"I looked no more for it, I do declare, As sure as Tycho Brahe is dead, Thus musing, heaven's grand inquisitor Sat gazing on the uninvited visitor, Till John, the serving man, came to the upper Regions, with "Please your honor, come to supper." "Supper! good John, to-night I shall not sup, Except on that phenomenon,-look up.” "Not sup!" cried John, thinking with consternation That supping on a star must be star-vation, Or even to batten On ignes fatui would never fatten. His visage seemed to say, "that very odd is," "The heavenly bodies!" echoed John, "alem!" In helping, somebody must make long arms." "No," said the master, smiling, and no wonder, At such a blunder, "The stranger is not quite the thing you think; And one may doubt quite reasonably whether Seeing his head and tail are joined together. Behold him! there he is, John, in the south." At last the fiery tadpole spies, And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries, "A rare good rocket!" "A what? A rocket, Jolin! Far from it! What you behold, John, is a comet; One of those most eccentric things That in all ages Have puzzled sages And frightened kings; With fear of change, that flaming meteor, John, "Well, let him flare on, I haven't got no sovereigns to change!” Thomas Hood. TWENTY YEARS AGO. I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the school-house play-ground, that sheltered you and me; But none were left to greet me, Tom; and few were left to know, Who played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago. The grass is just as green. Tom; bare-footed boys at play Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay, But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow, Afforded us a sliding-place, some twenty years ago. The old school-house is altered now; the benches are replaced By new ones, very like the same our penknives once defaced; But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro; Its music's just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago. The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree; I have forgot the name just now,-you've played the same with me, On that same spot; 'twas played with knives, by throwing so and so; The loser had a task to do,-there, twenty years ago. The river's running just as still; the willows on its side the beau, And swung our sweethearts,-pretty girls,-just twenty years ago. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spreading beech, Is very low,-'twas then so high that we could scarcely reach; Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, same; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow, Just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago. My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes; Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the sea; GOING OUT AND COMING IN. Going out to fame and triumph, Coming in to pain and sorrow, Coming in to gloom and night. Going out with joy and gladness, Ceaseless streams of restless pilgrims Through the portals of the homestead, Coming back all worn and weary, Weary of all empty flattery, Going out with hopes of glory, Coming in with mastless barque; Mollie E. Moore THE LEPER. Day was breaking, When at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. The echoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, Struggling with weakness, and bowed down his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper's garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Waiting to hear his doom : "Depart! depart, O child Of Israel, from the temple of thy God! For he has smote thee with his chastening rod, From all thou lov'st, away thy feet must flee, "Depart! and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city, more; Voices that call thee in the way; and fly "Wet not thy burning lip In streams that to a human dwelling glide; The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, "And pass not thou between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze; Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain; "And now depart! and when Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim, Selected thee to feel his chastening rod;— And he went forth alone. Not one of all Breaking within him now, to come and speak It was noon, Footsteps approached, and with no strength to flee, Crying, "Unclean! unclean!" and in the folds Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Helon's eye, |