For Memorizing

The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert sands,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods.
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings, yet the dead are there!
And millions in those solitudes since first

The flight of years began, have laid them down.
In their last sleep,- the dead reign there alone!
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will langh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come,
And make their bed with thee.

As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man,—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,

By those who in their turn shall follow them.

For Memorizing

So live, that when thy summons comes to join which moves

The innumerable caravan,

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
– Bryant.

A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT

Is there, for honest poverty,

That hangs his head, and a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,

We dare be poor for a'that!
For a' that, and a' that,

Our toils obscure, and a' that;
The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
The man's the gowd for a' that,

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hodden gray, and a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
A man's a man, for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

Their tinsel show, and a' that,

The honest man, though e'er sae poor,
Is king o' men for a that

For Memorizing

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord,

Wha struts, and stares, and a' that;
Though hundreds worship at his word,
He's but a coof for a' that!

For a' that, and a' that,

His riband, star, and a' that,
The man of independent mind,
He looks and laughs at a' that

A king can make a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, and a' that,
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Guid faith, he maunna fa' that'
For a' that, and a' that,

Their dignities and a' that,

The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth,
Are higher ranks than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may―
As come it will for a' that

That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,

May bear the gree, and a' that;

For a' that, and a' that,

It's comin' yet for a' that;

That man to man, the warld o'er,
Shall brothers be for a' that.

Robert Burns.

For Memorizing

TO A WATERFOWL.

Whither, 'midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly seen against the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seek'st thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,
The desert and illimitable air,

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere,
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

For Memorizing

Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallow'd up thy form; yet, on my heart,
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,
Will lead my steps aright.

REMEMBERED MUSIC.

- Bryant.

Thick-rushing, like an ocean vast
Of bisons the far prairie shaking,
The notes crowd heavily and fast
As surfs, one plunging while the last
Draws seaward from its foamy breaking.

Or in low murmurs they began,

Rising and rising momently,
As o'er a harp Eolian

A fitful breeze, until they ran

Up to a sudden ecstasy.

And then, like minute drops of rain

Ringing in water silvery,

They lingering dropped and dropped again,

Till it was almost like a pain

To listen when the next would be.