendant, often employed as an executioner in Turkey.

3 Sturdy (ster'di), stiff; strong. 4 Thǎtch, straw, tûrf, or other covering.

5 William Howitt, an English author, was born in 1795. He was married to Miss Mary Botham in 1823. They have prepared many books, both jointly and separately, in prose and verse. Their writings generally are věry popular, and none more so than their juvenile books.

II.

38. THE SEPTEMBER GALE.

'M NOT a chicken; I have seen

I'M many & chill September

And though I was a youngster then,
That gale I well remember.

The day before, my kite-string snapped,
And I, my kite pursuing,

The wind whisked off my pälm-leaf hat :--
For me two storms were brewing!1
2. It came as quarrels sometimes do,
When married pâirs get clashing;
There was a heavy sigh or two,
Before the fire was flashing;
A little stir ȧmong the clouds,
Before they rent åsunder;
A little rocking of the trees-

And then came on the thunder.

3. Oh, how the ponds and rivers boiled,
And how the shingles rattled!

And oaks were scattered on the ground,
As if the Titans 2 battled;
And all above was in a howl,
And all below a clatter-
The earth was like a frying-pan,
Or some such hissing matter.

4. It chanced to be our washing-day,
And all our things were drying;-
The storm came roaring through the lines,
And set them all ȧ-flying:

I saw the shirts and petticoats
Go riding off, like witches;

I lost, ah! bitterly I wept-
I lost my Sunday breeches !s

1 Brewing (brọʻing), see Rule 4,

p. 26.

2

3 Breeches (brich'ez), å kind of short trowşers or pantaloons, wōrn

Ti'tans, the fabled giants of the by men and boys, covering the hips

ancients.

and thighs.

5. I saw them straddling through the âir,
Alas! too late to win them;

I saw them chase the clouds, as if
A demon had been in them;
They were my darlings and my pride,
My boyhood's only riches:

66

Farewell, farewell," I faintly cried,
"My breeches! O my breeches !"

6. That night I saw them in my dreams-
How changed from what I knew them!
The dews had steeped their faded thread,
The winds had whistled through them;
I saw the wide and ghåstly rents,

Where demon claws had tōrn them;
A hole was in their ǎmplèst part,
As if an imp had worn them.

7. I have had many happy years,
And tailors kind and clever,

But those young pantaloons have gone
Forever and forever!

And not till fate has cut the låst

Of all my earthly stitches,

This aching heart shall cease to mōurn

1

My loved, my long-lost breeches !

HOLMES.1

I

III.

39. SPRING CLOTHING?

F there's any thing in the world I hate—and you know it— it is, asking you for money. I am sure, for myself, I'd rather go without a thing a thousand times—and I do, the mōre shame you to let me.

for

2. What do I want now?

As if you didn't know! I'm sure,

1 Oliver Wendell Holmes, an American physician and poet, was born at Cambridge, Mass., Aug. 29, 1809. He is professor in the Medical College of Harvard University. His poems are remarkably popular. As

a writer of songs and lyrics, he stands in the first rank. He is also a popular lecturer and prose writer.

2 Curtain Lecture of Mrs. Caudle. This is a fine exercise in Personation (see p. 48).