OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. ROBINSON OF LEYDEN. He sleeps not here; in hope and prayer 221 Still cry them, and the world shall hear, Before the Speedwell's anchor swung, THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE; "Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! "Ye go to bear the saving word "Yet think not unto them was lent All light for all the coming days, "The living fountain overflows For every flock, for every lamb, He spake with lingering, long embrace, They passed the frowning towers of Briel, And grated soon with lifting keel The sullen shores of Fatherland. No home for these!- - too well they knew And these were they who gave us birth, The Pilgrims of the sunset wave, Who won for us this virgin earth, And freedom with the soil they gave. The pastor slumbers by the Rhine, - "" ONE-HOSS SHAY." A LOGICAL STORY. HAVE you heard of the wonderful one- That was built in such a logical way Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the Little of all we value here Never an axe had seen their chips, Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips; Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year Without both feeling and looking queer. In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth, So far as I know, but a tree and truth. (This is a moral that runs at large; Take it. You 're welcome. - No extra charge.) And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the floor was just as strong as the sills, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore, And the whippletree neither less nor more, And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt In another hour it will be worn out! First of November, 'Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive. Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hoss shay. Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "Huddup!" said the parson. Off went they. The parson was working his Sunday's text, Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! What do you think the parson found, When he got up and stared around? The poor old chaise in a heap or mound, As if it had been to the mill and ground' You see, of course, if you 're not a dunce, How it went to pieces all at once, —— OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. All at once, and nothing first, 223 Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea! THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! Stretched in his last-found home, and For her the morning choir shall sing knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathéd horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings: Its matins from the branches high, When, turning round their dial-track, At last the rootlets of the trees Build thee more stately mansions, O my And bear the buried dust they seize soul, As the swift seasons roll! In leaves and blossoms to the skies. So may the soul that warmed it rise! If any, born of kindlier blood, That tried to blossom in the snow, JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. [U. s. A.] THE HERITAGE. THE rich man's son inherits lands, And tender flesh that fears the cold, The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft, white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, A hardy frame, a hardier spirit; King of two hands, he does his part What doth the poor man's son inherit? What doth the poor man's son inherit? A patience learned by being poor, Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, |