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A’ our friends are gane, Jean;
We've lang been left alane, Jean;
We'll a’ meet again
AS SHIPS BECALMED.
ARTHUR H. CLOUGH.
S ships becalmed at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail, at dawn of day Are scarce long leagues apart descried.
When fell the night, up sprang the breeze, And all the darkling hours they plied; Nor dreamt but each the selfsame seas By each was cleaving, side by side:
E'en so—but why the tale reveal
Brief absence joined anew, to feel,
At dead of night their sails were filled, And onward each rejoicing steered;
THE O WL.
Now, fare ye weel, my ain Jean
This world's care is vain, Jean;
We'll meet, an' ay' be fain,
Ah! neither blame, for neither willed
To veer, how vain' On, onward strain,
But O blithe breeze! and O great seas
On your wide plain they join again,
One port, methought, alike they sought-
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas,
The boldest will shrink away
And the owl hath a bride, who is fond and
bold, And loveth the wood's deep gloom; And, with eyes like the shine of the moonstone cold,
THE NOTCH OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 423
She awaiteth her ghastly groom; We know not alway Not a feather she moves, not a carol she Who are kings by day, sings,
As she waits in her tree so still; But when her heart heareth his flapping wings, She hoots out her welcome shrill ! O! when the moon shines, and dogs do howl, Then, then, is the joy of the horned owls
Mourn not for the owl, nor his gloomy
howl, Sing, ho! for the reign of the horned But the king of the night is the bold owl! brown owl!
THE NOTCH OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS.
of HE Notch of the White Mountains is a phrase appropriated to a sj is very narrow defile, extending two miles in length, between two huge cliffs apparently rent asunder by some vast convulsion of ; nature. This convulsion was, in my own view, that of the deluge. There are here, and throughout New England, no eminent proofs of volcanic violence, nor any strong exhibitions of the power of earthquakes. Nor has history recorded any earthquake or volcano in other countries of sufficient efficacy to produce the phenomena of this place. The objects rent asunder are too great, the ruin is too vast and too complete, to have been accomplished by these agents. The change seems to have been effected when the surface of the earth extensively subsided; when countries and continents assumed a new face; and a general commotion of the elements produced a disruption of some mountains, and merged others beneath the common level of desolation. Nothing less than this will
account for the sundering of a long range of great rocks, or rather of vast mountains; or for the existing evidences of the immense force by which the rupture' was effected.
The entrance of the chasm is formed by two rocks, standing perpendicularly, at the distance of twenty-two feet from each other; one about twenty feet in height, the other about twelve. Half of the space is occupied by the brook mentioned as the head-stream of the Saco; the other half by the road. The stream is lost and invisible beneath a mass of fragments, partly blown out of the road, and partly thrown down by some great convulsion.
When we entered the Notch, we were struck with the wild and solemn appearance of every thing before us. The scale on which all the objects in view were formed was the scale of grandeur only. The rocks, rude and ragged in a manner rarely paralleled, were fashioned and piled by a hand operating only in the boldest and most irregular manner. As we advanced, these appearances increased rapidly. Huge masses of granite, of every abrupt form, and hoary with a moss which seemed the product of ages, recalling to the mind the saxum vetustum of Virgil, speedily rose to a mountainous height. Before us the view widened fast to the southeast. Behind us it closed almost instantaneously, and presented nothing to the eye but an impassable barrier of mountains.
About half a mile from the entrance of the chasm, we saw, in full view, the most beautiful cascade, perhaps, in the world. It issued from a mountain on the right, about eight hundred feet above the subjacent valley, and at the distance from us of about two miles. The stream ran over a series of rocks almost perpendicular, with a course so little broken as to preserve the appearance of a uniform current; and yet so far disturbed as · to be perfectly white. The sun shone with the clearest splendor, from a station in the heavens the most advantageous to our prospect; and the cascade glittered down the vast steep like a stream of burnished silver.
THE ARSENAL AT SPRINGFIELD.
H. W. LONGFELLOW.
HIS is the Arsenal. From floor to | Ah! what a sound will rise-how wild and ceiling,
drearyI Like a huge organ, rise the burn When the death-angel touches those swift
keys! But from their silent pipes no anthem pealing What loud lament and dismal Miserere
Startles the villages with strange alarms. Will mingle with their awful symphonies.
THE CHARCOAL MAN.
I hear'even now the infinite fierce chorus
The cries of agony, the endless groan, Which, through the ages that have gone be
fore us, In long reverberations reach our own.
Is it, О man, with such discordant noises,
With such accursed instruments as these,
On helmand harness rings the Saxon hammer,
Were half the power that fills the world with Through Cimbric forest roars the Norse
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps man's song;
and courts, And loud, amid the universal clamor, O'er distant deserts sounds the Tartar gong.
Given to redeem the human mind from error.
There were no need of arsenals nor forts ; I hear the Florentine, who from his palace The warrior's name would be a name abWheels out his battle bell with fearful
And every nation that should lift again And Aztec priests upon their teocallis
| Its hand against a brother, on its forehead Beat the wild war-drums made of serpents'
Would wear forevermore the curse of Cain. • skin;
Down the dark future, through long generaThe tumult of each sacked and burning vil
The echoing sounds grow fainter and then The shout that every prayer for mercy
And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, The soldiers' revel in the midst of pillage; I hear once more the voice of Christ say, The wail of famine in beleaguered towns ;
The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched
asunder, The rattling musketry, the clashing blade And ever and anon, in tones of thunder,
The diapason of the cannonade.
Peace !-and no longer from its brazen portals
The holy melodies of love arise.
THE CHARCOAL MAN.
J. T. TROWBRIDGE.
DAHOUGH rudely blows the wintry blast, | The dust begrimes his ancient hat; N And sifting snows fall white and fast. His coat is darker far than that; en Mark Haley drives along the street, 'Tis odd to see his sooty form
Perched high upon his wagon seat; All speckled with the feathery storm; His sombre face the storm defies,
Yet in his honest bosomn lies J And thus from morn till eve he cries,- | Nor spot, nor speck, though still he cries,“Charco'! charco'!".
“Charco'! charco'!" While echo faint and far replies
And many a roguish lad replies, "Hark, O! Hark, O!"
"Ark, ho! ark, ho!" "Charco'!"-" Hark, O !"-Such cheery sounds | "Charco' !"-" Ark, ho !"-Such various sounds Attend him on his daily rounds.
Announce Mark Haley's morning rounds.
Thus all the cold and wintry day
And in a coaxing tone he cries, He labors much for little pay;
"Charco'! charco' !" Yet feels no less of happiness
And baby with a laugh replies Than many a richer man, I guess,
“Ah, go! ah, go!" When through the shades of eve he spies "Charco'!”-“Ah, go;"—while at the sounds The light of his own home, and cries, The mother's heart with gladness bounds. "Charco'! charco' !"
Then honored be the charcoal man ! And Martha from the door replies
Though dusky as an African, “Mark, ho! Mark, ho!"
'Tis not for you, that chance to be "Charco' !"_" Mark, ho!"-Such joy abounds
A little better clad than he, When he has closed his daily rounds.
His honest manhood to despise,
Although from morn till eve he cries, – The hearth is warm, the fire is bright,
“Charco'! charco' !". And while his hand, washed clean and white, While mocking echo still replies Holds Martha's tender hand once more,
"Hark, O! hark, O!" His glowing face bends fondly o'er
“Charco'! Hark, O!" Long may these sounds The crib wherein his darling lies,
| Proclaim Mark Haley's daily rounds !
F. BRET HARTE.
ASOW'S Flat. That's its name,
And I reckon that you
Well, I thought it was true,
can't spot the place at first view.
Which the same was an ass,-
That the thing came to pass,-
Hed the worst kind of luck;
On each thing that he struck.
the derned thing 'ed get up and buck.
Till he couldn't pay rates ;
When he tunnelled with Bates ;
wife and five kids from the States.
It was rough-mighty rough;
But the boys they stood by,
For a house on the sly;
Was so powerful mean
Dried right up on the green ;
And the boys wouldn't stay :
And his wife fell away,
usual ridikilous way.
And a year ago, jest, -
To his work, like the rest,
a Derringer hid in his breast.