"Bring another cup, and straightway to the "O, my Balder! have I, have I found theenoble Persian give: Balder, beautiful as Summer morn? Drink, I said before, and perish-now I bid O, my Sun-god! hearts of heroes crowned thee drink and live!" RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH. thee For their king; they lost, but now have found thee; Gods and men shall not be left forlorn. BALDER. BALDER, the white Sun-god, has departed! For the tears of the imperial mother, "Balder! brother! the Divine has vanished- "Come thou back, my Balder-king and brother! Teach the hearts of men to love the gods! Come thou back, and comfort our great mother For a universe that weeps and prays, Rides Hermoder forth to seek his brotherRides for love of that distressful mother, Through lead-colored glens and cross-blue Come with truth and bravery, Balder, bro There he found the ancient portress stand-Oh, the trueness of this ancient story! ing Vexer of the mind and of the heart: "Balder came this way," to his demanding Cried aloud that ancient portress, standing"Balder came, but Balder did depart; Even now it is, as it was then. "Here he could not dwell. He is down yon-Still the young Hermoder journeys bravely, der Northward, further, in the death-realm he." Rode Hermoder on in silent wonder Through lead-colored glens and cross-blue ways; Still he calls his brother, pleading gravely Mane of Gold fled fast and rushed down yon- Still to the death-kingdom ventures bravely— der! Brave and good must young Hermoder be. For he leaps sheer over Hela's portal, Saw him, and forgot his pain and woe. Calmly to the eternal Terror prays. But the Fates relent not; strong Endeavor, ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BELZONI'S EXHIBITION. Do you think I counsel weak despairing? No! like young Hermoder I would ride; Dead and gone is the old world's Ideal, ANONYMOUS. ADDRESS TO THE MUMMY AT BEL- AND thou hast walked about, (how strange a In Thebes' streets three thousand years ago, When the Memnomium was in all its glory, And Time had not begun to overthrow Those temples, palaces, and piles stupendous, Of which the very ruins are tremendous. Speak! for thou long enough hast acted dummy; Thou hast a tongue-come-let us hear its tune; 589 Perhaps thou wert a Priest-if so, my strug gles Are vain, for Priestcraft never owns its juggles. Perhaps that very hand, now pinioned flat, Or dropped a half-penny in Homer's hat; I need not ask thee if that hand, when armed, Has any Roman soldier mauled and knuckled; For thou wert dead, and buried, and em- Ere Romulus and Remus had been suckled: Thou could'st develop-if that withered tongue Might tell us what those sightless orbs have seen How the world looked when it was fresh and young, And the great Deluge still had left it green; Thou'rt standing on thy legs, above ground, Or was it then so old that History's pages Mummy! Revisiting the glimpses of the moon Not like thin ghosts or disembodied crea tures, Contained no record of its early ages? Still silent! incommunicative elf! Art sworn to secrecy? then keep thy vows; But with thy bones, and flesh, and limbs, and But prythee tell us something of thyself features. Tell us for doubtless thou canst recollect Reveal the secrets of thy prison-house; Since in the world of spirits thou hast slumbered To whom should we assign the Sphinx's What hast thou seen-what strange adven In Memnon's statue, which at sunrise While not a fragment of thy flesh has crum VERSES ABOU BEN ADHEM. SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ. I AM monarch of all I survey— My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms Than reign in this horrible place. I am out of humanity's reach; I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speechI start at the sound of my own. The beasts that roam over the plain My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestowed upon man! O, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage In the ways of religion and truthMight learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion! What treasure untold Resides in that heavenly word!— More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this earth can afford; But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sighed at the sound of a knell, Or smiled when a sabbath appeared. Ye winds that have inade me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more! My friends-do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend, Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. And reconciles man to his lot. WILLIAM COWPER. ABOU BEN ADHEM. 591 ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!) And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not so," Replied the angel.-Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest! LEIGH HUNT. THE STEAMBOAT. SEE how yon flaming herald treads She rends the clinging sea, Beneath her hissing lee. The morning spray, like sea-born flowers Falls round her fast in ringing showers, In lurid fringes thrown, With clashing wheel, and lifting keel, And smoking torch on high, With even beam she glides, The sunshine glimmering through the green That skirts her gleaming sides. Now, like a wild nymph, far apart The beating of her restless heart Still sounding through the storm; Now answers, like a courtly dame, The reddening surges o'er, With flying scarf of spangled flame, The pharos of the shore. To-night yon pilot shall not sleep, Who trims his narrowed sail; Her broad breast to the gale; And many a foresail, scooped and strained, Shall break from yard and stay, Before this smoky wreath hath stained The rising mist of day. Hark! hark! I hear yon whistling shroud, The black throat of the hunted cloud An hour, and, whirled like winnowing chaff, The giant surge shall fling His tresses o'er yon pennon-staff, White as the sea-bird's wing! Yet rest, ye wanderers of the deep! Nor wind nor wave shall tire Those fleshless arms, whose pulses leap With floods of living fire; Sleep on-and when the morning light O, think of those for whom the night OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut tree The village smithy stands: The smith—a mighty man is he, With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms Are strong as iron bands. His hair is crisp, and black, and long; His brow is wet with honest sweat- Week in, week out, from morn till night, And children, coming home from school, Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks, that fly Like chaff from a threshing floor. He goes on Sunday to the church, And sits among his boys; |