Thy drum hangs on the wall; Memories sweet of him that's filed! I miss thee from my side, For thy chirping voice of mirth: I miss thee from my side, With thy bright, ingenuous smile; With thy glance of infant pride, And the face no tears defile: Stay, and other hearts beguile, I must spare thy pranks awhile; KING CANUTE. BY BERNARD RARTON, ESQ. UPON his royal throne he sate, His servile courtiers stood, With foolish flatteries, false and vain, To win his smile, his favour gain. They told him e'en the mighty deep That he could bid its billows leap, He smiled contemptuously, and cried "Be then my boasted empire tried." Down to the ocean's sounding shore King Canute's power proclaim; Or, at his high and dread command, In gentle murmurs kiss the strand. Not so, thought he, their noble king, As his course he sea-ward sped ; And each base slave, like a guilty thing, Hung down his conscious head ; He knew the Ocean's Lord on high ! They that he scorned their senseless lie. His throne was placed by ocean's side, Louder the stormy blast swept by, The Monarch, with upbraiding look, But none the kindling eye could brook For, in that wrathful glance, they see A mightier Monarch wrong'd than he! Canute! thy regal race is run; Thy name were passed away, Its meek, unperishing renown, The Persian, in his mighty pride, But it was worthier far of thee To know thyself, than rule the sea! SATURDAY AFTERNOON. BY N. P. WILLIS. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet grey; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, And makes his pulses fly, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, And the light of a pleasant eye. K 4 I have walked the world for fourscore years; And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, I'm old, and “I bide my time;" But my heart will leap at a scene like this Play on, play on; I am with I am willing to die when my time shall come, And I shall be glad to go; For the world is at best a weary place, And my pulse is getting low: But the grave is dark, and the heart will fail In treading its gloomy way; And it wiles my heart from its dreariness |