"Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn !"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;-
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

PSALM OF MARRIAGE.-PHOEBE CARY.

TELL me not in idle jingle,

"Marriage is an empty dream!" For the girl is dead that's single, And girls are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest !
Single blessedness a fib!
"Man thou art, to man returnest!"
Has been spoken of the rib.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
Finds us nearer marriage-day.

Life is long, and youth is fleeting,

And our hearts, though light and gay,
Still like pleasant drums are beating
Wedding marches all the way.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,
Be not like dumb-driven cattle!
Be a heroine-a wife!-

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant,
Let the dead past bury its dead!
Act-act to the living Present!
Heart within and hope ahead!

Lives of married folks remind us
We can live our lives as well,
And, departing, leave behind us
Such examples as shall "tell."

Such example that another,
Wasting time in idle sport,
A forlorn, unmarried brother,
Seeing, shall take heart and court.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart on triumph set,

Still contriving, still pursuing,

And each one a husband get.

COLD WATER.-SIGOURNEY.

THE thirsty flowerets droop. The parching grass
Doth crisp beneath the foot, and the wan trees
Perish for lack of moisture. By the side
Of the dried rills, the herds despairing stand,
With tongue protruded. Summer's fiery heat
Exhaling, checks the thousand springs of life.
Marked ye yon cloud glide forth on angel wing?
Heard ye the herald-drops, with gentle force
Stir the broad heavens ?—And the protracted rain
Waking the streams to run their tuneful way?
Saw ye the flocks rejoice, and did ye fail

To thank the God of fountains?

See the hart

Pant for the water-brooks.

The fevered sun

Of Asia glitters on his leafy lair,

As, fearful of the lion's wrath, he hastes,

With timid footsteps through the whispering reeds;

Quick leaping to the renovating stream,

The copious draught his bounding veins inspires

With joyful vigor.

Patient o'er the sands,

The burden-bearer of the desert clime,

The camel, toileth. Faint with deadly thirst,
His writhing neck of bitter anguish speaks.
Lo! an oasis, and a tree-girt well,—

And moved by powerful instinct, on he speeds,
With agonizing haste to drink or die.

On his swift courser, o'er the burning wild
The Arab cometh. From his eager eye
Flashes desire. Seeks he the sparkling wine,
Giving its golden color to the cup?

No! to the gushing spring he flies, and deep
Buries his scorching lip and laves his brow,
And blesses Alla.

Christian pilgrim, come!

Thy brother of the Koran's broken creed

Shall teach thee wisdom,—and, with courteous hand,
Nature, thy mother, holds the crystal cup,

And bids thee pledge her in the element
Of temperance and health.

Drink, and be whole,

And purge the fever-poison from thy veins,

And pass, in purity and peace, to taste
The river flowing from the throne of God!

ANTONY'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS ON THE DEATH OF CESAR.-SHAKSPEARE.

FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interréd with their bones;

So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus

Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault;
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,
(For Brutus is an honorable man ;
So are they all, all honorable men),
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill:
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept:
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

And Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see that on the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once,—not without cause ;-
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason!-Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Cæsar might

Have stood against the world: now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.

O masters! if I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
all know, are honorable men.

Who, you
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
the dead, to wrong myself, and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.

To wrong

But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar—
I found it in his closet, 'tis his will.

Let but the commons hear this testament,
(Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read),
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,
Unto their issue.

If

you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle: I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent―

That day he overcame the Nervii.

Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through:
See what a rent the envious Casca made:

Through this the well-belovéd Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his curséd steel away,
Mark, how the blood of Cæsar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel:
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the most unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,

Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statua,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.