from strangers-strangers in blood, in tastes, in language-should be provided as though a rich return were sure to follow? It all came, and strangely enough, the prime mover in the battle against monarchy was a king, the volunteers in the people's fight were nobles, the treasury that made success possible came from a well-nigh bankrupt state! If logic had had a voice in French councils, and French sentiment had not guided French action, Lafayette would have stayed at home, Louis XVI. would have closed his royal ear to these earnest appeals, French gold would have remained in French hands, and the galaxy of bright, brave, loyal, chivalrous marquises, dukes, and counts would never have fought, flirted, suffered, danced, and—died on American soil.

Frederic R. Coudert.

HARMOSAN.

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne was done,

And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crowning victory won.

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,

Captive, overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to die.

Then exclaimed that noble captive: "Lo, I perish in my thirst;

Give me but one drink of water, and then arrive the worst!"

In his hand he took the goblet, but, awhile, the draught forbore,

Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foeman to explore.

Well might then have paused the bravest-for, around him, angry foes

With a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose.

"But what fearest thou?" cried the caliph, "is it, friend, a secret blow?

Fear it not!—our gallant Moslem no such treacherous dealing know.

"Thou may'st quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not die before

Thou hast drunk that cup of water-this reprieve is thine-no more!"

Quick the Satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand,

And the liquid sank for ever, lost amid the burning sand.

Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that cup

I have drained, then bid thy servants that spilled water gather up!"

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubtful passions stirred

Then exclaimed, "For ever sacred must remain a monarch's word.

"Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian give:

Drink, I said before, and perish-now I bid thee drink and live !"

Richard C. Trench.

THE RAVEN.

ONCE upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door.

""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber-door

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow: vainly I had sought to borrow

From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore

Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,

""Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door,

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door;

That it is, and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer,

Sir," said I," or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you"-here I opened wide the door :

Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word "Lenore ?"

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"

Merely this, and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.

66

Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window-lattice ;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore,

Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore ;

'Tis the wind, and nothing more.”

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door,