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Oh I never may the moon again disclose me such a sight
Hyenas, cats, blood-loving bats, and apes with hateful stare,
All phantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms— Hags, goblins, demons, Temures, have made me all aghast,— But nothing like that Grimly One who stood beside the mast!
His cheek was black, his brow was black, his eyes and hair as dark:
His hand was black, and where it touched, it left a sable mark;
His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked beneath,
His breast was black—all, all was black, except his grinning teeth.
His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves! Oh, horror! e'en the ship was black that plowed the inky waves!
"Alas!" I cried, " for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake, Where am I? in what dreadful ship? upon what dreadful lake?
What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal?
My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child,—
Loud laughed that sable mariner, and loudly in return
"Our skins," said he," are black ye see, because we carry coal; You'll find your mother sure enough, and see your native fields,
For this here ship has picked you up—the Mary Ann of Shields!"
A COCKNEY WAIL.
The great Pacific journey I have done;
In many a town and tent I've found a lodgment. I think I've traveled to the setting sun,
And very nearly reached the day of judgment! Like Launcelot, in the quest of Holy Grail,
From Western Beersheba to Yankee Dan I've been a seeker; yet I sadly fail
To find the genuine type American.
Where is this object of my youthful wonder,
Who met me in the pages of Sam Slick?
And whittled always on a bit of stick?
The less my chance to meet him seems to be;
To Dixen, Sala, Trollope—not to me?
No one accosts me with the words: " Wa'll strange* !K
Greets me with " festive cuss," or shouts " old hoso" No grim six-shooter threatens me with danger,
If I don't quickly " Pass the butter, boss."
In many a railway, omnibus, street car;
And said: You git, I mean to sit right thar!"
Gone are the Yankees of my early reading!
Faded the Yankee Land of eager quest!
Art, letters,—men and women of the best.
Take counsel of a disappointed man;
And seek in books the true American.
SHELTER.—William J. Lee.
There's mony a wee sweet lily sair nipped wi' the cold;
The bending heather i' the field, the primrose down the brae, The hawthorn, fragrant i' the glen, and ilka milk-white slae,
He sifts the biting frost upon, and wings the blast wi' cold; But gently shields His lammies a' within His safe, warm fold.
When hawk, wi' dark wings, swoopeth adown the simmer sky,
The mither ca's, and frichtened brood aneath her wingies fly;
When shadows, swooping, fa' on thee—warld sorrows—trouble stints—
He ca's for hmpin', helpless weans to run aneat h His wings!
The world hae, whiles, its dangers, and winged blasts o' care, Yet the Father flecketh mony spots wi' hopings, bright and fair.
We gang to find a city where we hope wi' joy to sing: And our pilgrim heads are sheltered aneath His feathery wing.
'Mang mists we sometimes stimble, and hunter's darts fa' fast,
The nicht comes down upon us, and nae starlight cheers the blast!
But nae sparrow e'er escapeth His watchfu', kindly ee; Aid his gentle wings come drooping down to shelter you and me.
Wha's on before wi' bleeding feet, atween me and the storm? My shield by day, mv guide by night—that meek and weary form?
Each burden that my heart doth bend, He first the burden bore;
And Hisguid hand will lead me safe the last dark river o'er!
The bairn hath loving mither, and wee birdies leafy nest; The calms are cradles of the storms, and ocean waves have rest! .
We dinna ken how soon may fa' upon our hearts sae sair, Down frae the gowden gate the cry, " Ye need nae journey mair!"
So gird the loins, and brichten up the sword, and forward gang!
We'll meet wi' mony trials, but it winna be for lane.
And as shepherd leads his lammies, and ca's them a'byname,
Our Friend will open wide the gate, and bid us a' come hame!
A SCENE FROM DOUGLAS. —Rev. John Home.
Glen. His port I love; he's in a proper mood
Norv. The setting sun
With yellow radiance lighten'd all the vale,
Qlen. Thou talk'st it well; no leader of our host
Norv. If I should' e'er acquire a leader's name,
Gkn. You wrong yourself, brave sir; your martial deed/
Norv. Sir, I have been accustomed, all my days,
Glen. I did not mean
To gall your pride, which now I see is great.
Norv. M j pride!
Glen. Suppress it, as you wish to prosper;
Your pride's excessive. Yet, for Randolph's sake,
Norv. A shepherd's scorn!
Glen. Why yes, if you presume
To bend on soldiers those disdainful eyes
As if you took the measure of their minds,
Norv. Hast thou no fears for thy presumptuous self?
Glen. Ha! dost thou threaten me?
Norv. Didst thou not hear?
Glen. Unwillingly I did; a nobler foe
Norv. Whom dost thou think me?
Norv. So I am;
And who is Norval in Glenalvon's eyes?
Glen. A peasant's son, a wandering beggar boy; At best no more, even if he speak the truth.
Norv. False as thou art, dost thou suspect my truth?
Glen. Thy truth I thou'rt all a lie; and basely false
Norv. If I were chained, unarmed, or bedrid old,
Glen. Dost thou not know Glenalvon—born to command Ten thousand slaves like thee?
Norv. Villain, no more!
Draw, and defend thy life. I did design
Enter Lord Randolph.
Lord R. Hold! I command you both ! the man that stirs Makes me his foe.
Norv. Another voice than thine
Glen. Hear him, my lord: he's wondrous condescending! Mark the humility of shepherd Norval!
Norv. Now you may scoff in safety.
Lord R. Speak not thus,
Taunting each other, but unfold to me
Norv. Nay, my good lord, though I revere you much,