PERSEVERE.-JOHN BROUGHAM. Robert, the Bruce, in his dungeon stood, Behind him the palace of Holyrood, And the foam on his lip was flecked with red, When he won, and he wore, the Scottish crown: "I have sat on the royal seat of Scone," "It's a luckless change, from a kingly throne To a felon's shameful death." And he clenched his hands in his mad despair, As a new-caught lion paces his cage: But come there shadow or come there shine, "Oh! were it my fate to yield up life In the foremost shock of the battle-strife I'd welcome death from the foeman's steel, Yet come there shadow or come there shine, "Time and again I have fronted the tide Of the tyrant's vast array, But only to see on the crimson tide My hopes swept far away; Now a landless chief and a crownless king, For come there shadow or come there shine, "Work! work like a fool, to the certain loss, The space is too wide to be bridged across, For evil or good was the omen sent: And come there shadow or come there shine, As a gambler watches the turning card As a mother waits for the hopeful word It was thus Bruce watched, with every sense All rigid he stood, with scattered breath- Yet come there shadow or come there shine, Six several times the creature tried, He has spanned it over!" the captive cried; Thee, God, I thank, for this lesson here And come there shadow or come there shine, AT LAST.-CLARKSON CLOTHIER. The ways of life, mysterious, Work slowly toward some finite ends. His creatures to his purpose bends; When suddenly the end appears, O weary pilgrim! where the path Seems fraught with endless perils great, O warrior, weary with the strife! Be not oppressed when numbers fright; But don the armor, fight the fight; O seaman! when the tempests rouse O pilgrim! to each weary path O seaman! when the voyage is o'er, Only be firm; have faith in God 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; And each particular hair to stand on end, But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood. List, list, oh, list!- 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, He had safe-conduct for his band, The ancient Earl, with stately grace, And whispered in an undertone, "Let the hawk stoop,-his prey is flown."- 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, 66 My manors, halls, and bowers shall still The hand of such as Marmion clasp." Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And-"This to me!" he said. "An 't were not for thy hoary beard, |