But never more that hungry one
In Commons-hall was seen.

Yet often at the sunset hour,
When tolls the evening bell,
The freshman lingers on the steps,
That frightful tale to tell.

The Toadstool.

THERE'S a thing that grows by the fainting flower,
And springs in the shade of the lady's bower;
The lily shrinks, and the rose turns pale,
When they feel its breath in the summer gale,
And the tulip curls its leaves in pride,
And the blue-eyed violet starts aside;
But the lily may flaunt, and the tulip stare,
For what does the honest toadstool care?

She does not glow in a painted vest,

And she never blooms on the maiden's breast;
But she comes, as the saintly sisters do,
In a modest suit of a Quaker hue.

And, when the stars in the evening skies
Are weeping dew from their gentle eyes,
The toad comes out from his hermit cell,
The tale of his faithful love to tell.

O there is light in her lover's glance,
That flies to her heart like a silver lance;
His breeches are made of spotted skin,
His jacket is tight, and his pumps are thin;
In a cloudless night you may hear his song,
As its pensive melody floats along,

And, if you will look by the moonlight fair,
The trembling form of the toad is there.

And he twines his arms round her slender stem,
In the shade of her velvet diadem ;
But she turns away in her maiden shame,
And will not breathe on the kindling flame;
He sings at her feet through the livelong night,
And creeps to his cave at the break of light;
And whenever he comes to the air above,
His throat is swelling with baffled love.

G

The Spectre Pig.

A BALLAD.

IT was the stalwart butcher man,
That knit his swarthy brow,
And said the gentle Pig must die,
And sealed it with a vow.

And oh it was the gentle Pig

Lay stretched upon the ground,
And ah! it was the cruel knife
His little heart that found.

They took him then, those wicked men,
They trailed him all along ;
They put a stick between his lips,

And through his heels a thong;

And round and round an oaken beam

A hempen cord they flung,

And, like a mighty pendulum,
All solemnly he swung !

Now say thy prayers, thou sinful man,
And think what thou hast done,
And read thy catechism well,

Thou bloody-minded one;

For if his sprite should walk by night,

It better were for thee,

"That thou wert mouldering in the ground, Or bleaching in the sea.

It was the savage butcher then,
That made a mock of sin,
And swore a very wicked oath,
He did not care a pin.

It was the butcher's youngest son,-
His voice was broke with sighs,
And with his pocket-handkerchief
He wiped his little eyes;

All young and ignorant was he,
But innocent and mild,

And, in his soft simplicity,

Out spoke the tender child :

"O father, father, list to me;
The Pig is deadly sick.

And men have hung him by his heels,
And fed him with a stick,"

It was the bloody butcher then,
That laughed as he would die,
Yet did he soothe the sorrowing child,
And bid him not to cry ;-

"O Nathan, Nathan, what's a Pig,
That thou shouldst weep and wail?
Come, bear thee like a butcher's child,
And thou shalt have his tail!"

It was the butcher's daughter then,
So slender and so fair,

That sobbed as if her heart would break,
And tore her yellow hair;

And thus she spoke in thrilling tone,---
Fast fell the tear-drops big ;-
"Ah! woe is me! Alas! Alas!
The Pig! The Pig! The Pig!"

Then did her wicked father's lips
Make merry with her woe,
And call her many a naughty name,
Because she whimpered so.

Ye need not weep, ye gentle ones,
In vain your tears are shed,
Ye cannot wash his crimson hand,
Ye cannot soothe the dead.

The bright sun folded on his breast
His robes of rosy flame,

And softly over all the west

The shades of evening came.

He slept, and troops of murdered Pigs
Were busy with his dreams;

Loud rang their wild, unearthly shrieks,

Wide yawned their mortal seams.

The clock struck twelve; the Dead hath heard;

He opened both his eyes,

And sullenly he shook his tail

To lash the feeding flies.

One quiver of the hempen cord,

One struggle and one bound,—

With stiffened limb and leaden eye,
The Pig was on the ground!

And straight towards the sleeper's house
His fearful way he wended;

And hooting owl, and hovering bat,
On midnight wing attended.

Back flew the bolt, up rose the latch,
And open swung the door,

And little mincing feet were heard
Pat, pat along the floor.

Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,

And two upon the bed;

And they are breathing side by side,

The living and the dead!

"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!
What makes thy cheek so pale?
Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear
To clasp a spectre's tail?"

Untwisted every winding coil;

The shuddering wretch took hold,

All like an icicle it seemed,

So tapering and so cold.

"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!".
He strives to loose his grasp,
But, faster than the clinging vine,

Those twining spirals clasp.

And open, open swung the door,
And, fleeter than the wind,
The shadowy spectre swept before,
The butcher trailed behind.

Fast fled the darkness of the night,

And morn rose faint and dim;

They called full loud, they knocked full long,
They did not waken him.

Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,
A trampled pathway ran;

A ghastly shape was swinging there,―
It was the butcher man.

To a Caged Lion.

POOR Conquered monarch! though that haughty glance Still speaks thy courage unsubdued by time,

And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread

Lives the proud spirit of thy burning clime ;— Fettered by things that shudder at thy roar,

Torn from thy pathless wilds to pace this narrow floor!

Thou wast the victor, and all nature shrunk

Before the thunders of thine awful wrath;
The steel-armed hunter viewed thee from afar,
Fearless and trackless in thy lonely path!
The famished tiger closed his flaming eye,
And crouched and panted as thy step went by!
Thou art the vanquished, and insulting man
Bars thy broad bosom as a sparrow's wing;
His nerveless arms thine iron sinews bind,

And lead in chains the desert's fallen king;
Are these the beings that have dared to twine
Their feeble threads around those limbs of thine?

So must it be; the weaker, wiser race,

That wields the tempest and that rides the sea, Even in the stillness of thy solitude

Must teach the lesson of its power to thee;

And thou, the terror of the trembling wild,

Must bow thy savage strength, the mockery of a child!

The Star and the Water-Lily.

THE sun stepped down from his golden throne,
And lay in the silent sea,

And the Lily had folded her satin leaves,
For a sleepy thing was she;

What is the Lily dreaming of?
Why crisp the waters blue?

See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid !

Her white leaves are glistening through!

The Rose is cooling his burning cheek
In the lap of the breathless tide ;-
The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair,

That would lie by the Rose's side;
He would love her better than all the rest,
And he would be fond and true ;—
But the Lily unfolded her weary lids,
And looked at the sky so blue.

Remember, remember, thou silly one,
How fast will thy summer glide,
And wilt thou wither a virgin pale,
Or flourish a blooming bride?

"O the Rose is old, and thorny, and cold,
And he lives on earth," said she;

"But the Star is fair and he lives in the air, And he shall my bridegroom be."