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FAME.

SE Our ;

EE, as the prettiest graves will do in time,

Spite of the sexton's browsing horse, the sods Have struggled through its binding osier-rods; Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry, Wanting the brickwork promised by and by; How the minute gray lichens, plate o’er plate, Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date !

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AY but you, who do not love her,

Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught, — speak truth, — above her ?

Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,

And this last fairest tress of all
So fair, see, ere I let it fall!

Because, you spend your lives in praising;

To praise, you search the wide world over; So, why not witness, calmly gazing,

If earth holds aught - speak truth - above her? Above this tress, and this I touch But cannot praise, I love so much!

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INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

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COU know, we French stormed Ratisbon :

mile or so away
On a little mound, Napoléon

Stood on our storming-day;
With neck out-thrust, you fancy how,

Legs wide, arms locked behind,
As if to balance the prone brow

Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mused, “ My plans

That soar, to earth may fall,
Let once my army-leader, Lannes,

Waver at yonder wall,”.
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew

A rider, bound on bound
Full-galloping; nor bridle drew

Until he reached the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy,

And held himself erect
By just his horse's mane, a boy :
You hardly could suspect

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(So tight he kept his lips compressed,

Scarce any blood came through)
You looked twice ere you saw his breast

Was all but shot in two.

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“Well,” cried he, “ Emperor, by God's grace

We've got you Ratisbon !
The Marshal's in the market-place,

And you 'll be there anon

To see your flag-bird flap his vans

Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!” The Chief's eye flashed; his plans

Soarea up again like fire.

The Chief's eye flashed; but presently

Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother eagle's eye

When her bruised eaglet breathes : " You're wounded!” · Nay,” his soldier's pride

Touched to the quick, he said : “I'm killed, Sire!" And, his Chief beside,

Smiling, the boy fell dead.

THE BOY AND THE ANGEL.

M

ORNING, evening, noon, and night,
“ Praise God," sang Theocrite.

Then to his poor trade he turned,
By which the daily meal was earned.

Hard he labored, long and well ;
O'er his work the boy's curls fell :

But ever, at each period,
He stopped and sang, “ Praise God.”

Then back again his curls he threw,
And cheerful turned to work anew.

Said Blaise, the listening monk, “ Well done;
I doubt not thou art heard, my son :

“ As well as if thy voice to-day
Were praising God, the Pope's great way.
“ This Easter Day, the Pope at Rome
Praises God from Peter's dome.”

Said Theocrite, “Would God that I
Might praise Him, that great way, and die !”
Night passed, day shone,
And Theocrite was gone.
With God a day endures alway,
A thousand years are but a day.
God said in Heaven, “ Nor day nor night
Now brings the voice of my delight.”

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Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth,
Spread his wings and sank to earth;
Entered in flesh, the empty cell,
Lived there, and played the craftsman well:
And morning, evening, noon, and night,
Praised God in place of Theocrite.
And from a boy, to youth he grew :
The man put off the stripling's hue:

The man matured and fell away
Into the season of decay:

And ever o'er the trade he bent,
And ever lived on earth content.

(He did God's will; to him, all one If on the earth or in the sun.)

God said, “A praise is in mine ear;
There is no doubt in it, no fear :

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