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His muzzle, form'd of opposition stuff, Firm as a Foxite, would not lose its ruff; So kept it—laughing at the steel and suds: Hodge in a passion stretch'd his angry jaws, Vowing the direst vengeance, with clench'd claws, On the vile cheat that sold the goods— "Razors! a cursed confounded dog, Not fit to scrape a hog!"

Hodge sought the fellow—found him, and began,
Perhaps, Mr. Razor-rogue, to you 'tis fun,
That people flay themselves out of their lives;
You rascal!—for an hour have I been grubbing,
Giving my scoundrel whiskers here a scrubbing,
With razors just like oyster knives;
Sirrah! I tell you you're a knave.
To cry up razors that can't shave.

"Friend," quoth the razor-man, I'm no knave;
As for the razors you have bought,
Upon my soul I never thought
That they would shave."

"Not think they'd shave!" quoth Hodge, with won-
dering eyes,
And voice not much unlike an Indian yell,
"What were they made for then, you dog," he cries,
"Made!" quoth the fellow, with a smile—" to sell."


Theke is a pleasure in the pathless woods;
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I love not Man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
I'Vom all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the universe,—and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean !—roll;
Ton thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain :—
Man marks the earth with ruin,—his control
Stops with the shore ;—upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save his own,—
When for a moment, like a drop of rain,
Me sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan,
Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown.

The armaments which thunderstrike the walls
Of rock-built cities, bidding" nations quake,
And monarchs tremble in their capitals,—
The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make
Their clay creator the vain title take
Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war,--
These are thy toys ; and as the snowy flake,
They melt into the yeast of waves, which mar
Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar.

Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee ;—
Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage,—what are they?
Thy waters wasted them while they were free,
And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey
The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay
Has dried up realms to deserts :—not so thou,
Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves' play;
Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow;
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror! where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time,
Calm or convulsed,—in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Park-heaving ;—boundless, endless, and sublime—

The image of eternity,—the throne Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made: each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth—dread—fathomlessalone!


The warrior bow'd his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire,

And sued the haughty king to free his long imprisoned sire;

"I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train,

I pledge my faith—my liege, my lord, Oh! break my father's chain."

"Rise! rise, even now thy father comes, a ransomed

man this day, Mount thy good steed, and thou and I will meet him

on his way." Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his

steed, And urged, as if with lance in hand, his charger's

foaming speed.

And lo! from far as on they press'd, they met a

glittering band, With one that 'mid them stately rode, like a leader in

the land; "Now, haste, Bernardo, haste, for there in very

truth is he, The father—whom thy grateful heart hath yearned so

long to see."

His proud breast heaved, his dark eye flashed, his

cheeks' hue came and went, He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there

dismounting bent;

A lowly knee to earth ho bent, his father's hand he

took, What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit


That hand was cold, a frozen thing, it dropped from

his like lead; Ho looked up to the face above, the face was of tho

dead; A plume waved o'er the noble brow, the brow was

fixed and white, Ho met at length his father's eyes, but in them saw

no sight.

Up from the ground he sprung, and gazed, but who

can paint that gaze? They hushed their very hearts who saw its horror and

amaze; They might have chained him, as before that noble

form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arms, and from

his cheek the blood.

"Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like children then,—

"Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men;"

He thought on all his glorious hopes, on all his high renown,

Then flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down;

And covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly

mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the

sword for now; My king is false, my hope betrayed—my father, Oh!

the worth, The glory and the loveliness are past away to earth!" Up from the ground he sprung once more, and seized

the monarch's rein, Amid the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier

train; And with a fierce o'erinastering grasp, the rearing

-war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face, the king before

the dead.

"Came I not here on thy pledge, my father's hand

to kiss, Be still! and gaze thou on, false king, and tell me

what is this; The look, the voice, the heart I sought—give answer,

where are they? If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, put life in

this cold clay.

"Into those glassy eyes put light; be still, keep down

thine ire, Bid those cold lips a blessing speak, this earth is not

mv sire. Give me "back him for whom I fought, for whom my

blood was shed, Thou canst not! and, oh king, his blood be mountains

on thy head!"

He loosed the rein, his slack hand fell, upon the silent

face He cast one long deep mournful glance, then fled

from that sad place; His after fate no more was heard amid the martial

train, His banner led the spears no more among the bills of


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