CHARLES THE TWELFTH. warrior's pride, N what foundation stands the | But did not Chance at length her error mend? How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide. A frame of adamant, a soul He left the name at which the world pale No dangers fright him and To point a moral or adorn a tale. no labors tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain. Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield; grew War sounds the trump: he rushes to the The cottage windows blazed through twilight field; bine, gloom, Happy time. for me Behold surrounding kings their powers com- I heeded not their summons. And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain : Think nothing gained," he cries, "till That cares not for his home. All shod with naught remain; On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day. steel, We hissed along the polished ice in games The pack loud-chiming and the hunted hare. So through the darkness and the cold we flew, And not a voice was idle: with the din Eastward were sparkling clear, and in the I love-oh how I love!—to ride west The orange sky of evening died away. To cut across the reflex of a star That fled, and, flying still before me, gleamed The rapid line of motion, then at once With visible motion her diurnal round. Behind me did they stretch in solemn train, Feebler and feebler, and I stood and watched Till all was tranquil as a dreamless sleep. On the fierce foaming, bursting tide, I never was on the dull tame shore The waves were white, and red the morn, And the dolphins bared their backs of gold; EEK not with gold or glittering gem To share a kingly diadem Would never gain my love. The heart that's formed in virtue's mould Can wealth relieve the lab'ring mind To soothe the bleeding breast? To cheer affliction's darkest hour THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY It should within no other things contain knew: He that with judgment reads his charming lines, In which strong art with stronger nature joins, Must grant his fancy does the best excel, well; With all those moderns, men of steady sense, And waged with Fortune an eternal war? Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropped into the grave unpitied and unknown? And yet the languor of inglorious days Him who ne'er listened to the voice of praise The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are who, deaf to mad Ambition's call, Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame, Supremely blest if to their portion fall Health, competence and peace. Nor higher aim How forth the minstrel fared in days of yore, Right glad of heart, though homely in ar ray, His waving locks and beard all hoary gray, While from his bending shoulder decent hung His harp, the sole companion of his way, Which to the whistling wind responsive rung; And ever, as he went, some merry lay he sung. "O ye wild groves, oh where is now your bloom" The Muse interprets thus his tender thought "Your flowers, your verdure and your balmy gloom Of late so grateful in the hour of drought? Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake? Ah, why has fickle Chance this ruin wrought? For now the storm howls mournful through the brake. Had he whose simple tale these artless lines And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeproclaim. less flake. Yet such the destiny of all on earth— So flourishes and fades majestic Man: |