Her mate,

Not long was Anna wed.

A fisherman, was out at sea : The night is dark, the hour is late,

The wind is high-and where is he?

“Oh! who would love ! oh! who would wed

“A wandering fisherman, to be “A wretched, lonely wife, and dread

" Each breath that blows, when he's at sea !”

Not long was Anna wed. One pledge

Of tender love her bosom bore :
The storm comes down! the billows rage !

Its father is not yet on shore !

“Oh! who would think her portion blessed

"A wandering seaman's wife to be, “ To hug the infant to her breast,

“ Whose father's on a stormy sea !"

The thunder bursts! the lightning falls !

The casement rattles with the rain! And, as the gusty tempest bawls,

The little cottage quakes again!

She does not weep; she does not sigh ;

But gazes on her infant dearA smile lights up the cherub's eye,

That dims its mother's with a tear !

"Oh! who would be a seaman's wife!

" Oh! who would bear a seaman's child ! " To tremble for her husband's life!

"To weep—because her infant smiled!”

Hadst thou ne'er borné a seaman's boy

Nor had thy husband left the shore Thou ne'er hadst felt such frantic joy,

To see-thy Robin at the door

To press his weather-beaten cheek,

To kiss it dry and warm again,
To weep the joy thou couldst not speak-

So pleasure's in the debt of pain.
Thy cheerful fire, thy plain repast,

Thy little couch of love, I ween,
Were ten times sweeter than the last-

And not a cloud that night was seen !
O happy pair! the pains you know

Still hand in hand with pleasure come ;
For often does the tempest blow,

And Robin still is safe at home!

THE GLADIATOR.

I see before me the Gladiator lie:
He leans upon his hand-his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his drooped head sinks gradually low-
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now .

The arena swims around him-he is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch

who won.
He heard it, but he heeded not—his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away ;
He recked not of the life he lost nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play;
There was their Dacian mother-he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday-

All this rushed with his blood-Shall he expire
And unavenged ?--Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire!

ST. PHILIP NERI AND THE YOUTH.

St. Philip Neri, as old readings say,
Met a young stranger in Rome's streets one day;
And, being ever courteously inclined
To give young folks a sober turn of mind,
He fell into discourse with him ; and thus
The dialogue they held comes down to us.

St. “Tell me, what brings you, gentle youth, to " Rome ?”

Y. “To make myself a scholar, sir, I come.”
St. “And, when you are one, what do you intend ?"
Y. “To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end.”
St. “Suppose it so--what have you next in view ?”.
Y. “ That I may get to be a canon too."
St. “Well; and how then?”

“Why, then, for aught I know, “I may be made a bishop.” St.

"Be it so “What then ?"

" Why, cardinal's a high degree “And yet my lot it possibly may be.”

St. “Suppose it was—what then?”
Y.

“ Why, who can say, “But I've a chance of being pope one day ?”

St. “Well, having worn the mitre, and red hat, " And triple crown, what follows after that ?"

Y. “Nay, there is nothing further to be sure, “Upon this earth, that wishing can procure : “When I've enjoyed a dignity so high, "As long as God shall please, then, I must die.” St. “What! must you die ? fond youth! and at the

best “But wish and hope, and may be all the rest!

“Take my advice-whatever may betide,
“For that which must be, first of all provide;
“Then think of that which may be, and indeed,

When well prepared, who knows what may succeed? “But you may be, as you are pleased to hope, “Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope.'

THE TURKEY AND THE ANT.
In other men we faults can spy,
And blame the mote that dims their eye,
Each little speck and blemish find, -
To our own stronger errors blind.

A Turkey, tired of common food,
Forsook the barn, and sought the wood ;
Behind her ran an infant train,
Collecting here and there a grain.
“ Draw near, my birds!" the mother cries,
" This hill delicious fare supplies;
“ Behold the busy negro race,
" See millions blacken all the place!
“ Fear not; like me, with freedom eat ;
“An ant is most delightful meat.
“ How blessed, how envied, were our life,
“Could we but ’scape the poulterer's knife;

cursed man, on turkeys preys,
“ And Christmas shortens all our days.
“ Sometimes with oysters we combine,
*** Sometimes assist the savoury chine;
“ From the low peasant to the lord,
" The Turkey smokes on every board ;
“Sure men for gluttony are cursed,
“Of the seven deadly sins the worst.”

An Ant, who climbed beyond her reach,
Thus answered from the neighbouring beech:
“ Ere you remark another's sin,
“ Bid thy own conscience look within ;
“ Control thy more voracious bill,
" Nor for a breakfast nations kill."

6. But man,

LOCHINVAR.
O, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,

Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ;
And, save his good broad-sword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
“O come ye in peace here, or come ye

in

war, “Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?”– “I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;“ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide“And now am I come with this lost love of mine, “To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 6. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, “That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,“ Now tread we a measure !” said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, “ 'Twere better by far - To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

сир.