O warrior, weary with the strife!

Be not oppressed when numbers fright;
Thy stalwart foes may legion seem,

But don the armor, fight the fight;
And in the end, so strong is right,
Thy foes shall yield them to thy might.

O seaman! when the tempests rouse
And haste thy craft to dangers dark,
When mighty billows in the night,
Lash with their foam thy struggling bark,
Be of stout heart, thy trusty hand
Will bring thy cargo safe to land.

O pilgrim! to each weary path
There is an ending in good time;
O warrior! in each contest fierce
There is a victory sublime;

O seaman! when the voyage is o'er,
There is a haven near the shore.

Only be firm; have faith in God
When darkness swallows up the light;
Oft is the sun obscured by clouds-
To every day there is a night;
But unto those who work and pray,
There comes an EVERLASTING DAY.

HAMLET'S GHOST.-SHAKSPEARE.

I am thy father's spirit;

Doomed for a certain term to walk the night;

And, for the day, confined to fast in fires,

Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature,

Are burned and purged away. But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house,

I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word

Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;
Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;
Thy knotted and combined locks to part,

And each particular hair to stand on end,
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine.

But this eternal blazon must not be

To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, oh, list!—
If thou didst ever thy dear father love.

WHO WOULD BE A BOY AGAIN?

In company one evening, when the song, "Would I were a boy again," was called for, a gray-headed "old boy" discoursed thus:

A boy again! Who would be a boy again, if he could? to have measles, itch, and mumps; to get licked by bigger boys and scolded by older brothers; to stub toes; to slip up on the ice; to do chores; to get your ears boxed; to get whaled by a thick-headed schoolmaster; to be made to stand up as the dunce for the amusement of the whole school and be told how miserable, weak, and stupid you were when you were born, and to have the master ask you what would have become of you at that interesting time in life if your parents had not been so patient with and so kind to you; to eat at the second table when company comes; to set out cabbage plants and thin corn because you are little, and consequently it wouldn't make your back ache so much; to be made to go to school when you don't want to; to lose your marbles; to have your sled broken; to get hit in the eyes with frozen apples and soggy snow balls; to cut your finger; to lose your knife; to have a hole in your only pair of pants when your pretty cousin from the city comes to see you; to be called a coward at school if you don't fight; to be whaled at home if you do fight; to be struck after a little girl and dare not tell her; to have a boy too big for you to lick to tell you that your sweetheart squints; to have your sweetheart cut you dead and affiliate with that boy John Smith, whom you hate particularly because he set your nose out of joint the week before; to be made to go to bed when you know you ain't a bit sleepy; to have no fire-crackers on the Fourth of July, no skates on Christmas; to want a piece of bread and butter with honey and get your ears pulled; to be kept from the circus when it comes to town and when all other boys go; to get pounded for stealing roasting ears; to get run by bulldogs for trying to nip watermelons; to have the canker rash, catechism, stone bruises; to be called up to kiss old women that visit your mother; to be scolded because you like Mag

gie Love better than your own sister; to be told of a scorching time little boys will have who tell lies, and are not like George Washington; to catch your big brother kissing the pretty school ma'am on the sly, and wish you were big so you could kiss her too, and-and-why who'd be a boy again?

MARMION AND DOUGLAS.-SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Not far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;

He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,
And Douglas gave a guide.

The ancient Earl, with stately grace,
Would Clara on her palfrey place,

And whispered in an undertone,

"Let the hawk stoop,-his prey is flown."—
The train from out the castle drew,

But Marmion stopped to bid adieu:

"Though something I might 'plain," he said,

"Of cold respect to stranger guest,

Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand."

But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke;-
'My manors, halls, and bowers shall still

Be open, at my sovereign's will,

To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer;
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone,-
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And-"This to me!" he said,

An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!

And, first, I tell thee, haughty peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate!
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,

Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord,
And lay your hands upon your sword,)
I tell thee thou 'rt defied!

And if thou saidst I am not peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland or Highland, far or near,

Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"

On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age:

Fierce he broke forth,-"And dar'st thou then

To beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms!-What, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall."

Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need!-
And dashed the rowels in his steed,

Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim;

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,

He halts, and turns with clenched hand,

And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.

"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!"

But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came,

Though most unworthy of the name.

St. Mary, mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'Tis pity of him, too," he cried;

“Bold can he speak, and fairly ride,
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle walls.

SHADOWS.

We stood where the snake-like ivy
Climbed over the meadow bars,
And watched as the young night sprinkled
The sky with her cream-white stars.

The clover was red beneath us

The air had the smell of June-
The cricket chirped in the grasses,
And the soft rays of the moon

Drew our shadows on the meadow,
Distorted and lank and tall;

His shadow was kissing my shadow-
That was the best of all.

My heart leaped up as he whispered,
'I love you, Margery Lee,"
For then one arm of his shadow
Went round the shadow of me.

"I love you, Margery darling,

Because you are young and fair,—
For your eyes' bewildering blueness,
And the gold of your curling hair.
No queen has hands that are whiter,
No lark has a voice so sweet,
And your ripe young lips are redder
Than the clover at your feet.

"My heart will break with its fulness,
Like a cloud overcharged with rain;

Oh, tell me, Margery darling,

How long we must love in vain!"
With blushes and smiles I answered,
(I will not tell what)-just then

I saw that his saucy shadow
Was kissing my own again.

He promised to love me only-
I promised to love but him,