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Intelligently listened; and gazed far back
THE DEAD MOTHER.
Father. Touch not thy mother, boy. Thou canst not wako
And what is dead ?
Her heart is cold.'
C. If she would waken, she would soon be warm.
No, not like her:
If I could wake her,
Come, my child.
It was her heart that beat, and bade me feel
F. Child, child, you drive me mad. Come hence, I say.
C. Nay, father, be not angry; let me stay here
I have told you,
C. Would it were night then!
No, unhappy child;
Hurt thee, darling ? no!
then ? F.
Too well I love you. C. All
have said I can not now remember,
CAARLES G. Eastman, an American poet and journalist, was born in Fryeburg, Maine, in the year 1816. He has been a large contributor to various periodicals, and his poems have gained him no small reputation.
A DIRGE is a hymn for the dead, or a funeral song. The word is most probably a contraction from DIRIGE, which is the first word in the line Dirige, Domine Deus ! (Direct us, O Lord God !) which forms part of an old Latin funeral service.
OHARLES G. ZASTUAJ
BELSHAZZAR is the name given in the Book of Daniel to the last king of the Chaldees, during whose reign Babylon was taken by the Medes and Persians. Out of the striking account of his impious feast, found in the fifth chapter of that Book, Procter has made the following spirited piece. For a Note on Procter, better known as Barry Corn. wall, see Exercise XXXVIII.
OVERTHROW OF BELSHAZZAR.
Belshazzar is king! Belshazzar is lord !
And the crowds all shout,
Till the vast roofs ring,
“Bring forth,” cries the monarch, "the vessels of gold, Which
my father tore down from the temples of old : Bring forth; and we'll drink, while the trumpets are blown, To the gods of bright silver, of gold, and of stone: Bring forth !”—and before him the vessels all shine, And he bows unto Baal, and he drinks the dark wine;
While the trumpets bray,
And the cymbals ring, “Praise, praise to Belshazzar, Belshazzar the king !"
Now, what cometh ?-look, look !-Without menace, or call,
“ Chaldeans ! magicians! the letters expound !"
Hark !-the Persian is come,
On a conqueror's wing;
OLIVER WENDELL Holmes was born in Cambridge, Mass., August 29tn, 1809. In 1832 he went to Europe to pursue the study of medicine, where he spent some years in attendance on the great hospitals. In 1838 he was appointed Professor of Anatomy and Physiology in Dartmouth College, and, in 1847, he was chosen to fill the same office in the medical college of Harvard University. His chief distinction, however, is that of an author. his productions, both in prose and poetry, having given him a very elevated rank in the world of letters. As a writer of songs and lyric poems, he has few superiors. His papers, first published in “ The Atlantic Monthly" under the title—“THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE,” furnish some very rare and racy reading: mingling, in pleasant proportions, wit, humor, pathos, fancy, fact, keen discernment, large information, and great felicity of style and diction. The following excerpts are from several of these papers.
EXCERPTS (Ex, out, and CERPT, plucked) are pieces plucked out of their proper places in an author's work, and presented separately; extracts.
FROM THE AUTOCRAT OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
I really believe some people save their bright thoughts as being too precious for conversation. What do you think an admiring friend said the other day to one that was talking good things,—good enough to print? “Why,” said he, "you are wasting merchantable literature, a cash article, at the rate is nearly as I can tell, of fifty dollars an hour !" The talker took him to the window, and asked him to look out and tell him what he saw.
“ Nothing but a very dusty street,” he said. “and a man driving a sprinkling machine through it."