“Rash youth, that wouldst yon channel pass
On twigs and staves so rudely fashion'd,
Thy heart with some sweet English lass

Must be impassion'd.”

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER.

WORDSWORTH. Prime, adj. (L. primus). Dig'ni-ty, n. (L. dignus). Ma’tron, n. (L. mater).

Pro-tect, part. (L. tectum, see tego).
ONE morning (raw it was and wet,
A foggy day in winter time),
A woman on the road I met,
Not old, though something past her prime;

Majestic in her person, tall and straight;
And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient spirit is not dead, -
Old times, thought I, are breathing there ;
Proud was I that my country bred
Such strength, a dignity so fair.

She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate ;
I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,
“ What is it,” said I, “ that you bear,
Beneath the covert of your cloak,
Protected from this cold damp air?"

She answer'd, soon as she the question heard,
“A simple burthen, sir-a little singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said,
“I had a son, who many a day
Sail'd on the seas, but he is dead;
In Denmark he was cast away:

And I have travell'd weary miles to see
If aught which he had own'd might still remain for me.

“The bird and cage they both were his :
'Twas my son's bird ; and neat and trim
He kept it: many voyages
This singing-bird had gone with him;

When last he sail'd, he left the bird behind;
From bodings, as might be, that hung upon his mind.

“ He to a fellow-lodger's care
Had left it to be watch'd and fed,
And pipe its song in safety ;-there
I found it when my son was dead;
And now, God help me for my little wit!

I bear it with me, sir ;-he took so much delight in it.” 1. On what kind of morning did the 6. What was her son, and where was poet meet the old woman?

he lost? 2. Describe her appearance.

7. What had been the object of his 3. What thoughts were suggested by mother's present jonrney? her appearance and manner?

8. With whom had the lad left the bird ? 4. What lofty thoughts are meant in 9. What, did the mother say, might Verse 3rd ?

make him leave it behind ? 5. What did the old woman carry 10. Why did she prize the bird so much, beneath her cloak ?

and carry it with her?

DANGERS OF THE DEÉP.

SOUTHEY. Per'il-ous, adj. (L. pericŭlum).

1 A-vail', v. (L. ad, valeo).

In-cum'bent, adj. (L. in, cubo).

Mar'i-ner, n. (L. mare).
'Tis pleasant by the cheerful hearth to hear
Of tempests, and the dangers of the deep,

And pause at times, and feel that we are safe ;
Then listen to the perilous tale again,
And with an eager and suspended soul,
Woo terror to delight us. But to hear
The roaring of the raging elements, -
To know all human skill, all human strength,
Avail not, -to look around, and only see
The mountain-wave incumbent, with its weight
Of bursting waters, o'er the reeling bark,-
Ah, me! this is indeed a dreadful thing;
And he who hath endured the horror once
Of such an hour, doth never hear the storm
Howl round his home but he remembers it,
And thinks upon the suffering mariner.

a

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

LONGFELLOW.

L'éternité est une pendule, dont de balancier dit et redit sans ces cesse deux mots seulement, dans le silence des tombeaux: “Toujours! jamais! Jamais! toujours !"laques Bridaine.

Through every swift vicissitude
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe,-

« Forever-never!

Never-forever!”

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;
His great fires up the chimney roar'd;
The stranger feasted at his board:
But, like the skeletons at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,

“Forever-never !

Never-forever!”.

There groups of merry children play'd,
There youths and maidens dreaming stray'd;
O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told, -

“Forever-never !
Never-forever!"

From that chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,
The dead lay in his shroud of snow!
And in the hush that follow'd the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stair,-

Forever-never!
Never-forever!"

66

THE BLIND MOTHER.

N. P. WILLIS.
GENTLY, dear mother, here;
The bridge is broken near thee, and below
The waters with a rapid current flow

Gently, and do not fear;
Lean on me, mother-plant thy staff before thee,
For she who loves thee most is watching o'er thee.

The green leaves as we pass
Lay their light fingers on thee unaware,
And by thy side the hazel clusters fair,

And the low forest grass
Grows green and lovely, where the wood-paths wind;
Alas, for thee, dear mother, thou art blind !

And nature is all bright;
And the faint gray and crimson of the dawn,
Like folded curtains from the day are drawn;

And evening's dewy light
Quivers in tremulous softness on the sky,
Alas, dear mother, for thy clouded eye!

And the kind looks of friends
Peruse the sad expression in thy face,
And the child stops amid his bounding race,

And the tall stripling bends
Low to thine ear with duty unforgot-
Alas, dear mother, that thou seest them not!

But thou canst hear-and love
May richly on a human tongue be pour’d,
And the slight cadence of a whisper'd word

A daughter's love may prove; And while I speak thou knowest if I smile, Albeit thou dost not see my face the while.

Yes—thou canst hear-and He Who on thy sightless eye its darkness hung, To the attentive ear like harps hath strung

Heaven, and earth, and sea! And 'tis a lesson in our hearts to know,