Зображення сторінки
PDF
ePub

"Deuce take it!" he exclaimed, and rubbed his ear, "This will make seven, and we had five before; How shall we keep the wolf from off the door? Why, in bad weather, as it was, the fare Often ran short-'tis hard to see one's way.

No doubt

Well! I can't help it 'tis the Lord's affair.
Why take the mother from such brats away?
Not bigger than my fist-what use to say,
'Work for your bread' to mites like those?
Men must be scholars to make these things out,
They fairly bother me,-go fetch them, wife,
If they should wake and find themselves alone,
With mammy dead, 'twould scare them out of life.
Look you, the mother's knocking at our door,
We'll take her children in amongst our own;

At evening they will play about our knees,
Just like the other five we had before,

Brothers and sisters all. When the Lord sees That we have got to feed and clothe two more, He'll send more fish into our net. Besides

I can drink water, and work double tides,

That's settled-run and fetch them-'tis not far, What! vexed? I never saw you move so slow before!" She turns and draws the curtains-"There they are!" VICTOR HUGO.

(Translated by L. C. S.)

[By kind permission of Messrs. Daldy, Isbister, & Co.]

MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR.

Yes, the Year is growing old,

And his eye is pale and bleared!
Death, with frosty hand and cold,
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely!

The leaves are falling, falling,
Solemnly and slow;

Caw! Caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe,

A sound of woe!

Through woods and mountain-passes
The winds, like anthems, roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing, "Pray for this poor soul,
Pray,—pray!"

And the hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter their doleful prayers ;—
But their prayers are all in vain,
All in vain!

There he stands in the foul weather,
The foolish, fond Old Year,

Crowned with wild flowers and with heather,
Like weak, despised Lear,

[blocks in formation]

Then comes the summer-like day,

Bids the old man rejoice!

His joy! his last! Oh, the old man gray
Loveth that ever-soft voice,

Gentle and low.

To the crimson woods he saith,

To the voice gentle and low

Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,

"Pray do not mock me so!

Do not laugh at me!"

[blocks in formation]

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel, writing in a book of gold:-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

THE BELLS.

Hear the sledges with the bells—
Silver bells!

What a world of merriment their melody foretells!

How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
In the icy air of night!

While the stars that oversprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight.

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of Runic rhyme,

To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.

Hear the mellow wedding-bells,
Golden bells!

What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
How they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And all in tune,

What a liquid ditty floats

To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!

Oh, from out the sounding cells,
What a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!

How it dwells

On the Future! how it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,

Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-

To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!

Hear the loud alarum bells

Brazen bells!

What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells ! In the startled ear of night

How they scream out their affright!

« НазадПродовжити »