N what foundation stands the | But did not Chance at length her error mend?
warrior's pride,
How just his hopes, let
Swedish Charles decide.
Did no subverted empire mark his end,
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress and a dubious hand;
A frame of adamant, a soul He left the name at which the world grew
of fire,
No dangers fright him and To point a moral or adorn a tale.
no labors tire;
O'er love, o'er fear, extends
his wide domain,
Unconquered lord of pleasure
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield;
War sounds the trump: he rushes to the The cottage windows blazed through twilight
"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till That cares not for his home. All shod with
Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the I love-oh how I love!—to ride
The orange sky of evening died away.
Not seldom from the uproar I retired
Into a silent bay, or sportively
Glanced sideway, leaving the tumultuous
throng
To cut across the reflex of a star
That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed
Upon the glassy plain; and oftentimes,
When we had given our bodies to the wind,
And all the shadowy banks on either side
Came sweeping through the darkness, spin-
ning still
The rapid line of motion, then at once
Have I, reclining back upon my heels,
Stopped short; yet still the solitary cliffs
Wheeled by me, even as if the earth had
rolled
With visible motion her diurnal round.
Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep.
On the fierce foaming, bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the sou'-west blasts do blow.
I never was on the dull tame shore
But I loved the great sea more and more,
And backward flew to her billowy breast
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest;
And a mother she was, and is, to me,
For I was born on the open sea.
The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise
rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outery wild
As welcomed to life the ocean-child.
I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought nor sighed for a
change;
And Death, whenever he come to me,
Shall come on the wild, unbounded sea.
OUT OF SHADOW.
OUT of shadow into sunlight,
Out of darkness into day, So, oft, we tread, unheeding,
Our well-appointed way, Nor dream that after sorrow May dawn a glad to-morrow.
MARY DWINELL CHELL28.
EEK not with gold or glittering gem
My simple heart to move:
To share a kingly diadem
Would never gain my love.
The heart that's formed in virtue's mould
For heart should be exchanged;
The love that once is bought with gold
May be by gold estranged.
Can wealth relieve the lab'ring mind
Or calm the soul to rest?
What healing balm can riches find
To soothe the bleeding breast?
'Tis love, and love alone, has power
To bless without alloy,
To cheer affliction's darkest hour
And brighten every joy.
THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY
It should within no other things contain
But what are useful, necessary, plain ;
Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure,
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture;
A little garden grateful to the eye,
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by,
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes or sycamores should grow,
At th' end of which a silent study placed
Should be with all the noblest authors graced-
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
Immortal wit and solid learning shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel,
His thoughts so tender and expressed so
With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
Esteemed for learning and for eloquence.
In some of these, as fancy should advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise;
Had he whose simple tale these artless lines And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeproclaim.
The rolls of fame I will not now explore, Nor need I here describe in learned lay
"Yet such the destiny of all on earthSo flourishes and fades majestic Man:
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