Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade, On her hand a parrot green Dark with a century's fringe of dust, - Who the painter was none may tell, Look not on her with eyes of scorn, Ay! since the galloping Normans came, O damsel Dorothy! Dorothy Q. ! What if a hundred years ago Those close-shut lips had answered, No, When forth the tremulous question came That cost the maiden her Norman name; And under the folds that look so still The bodice swelled with the bosom's thrill? Should I be I, or would it be One tenth another to nine tenths me? Soft is the breath of a maiden's Yes: Not the light gossamer stirs with less; But never a cable that holds so fast Through all the battles of wave and blast, And never an echo of speech or song That lives in the babbling air so long! There were tones in the voice that whispered then You may hear to-day in a hundred men! O lady and lover, how faint and far It shall be a blessing, my little maid! And freshen the gold of the tarnished frame, And gild with a rhyme your household OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. ROBINSON OF LEYDEN. He sleeps not here; in hope and prayer His wandering flock had gone before, But he, the shepherd, might not share Their sorrows on the wintry shore. 221 Still cry them, and the world shall hear, Ye dwellers by the storm-swept sea! Ye have not built by Haerlem Meer, Nor on the land-locked Zuyder-Zee! Before the Speedwell's anchor swung, THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE; : "Men, brethren, sisters, children dear! God calls you hence from over sea; Ye may not build by Haerlem Meer, Nor yet along the Zuyder-Zee. "Ye go to bear the saving word To tribes unnamed and shores untrod: Heed well the lessons ye have heard From those old teachers taught of God. "Yet think not unto them was lent All light for all the coming days, And Heaven's eternal wisdom spent In making straight the ancient ways: "The living fountain overflows For every flock, for every lamb, Nor heeds, though angry creeds oppose, With Luther's dike or Calvin's dam." 66 ONE-HOSS SHAY." A LOGICAL STORY. HAVE you heard of the wonderful onehoss shay, That was built in such a logical way Seventeen hundred and fifty-five. Now in building of chaises, I tell you what, There is always somewhere a weakest spot, In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill, Find it somewhere you must and will, But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do, With an "I dew vum," or an "I tell yeou") He would build one shay to beat the taown 'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; It should be so built that it could n' break daown: -"Fur," said the Deacon, "t's mighty plain Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the | Little of all we value here Do! I tell you, I rather guess She was a wonder, and nothing less! Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year So far as I know, but a tree and truth. The parson was working his Sunday's text, Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed But there stood the stout old one-hoss All at once the horse stood still, As fresh as on Lisbon-earthquake-day! EIGHTEEN HUNDRED;-it came and found The Deacon's masterpiece strong sound. ་ d Eighteen hundred increased by ten;- And then come fifty, and FIFTY-FIVE, Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill. - First a shiver, and then a thrill, Just the hour of the Earthquake shock! |