a

THE SMACK IN SCHOOL

DISTRICT school, not far away

'Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, Was humming with its wonted noise Of three-score mingled girls and boys, Some few upon their tasks intent, But more on furtive mischief bent. The while the master's downward look Was fastened on a copy-book; When suddenly, behind his back, Rose sharp and clear a rousing smack! As 'twere a battery of bliss

Let off in one tremendous kiss! "What's that?" the startled master cries; "That, thir," a little imp replies,

"Wath William Willith, if you pleathe―
I thaw him kith Thuthanna Peathe!"
With frown to make a statue thrill,

The master thundered, "Hither, Will!"
Like wretch o'ertaken in his track,
With stolen chattels on his back,
Will hung his head in fear and shame,
And to the awful presence came—
A great, green, bashful simpleton,
The butt of all good-natured fun.

With smile suppressed, and birch upraised,
The threatener faltered-"I'm amazed
That you, my biggest pupil, should
Be guilty of an act so rude!

Before the whole set school to boot

What evil genius put you to't?"

"Twas she herself, sir," sobbed the lad,
"I did not mean to be so bad;
But when Susannah shook her curls,
And whispered I was 'fraid of girls,
And dursn't kiss a baby's doll,
I couldn't stand it, sir, at all,
But up and kissed her on the spot!
I know-boo-hoo-I ought to not,
But, somehow, from her looks-boo-hoo-
I thought she kind o' wished me to!"

W. P. PALMER.

FLY TO THE DESERT, FLY WITH ME.

LY to the desert, fly with me,
Our Arab tents are rude for thee;
But oh! the choice what heart can doubt
Of tents with love or thrones without?

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there
The acacia waves her yellow hair,
Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less
For flowering in a wilderness.

Our sands are bare, but down their slope
The silvery-footed antelope
As gracefully and gayly springs

As o'er the marble courts of kings.

Then come-thy Arab maid will be
The loved and lone acacia-tree,
The antelope, whose feet shall bless
With their light sound thy loneliness.

Oh! there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart,
As if the soul that minute caught
Some treasure it though life had sought;

As if the very lips and eyes
Predestined to have all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and spoke before as then.

So came thy very glance and tone,
When first on me they breathed and shone;
New, as if brought from other spheres,
Yet welcome as if loved for years.

THE QUIVER.

THOMAS MOore.

ESTUS. Lady! I will not forget my trust.
(Apart) The breeze which curls the lakes's
bright lip but lifts

A purer, deeper, water to the light:
The ruffling of the wild bird's wing but wakes
A warmer beauty and a downier depth.
That startled shrink, that faintest blossom-blush
Of constancy alarmed!-Love! if thou hast

One weapon in shining armory,

The quiver on thy shoulder, where thou keep'st
Each arrowy eye beam feathered with a sigh ;-
If from that bow, shaped so like Beauty's lip,
Strung with its string of pearls, thou wilt twang forth
But one dart, fair into the mark I mean-
Do it, and I will worship thee for ever:
Yea, I will give thee glory and a name
Known, sunlike in all nations. Heart be still!
PHILIP JAMES Bailey.

OTHELLO'S DEFENCE.

OST potent, grave, and reverend signiors,
My very noble and approved good masters,
That I have ta'en away this old man's daugh-
ter,

It is most true; true, I have married her;
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more. Rude am I in my speech,
And little bless'd with the set phrase of peace.
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used
Their dearest action in the tented field:
And little of this great world can I speak,
More than pertains to feats of broil and battle;
And therefore little shall I grace my cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,
I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceeding I am charged withal,)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me ;

Still questioned me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it ;
Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents, by flood and field;

I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from me

Far, far beyond what I can ever pay.

Oft have I proved the labors of thy love,

And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,
Anxious to please.-Oh! when my friend and I
In some thick wood have wander'd heedless on,
Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down
Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank,
Where the pure limpid stream has slid along

In grateful errors through the underwood,

Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

And portance in my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,

The eglantine smell'd sweeter, and the rose Assumed a dye more deep; whilst every flower Vied with its fellow plant in luxury

Of dress-Oh! then, the longest summer's day

It was my hint to speak, such was the process:

And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders. These things to hear

Would Desdemona seriously incline:

But still the house affairs would draw her thence;
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate,
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not intentively: I did consent;
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs :

She swore-in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange, 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful :

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me;

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake:
She loved me for the dangers I had passed,
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have used:
Here comes the lady, let her witness it.
WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE.

FRIENDSHIP.

NVIDIOUS grave!-how lost thou rend in sunder
Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one!
A tie more stubborn far than nature's band.
Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul;

Had not imparted half: 'twas happiness
Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!

EUPHROSYNE.

ROBERT BLAIR.

MUST not say that thou wert true,
Yet let me say that thou wert fair.
And they that lovely face who view,
They will not ask if truth be there.

Truth-what is truth! Two bleeding hearts Wounded by men, by fortune tried, Outwearied with their lonely parts,

Vow to beat henceforth side by side.

The world to them was stern and drear:
Their lot was but to weep and moan.
Ah, let them keep their faith sincere,
For neither could subsist alone!

But souls whom some benignant breath Has charm'd at birth from bloom and care, These ask no love-these plight no faith, For they are happy as they are.

The world to them may homage make, And garlands for their forehead weave, And what the world can give, they takeBut they bring more than they receive.

They smile upon the world; their ears To one demand alone are coy. They will not give us love and tearsThey bring us light, and warmth, and joy.

On one she smiled and he was blest! She smiles elsewhere-we make a din! But 'twas not love that heaved his breast, Fair child! it was the bliss within.

MATTHEW ARNOLD.

THEY SIN WHO TELL US LOVE CAN DIE.

HEY sin who tell us love can die
With life all other passions fly-
All others are but vanity.

In heaven ambition cannot dwell,
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell:
Earthly, these passions of the earth,
They perish where they had their birth;
But love is indestructible.

Its holy flame for ever burneth ;

From heaven it came, to heaven returneth.
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times oppressed,
It here is tried and purified,

Then hath in heaven its perfect rest.
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest-time of love is there.
ROBERT SOUTHEY.

H! hadst thou never shared my fate,
More dark that fate would prove,
My heart were truly desolate
Without thy soothing love.

But thou hast suffer'd for my sake,
Whilst this relief I found,
Like fearless lips that strive to take

The poison from a wound.

My fond affection thou hast seen,
Then judge of my regret,

To think more happy thou hadst been
If we had never met.

And has that thought been shared by thee?
Ah, no! that smiling cheek
Proves more unchanging love for me
Than labor'd words could speak.

But there are true hearts which the sight
Of sorrow summons forth;
Though known in days of past delight,
We know not half their worth.
How unlike some who have profess'd
So much in friendship's name,
Yet calmly pause to think how best
They may evade her claim.

But ah! from them to thee I turn,
They'd make me loathe mankind,
Far better lessons I may learn

From thy more holy mind.

The love that gives a charm to home,
I feel they cannot take;
We'll pray for happier years to come,
For one-another's sake.

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

"'M sitting on the stile, Mary,

Where we sat side by side
On a bright May morning, long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high;
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then;
The lark's loud song is in my ear,

And the corn is green again;

But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek;
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more will speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,

And the little church stands near—
The church where we were wed, Mary;
I see the spire from here.

But the graveyard lies between them, Mary,
And my step might break your rest—
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends : But, oh! they love the better still The few our Father sends ! And you were all I had, Mary—

My blessing and my pride; There's nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died.

Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,

That still kept hoping on.

When the trust in God had left my soul,

And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip,

And the kind look on your brow

I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Tho' you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break-
When the hunger pain was gnawing there,
And you did it for my sake;

I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore-
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more!

I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary-kind and true!
But I'll not forget you darling,
In the land I'm going to ;

They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there-
But I'll not forget old Ireland,

Were it fifty times as fair.

And often in those grand old woods

I'll sit and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies;
And I'll think I see the little stile

Where we sat side by side,

And the springing corn, and the bright May morn When first you were my bride.

&

HELEN SELINA SHERIDAN.

THE FICKLENESS OF PHYLLIS.

E shepherds, give ear to my lay,

And take no more heed of my sheep; They have nothing to do but to stray; I have nothing to do but to weep. Yet do not my folly reprove;

She was fair-and my passion begun; She smiled-and I could not but love; She is faithless-and I am undone.

Perhaps I was void of all thought:

Perhaps it was plain to foresee,

That a nymph so complete would be sought,
By a swain more engaging than me.
Ah! love every hope can inspire;
It banishes wisdom the while;
And the lip of the nymph we admire
Seems for ever adorn'd with a smile.

She is faithless, and I am undone ;

Ye that witness the woes I endure, Let reason instruct you to shun

What it cannot instruct you to cure. Beware how you loiter in vain

Amid nymphs of a higher degree: It is not for me to explain

How fair, and how fickle they be.

Alas! from the day that we met,

What hope of an end to my woes? When I cannot endure to forget

The glance that undid my repose.
Yet time may diminish the pain :

The flower, and the shrub, and the tree,
Which I rear'd for her pleasure in vain,
In time may have comfort for me.

The sweets of a dew-sprinkled rose,
The sound of a murmuring stream,
The peace which from solitude flows,

Henceforth shall be Corydon's theme.
High transports are shown to the sight,
But we are not to find them our own ;
Fate never bestow'd such delight,
As I with my Phyllis had known.

AID of Athens, ere we part,

Give, O, give me back my heart!
Or, since that has left my breast,
Keep it now, and take the rest!
Hear my vow before I go.
By those tresses unconfined,
Woo'd by each Ægean wind;
By those lids whose jetty fringe
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge;
By those wild eyes like the roe;
By that lip I long to taste;

By that zone-encircled waist;
By all the token-flowers that tell
What words can never speak so well;
By love's alternate joy and woe.

Maid of Athens! I am gone,
Think of me, sweet, when alone.
Though I fly to Istambol,
Athens holds my heart and soul.
Can I cease to love thee? No!

LORD BYRON.

FIRST LOVE'S RECOLLECTIONS.
IRST-LOVE will with the heart remain
When its hopes are all gone by;
As frail rose blossoms still retain
Their fragrance when they die :

And joy's first dreams will haunt the mind
With the shades 'mid which they sprung,
As summer leaves the stems behind
On which spring's blossoms hung.

JOHN CLARE,

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP.

HE birds, when winter shades the sky,
Fly o'er the seas away,
Where laughing isles in sunshine lie,

And summer breezes play;

And thus the friends that flutter near
While fortune's sun is warm
Are startled if a cloud appear,
And fly before the storm.

But when from winter's howling plains
Each other warbler's past,

The little snow bird still remains,
And chirrups midst the blast.

Love, like that bird, when friendship's throng
With fortune's sun depart,
Still lingers with its cheerful song,
And nestles on the heart.

WILLIAM LEggett.

THE HEAVENLY FLAME.

OVE is the root of creation; God's essence.
Worlds without number

Lie in his bosom like children: He made them
for His purpose only-

Only to love and to be loved again. He breathed forth His spirit

Into the slumbering dust, and upright standing, it laid its

Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with a flame out of heaven;

Quench, O quench not that flame! it is the breath of your being.

HENRY WADSworth Longfellow.

BILL MASON'S BRIDE.

ALF an hour till train time, sir,

An' a fearful dark time, too;

Take a look at the switch lights, Tom,
Fetch in a stick when you're through.

"On time?" well, yes, I guess so―

Left the last station all right—
She'll come round the curve a flyin';
Bill Mason comes up to-night.

You know Bill? No! He's engineer,
Been on the road all his life-

I'll never forget the mornin'

He married his chuck of a wife.

'Twas the summer the mill hands struck

Just off work, every one;

They kicked up a row in the village
And killed old Donevan's son.

Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour,
Up comes a message from Kress,

Orderin' Bill to go up there,

And bring down the night express. He left his gal in a hurry,

And went up on Number One, Thinking of nothing but Mary,

And the train he had to run.

And Mary sat down by the window
To wait for the night express;
And, sir, if she hadn't a' done so,
She'd been a widow, I guess.

For it inust a' been nigh midnight
When the mill hands left the Ridge-
They come down-the drunken devils!
Tore up a rail from the bridge.

But Mary heard 'em a workin'

And guessed there was somethin' wrongAnd in less than fifteen minutes,

Bill's train it would be along.

She couldn't come here to tell us.
A mile-it wouldn't a' done-
So she just grabbed up a lantern,

And made for the bridge alone.
Then down came the night express, sir,
And Bill was makin' her climb !
But Mary held the lantern,

A-swingin' it all the time.

Well! by Jove! Bill saw the signal,
And he stopped the night express,
And he found his Mary cryin',

On the track, in her wedding dress;
Cryin' an' laughin' for joy, sir,

An' holdin' on to the light-
Hello! here's the train-good-bye, sir,
Bill Mason's on time to-night.

F. BRET HARTZ

BEDOUIN SONG.

ROM the desert I come to thee

On a stallion shod with fire; And the winds are left behind

In the speed of my desire. Under thy window I stand,

And the midnight hears my cry:

I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,

And the stars are old,

And the leaves of the Judgment
Book unfold!

Look from thy window and see

My passion and my pain;

I lie on the sands below,

And I faint in thy disdain.

Let the night-winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh,
And melt thee to hear the vow