""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door,Only this, and nothing more.” Ah! distinctly I remember; it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow,- -sorrow for the lost Lenore. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named "Lenore," Nameless here forever more. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before. So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,— "Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!" he said. For sorra a bit I knew what was comin', when me missus walked into the kitchen and says, kinder scared like,—“Here's Fing Wing, Kitty, and ye have too much sinse to mind his bein' a thrifle sthrange; " an' wid that she shoots the dure. And I, misthrustin' if I was tidied up sufficient for me foine bye, wid his paper collars, looks, an' -may I niver brathe another brith! but there stood a rale haythen Chineser, a grinnin' like he jist come off a tay-box! and oh! the haythen! wid divil a smitch o' whisker, and his head shaved cl'aner nor a copper b'iler, an' a old black ni'-gown over his throusers, and wid a long tail hangin' down behint, and wid his fate Stook into the haythenist shoes you iver set eyes on, an' wid his two eyes cocked oup like two poomp-handles on One more unfortunate, Gone to her death. And now, says Darius, "Hooray for some fun! "A'n't goin' to see the celebration?" Says brother Nate, "No! botheration! I've got sich a toothache, my gracious, I Feel 's if I should fly!". Guess you'd better go." But Darius said "No; should n't wonder Long about noon, 'f I get red O' this thumpin', jumpin' pain in my head." But all the while to himself he said, "I'll tell ye what: I'll fly a few times 'raound the lot, To see haow it seems; Then, as soon as I get the hang o' the thing, I'll astonish the nation and all creation By flying over the celebration: Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle, I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea gull, O Lord! oh, dear! my heart will break; I shall go stick, stark, staring mad! Has any on ye seen anything about the street O Lord! one does not feel till He hears The loud alarum bells, Brazen bells! What a tale of terror now Their turbulency tells: In the startled ear of night, how they scream out their affright; Too much terrified to speak, they can only shriek, shriek Out of tune! In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,— With a desperate desire, and a resolute endeavor Now, now to sit or never By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh! the bells! bells! bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair. Yet the ear distinctly tells By the twanging and the clanging By the sinking or the swelling In the anger of the bells-of the bells! bells! bells! bells! bells! bells! bells! OLD FRIENDS. [ARRANGED BY SARAH NEAL HARRIS.] To be, or not to be; that is the question: To sleep! perchance to dream:-ay, there's the rub! For, by scholly, I did n't tink I could go in a parrel pefore. But dare I vas, tight shtuck. Now I never vas ferre pig up and down, but vas pooty pig all de vay round de middle Ven I found I could n't move effery vay, I called, "Katrina! Katrina!" Ven she come and find me wit my fest pushed vay up under my armholes, she lay down an' laughed an' laughed like she would shplit herself, till I vas so mad I said, "Vot you lay there like fool, hey? And she said,-"Sockery, a ould Oh The raven himself is hoarse, That croaks the fatal entrance Of peek-a-bo, peek-a-bo, Come from behind that chair. Peek-a-bo, peek-a-bo. I see you hiding there. Is it my hearers! man claims to be the superior of woman. 80? And if so, in what, and how much? Was he the first creation? He was, my hearers; but what does that prove? It proves simply that the experience gained in making man was applied to the making of a more finer being, of whom I am the example. Man claims that Eve was the cause of his expulsion from paradise. It is true, it is too true, my sisters; but that only shows her goodness, for if Adam had plucked the apple, he would have eaten it all himself, had it been a good one. Yath, now I rekimember. I-I-I— wath walking on the ethsplanade when I—I—I sthee a-a-feller an'-an'—a Newfoundland dog. An'-an'—he inspired me to make a—a—widdle—the dog, not the feller; he-he-he-wath a lunatic. I-I-I-do n't mind telling you this widdle; it ith putty good. a dog waggle its tail? You-you-give it up? of the fellers will give that up. We-we-well, you see a dog waggles its tail because the dog is stronger than the tail. If-if it was n't so, tho', ith tail would waggle the dog. Yath, that's what I call Wa-why doth I-I-guess most Too proud to beg, too honest to steal, For, bedad, when I had my good-looking pictur took, ould Pickey-bones tuck me by the shoulder and twisted me down into a chair, and then wid me face between his ugly smelling, datty hands,―och! the colour of a nager!—he gave me head a twist, and clapped a grappling-iron until the back of me, and fell a screwing and a screwing, until-may the divil secure me!—I was in a violent thremble. But no sooner had he gone into the little room beyant there, then I outs of me seat and 'round to look into the little box, to see if he had any murderous weapons to fire off on me in an unguarded moment; but divil a ha'p'wort' could see for an ould black rag that hung over the front of it. And, gist as I reached 'round to grab off the old rag, A light on Marmion's vision fell, And fired his glazing eye; He shook the fragment of his blade, And shouted, I'm a dude! a dandy dude! You can see by my coat I'm in fashion. See my hair, it's all there; for hair-oil I have a great passion. Neck-tie very crushed strawberry, and I feed on canarybird food; diamonds wear, bang my hair,-I'm a dashing, a dandy young dude. THE HERO OF THE TOWER. Long time ago, when Austria was young, Forthwith the busy streets were pleasure-paths, And thus he spoke: "For fifty years or more And no procession in the fifty years Has marched the streets with aught like kingly tread, I stood erect and waved a welcome flag. |