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With splinters of the dryest pine
Now feed the fire below;
Then the rising flame shall shine,
And the melting ore shall flow.
Boils the brass within,
Quickly add the tin;
That the thick metallic mass
Rightly to the mould may pass.

What with the aid of fire's dread power
We in the dark, deep pit now hide,
Shall, on some lofty, sacred tower,

Tell of our skill and form our pride. And it shall last to days remote,

Shall thrill the ear of many a race; Shall sound with sorrow's mournful note, And call to pure devotion's grace, Whatever to the sons of earth

Their changing destiny brings down, To the deep, solemn clang gives birth, That rings from out this metal crown.

See, the boiling surface, whitening,
Shows the whole is mixing well;
Add the salts the metal brightening,
Ere flows out the liquid bell.
Clear from foam or scum
Must the mixture come,
That with a rich metallic note
The sound aloft in air may float.

Now with joy and festive mirth

Salute that loved and lovely child, Whose earliest moments on the earth

Are passed in sleep's dominion mild. While on Time's lap he rests his head, The fatal sisters spin their thread;

A mother's love, with softest rays, Gilds o'er the morning of his days.But years with arrowy haste are fled, His nursery bonds he proudly spurns; He rushes to the world without; After long wandering, home he turns, Arrives a stranger and in doubt. There, lovely in her beauty's youth,

A form of heavenly mould he meets, Of modest air and simple truth;

The blushing maid he bashful greets. A nameless feeling seizes strong On his young heart. He walks alone; To his moist eyes emotions throng;

His joy in ruder sports has flown,
He follows, blushing, where she goes;
And should her smile but welcome him,
The fairest flower, the dewy rose,

To deck her beauty seems too dim.
O tenderest passion! Sweetest hope!
The golden hours of earliest love!
Heaven's self to him appears to ope;
He feels a bliss this earth above.
O, that it could eternal last!
That youthful love were never past!

See how brown the liquid turns!
Now this rod I thrust within;
If it's glazed before it burns,
Then the casting may begin.

Quick, my lads, and steady,
If the mixture's ready!
When the strong and weaker blend,
Then we hope a happy end:
Whenever strength with softness joins,
When with the rough the mild combines,
Then all is union sweet and strong.
Consider, ye who join your hands,
If hearts are twined in mutual bands;
For passion's brief, repentance long.
How lovely in the maiden's hair

The bridal garland plays! And merry bells invite us there,

Where mingle festive lays.
Alas! that all life's brightest hours
Are ended with its earliest May!
That from those sacred nuptial bowers
The dear deceit should pass away!
Though passion may fly,

Yet love will endure
The flower must die,

The fruit to insure.
The man must without,
Into struggling life;
With toiling and strife;
He must plan and contrive;
Must be prudent to thrive;
With boldness must dare,
Good fortune to share.

'Tis by means such as these, that abundance is poured

In a full, endless stream, to increase all his hoard,

While his house to a palace spreads out.

Within doors governs

The modest, careful wife,

The children's kind mother;

And wise is the rule

Of her household school.

She teaches the girls,

And she warns the boys;
She directs all the bands
Of diligent hands,

And increases their gain
By her orderly reign.

And she fills with her treasures her sweetscented chests;

From the toil of her spinning-wheel scarcely she rests;

And she gathers in order, so cleanly and bright,

The softest of wool, and the linen snow-white:
The useful and pleasant she mingles ever,
And is slothful never.

The father, cheerful, from the door,
His wide-extended homestead eyes;
Tells all his smiling fortunes o'er;
The future columns in his trees,
His barn's well furnished stock he sees,
His granaries e'en now o'erflowing,
While yet the waving corn is growing.
He boasts with swelling pride,
"Firm as the mountain's side
Against the shock of fate
Is now my happy state,"
Who can discern futurity?
Who can insure prosperity?
Quick misfortune's arrow flies.

Now we may begin to cast;

All is right and well prepared: Yet, ere the anxious moment's past, A pious hope by all be shared. Strike the stopper clear! God preserve us here! Sparkling, to the rounded mould It rushes hot, like liquid gold, How useful is the power of flame, If human skill control and tame! And much of all that man can boast, Without this child of Heaven, were lost. But frightful is her changing mien, When, bursting from her bonds, she's

seen

To quit the safe and quiet hearth,
And wander lawless o'er the earth.
Woe to those whom then she meets!
Against her fury who can stand?
Along the thickly peopled streets
She madly hurls her fearful brand.
Then the elements, with joy,
Man's best handiwork destroy.
From the clouds

Falls amain

The blessed rain:
From the clouds alike
Lightnings strike.

Ringing loud the fearful knell,
Sounds the bell.
Dark blood-red

Are all the skies;

But no dawning light is spread.
What wild cries
From the streets arise!
Smoke dims the eyes.
Flickering mounts the fiery glow
Along the street's extended row,
Fast as fiercest winds can blow.
Bright, as with a furnace glare,
And scorching, is the heated air;
Beams are falling, children crying,
Windows breaking, mothers flying,
Creatures moaning, crushed and dying-
All is uproar, hurry, flight,
And light as day the dreadful night.
Along the eager living lane,
Though all in vain,
Speeds the bucket. The engine's power
Sends the artificial shower.

But see, the heavens still threatening lower!
The winds rush roaring to the flame.
Cinders on the store-house frame,
And its drier stores, fall thick;

While kindling, blazing, mounting quick,
As though it would, at one fell sweep,
All that on the earth is found
Scatter wide in ruin round,
Swells the flame to heaven's blue deep,
With giant size.

Hope now dies.

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We now confide what we have made; As in earth too the seed is laid, In hope the seasons will give birth

To fruits that soon may be displayed. And yet more precious seed we sow

With sorrow in the world's wide field; And hope, though in the grave laid low, A flower of heavenly hue 'twill yield.

Slow and heavy

Hear it swell! 'Tis the solemn Passing bell!

Sad we follow, with these sounds of woe,
Those who on this last, long journey go.
Alas! the wife,-it is the dear one,-
Ah! it is the faithful mother,
Whom the shadowy king of fear
Tears from all that life holds dear;-
From the husband,-from the young,
The tender blossoms, that have sprung
From their mutual, faithful love,
'Twas hers to nourish, guide, improve.
Ah! the chain which bound them all
Is for ever broken now;

She cannot hear her tender call,

Nor see them in affliction bow. Her true affection guards no more;

Her watchful care wakes not again: O'er all the once loved orphan's store The indifferent stranger now must reign.

Till the bell is safely cold,

May our heavy labor rest; Free as the bird, by none controlled, Each may do what pleases best. With approaching night, Twinkling stars are bright. Vespers call the boys to play; The master's toils end not with day.

Cheerful in the forest gloom,

The wanderer turns his weary steps To his loved, though lowly home. Bleating flocks draw near the fold; And the herds,

Wide-horned, and smooth, slow-pacing

come

Lowing from the hill,

The accustomed stall to fill.

Heavy rolls

Along the wagon,

Richly loaded.

On the sheaves,

With gayest leaves They form the wreath; And the youthful reapers dance Upon the heath.

Street and market all are quiet, And round each domestic light Gathers now a circle fond,

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As with light,

That the deeds of crime discovers;
For wakes the law's protecting might.

Holy Order! rich with all
The gifts of Heaven, that best we call,-
Freedom, peace, and equal laws,—
Of common good the happy cause!
She the savage man has taught
What the arts of life have wrought;
Changed the rude hut to comfort, splendor,
And filled fierce hearts with feelings tender
And yet a dearer bond she wove,—
Our home, our country, taught to love.

A thousand active hands, combined
For mutual aid, with zealous heart,
In well apportioned labor find
Their power increasing with their art.
Master and workmen all agree,

Under sweet Freedom's holy care,
And each, content in his degree,
Warns every scorner to beware.
Labor is the poor man's pride,—
Success by toil alone is won.
Kings glory in possessions wide,-
We glory in our work well done.

Gentle peace! Sweet union! Linger, linger,

Kindly over this our home!
Never may the day appear,
When the hordes of cruel war
Through this quiet vale shall rush;
When the sky,

With the evening's softened air,
Blushing red,
Shall reflect the frightful glare

Of burning towns in ruin dread.

Now break up the useless mould:
Its only purpose is fulfilled.
May our eyes, well pleased, behold
A work to prove us not unskilled.
Wield the hammer, wield,
Till the frame shall yield!
That the bell to light may rise,
The form in thousand fragments flies.

The master may destroy the mould

With careful hand, and judgment wise But, woe!-in streams of fire, if rolled, The glowing metal seek the skies! Loud bursting with the crash of thunder, It throws aloft the broken ground; Like a volcano rends asunder,

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The praise of our Creator's name,

While round each circling season runs.
To solemn thoughts of heart-felt power
Let its deep note full oft invite,
And tell, with every passing hour,

Of hastening time's unceasing flight.
Still let it mark the course of fate;
Its cold, unsympathizing voice
Attend on every changing state

Of human passions, griefs, and joys.
And as the mighty sound it gives
Dies gently on the listening ear,
We feel how quickly all that lives
Must change, and fade, and disappear.

Now, lads, join your strength around!
Lift the bell to upper air!

And in the kingdom wide of sound
Once placed, we'll leave it there.
All together! heave!

Its birth-place see it leave!-
Joy to all within its bound!
Peace its first, its latest sound!

FRIEDERICH VON SCHILLER.

ALGERNON SIDNEY ON GOVERN. MENT.

[ALGERNON SIDNEY, English author and statesman, born about 1622, executed at London, 1683, a son of the Earl of Leicester, and grand-nephew of Sir Philip Sidney. He became distinguished both in civil and in military life, fighting gallantly at Marston Moor, entering Parliament, and being made governor of Dublin and of Dover. He was one of the judges of King Charles I, but did not sign the warrant of execution. A republican in principle, he remained in voluntary exile for years till 1677, when he was permitted to return to England. He was arrested and thrown into the Tower in 1683, charged with complicity in the Ryehouse plot, and conspiracy against the king's life. Of this no legal evidence was produced, but the infamous Judge Jeffreys, with a subservient jury, upon garbled extracts from his work on Government, yet unpublished, but found among his papers, convicted him of high treason. Sidney met the barbarous death by the headsman's axe with the fortitude of a stoic, leaving an eloquent vindication of his principles in an address to his countrymen, who have enshrined him among the most illustrious martyrs of English liberty. From his "Discourses on Government,” a work written in refutation of Sir Robert Filmer's Defence of Absolute Monarchy, we quote a few passages:]

Our author's cavils concerning I know not what vulgar opinions that democracies were introduced to curb tyranny, deserve no answer; for our question is, whether one form of government be prescribed to us

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