A citizen of Roman rights,

Silver and golden store,

These shall be thine; let Christian blood

But stain the marble floor."

So rose the Amphitheatre,

Tower and arch and tier;

There dawned a day when martyrs stood
Within that ring of fear.

But strong their quenchless trust in God,
And strong their human love,

Their eyes of faith, undimmed, were fixed
On temples far above.

And thousands gazed, in brutal joy,
To watch the Christians die,-
But one beside Vespasian leaned,
With a strange light in his eye.

What thoughts welled up within his breast,
As on that group he gazed,

What gleams of holy light from heaven,
Upon his dark soul blazed!

Had he by password gained access,
To the dark catacomb,

And learned the hope of Christ's beloved,
Beyond the rack, the tomb?

The proud Vespasian o'er him bends,

"My priceless architect, To-day I will announce to all Thy privilege elect,

A free made citizen of Rome."
Calmly Gaudentis rose,

And folding, o'er his breast. his arms,
Turned to the Saviour's foes;

And in a strength not all his own,
With Life and Death in view,

The fearless architect exclaimed,
"i am a Christian too."

Only a few brief moments passed,
And brave Gaudentis lay

Within the amphitheatre,

A lifeless mass of clay.
Vespasian promised him the rights
Of proud Imperial Rome;

But Christ with martyrs crowned him King,
Beneath Heaven's cloudless dome.

THE

XVII.-SOMEBODY'S MOTHER.

HE woman was old, and ragged and gray,

And bent with the chill of a Winter's day; The streets were white with a recent snow, And the woman's feet with age were slow.

At the crowded crossing she waited long,
Jostled aside by the careless throng,
Of human beings who passed her by,
Unheeding the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "School let out,'
Come happy boys, like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep;
Past the woman, so old and gray,
Hastened the children on their way.

None offered a helping hand to her,

So weak and timid, afraid to stir,

Lest the carriage wheels or the horse's feet,
Should trample her down in the slippery street.

At last came out of the merry troop

The gayest boy of all the group;

He paused beside her, and whispered low, "I'll help you across, if you wish to go;

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were young and strong ;
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged, and poor and slow;
And some one, some time, may lend a hand
To help my mother-you understand?—
If ever she's poor, and old and gray,
And her own dear boy so far away."

"Somebody's mother," bowed low her head,
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was: "God be kind to that noble boy,
Who is somebody's son and pride and joy."

Faint was the voice, and worn and weak,
But heaven lists when its chosen speak ;

Angels caught the faltering word,

And "Somebody's Mother's' prayer was heard.

XVIII.-LANDING OF THE PILGRIM

FATHERS.

MRS. HEMANS.

THE breaking waves dashed high

On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed ;

And the heavy night hung dark

The hills and waters o'er,

When a band of Exiles moored their bark
On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes,

They, true-hearted, came;

Not with the rolls of stirring drums,
And the trumpet that sings of fame ;

Not as the flying come,

In silence and in fear ;

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
With their hymus of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang,

And the stars heard, and the sea !

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang

To the anthem of the free !

The ocean eagle soared

From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared ;This was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair

Amidst the Pilgrim band;

Why have they come to wither there,
Away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye,

Lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high
And the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus, afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

-They sought a faith's pure shrine !

Aye, call it holy ground,

The soil where first they trod !

They have left unstained what there they found— Freedom to worship God!

XX. THE ORPHAN BOY.
MRS. OPIE

TAY, Lady! stay for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless Orphan's tale!
Ah! sure, my looks must pity wake,
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.
Yet I was once a mother's pride,

And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died—
And I am now an Orphan Boy!

Poor, foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought;
She could not bear to see my joy,
For with my father's life 'twas bought—
And made me a poor Orphan Boy.

The people's shouts were long and loud
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears,
"Rejoice! rejoice!" still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.

"Why are you crying thus," said I,
"While others laugh, and shout with joy ?"
She kissed me, and, with such a sigh,
She called me her poor Orphan Boy!

"What is an orphan boy?" I said,

When, suddenly, she gasped for breath;
And her eyes closed-I shrieked for aid.
But, ah! her eyes were closed in death!
And now they've tolled my mother's knell,
And I'm no more a parent's joy;
O Lady! I have learned too well
What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy!

Oh! were I by your bounty fed—
Nay, gentle Lady, do not chide;
Trust me, I mean to earn my bread;
The sailor's orphan boy has pride!
Lady, you weep !-Ha!-this to me?
You'll give me clothing, food, employ ?
Look down, dear parents, look and see
Your happy, happy Orphan Boy!

XXI.-BETH GELERT.

W. L. SPENCER.

THE spearman heard the bugle sound, and cheerly smiled the morn
And many a brach, and many a hound, attend Llewellyn's horn ;
And still he blew a louder blast, and gave a louder cheer;
"Come, Gelert! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear?
Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? the flower of all his race!
So true, so brave! a lamb at home-a lion in the chase!"

'Twas only at Llewelly'ns board the faitnful Gelert fed ;
He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, and sentinel'd his bed
In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John ;-
But now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on.

And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries,
That day Llewellyn little loved the chasc of hart or hare,
And scant and small the booty proved-for Gelert was not there.
Unpleased Llewellyn homeward hied ;—when, near the portal seat,
His truant Gelert he espied, bounding his Lord to greet.

But when he gained the castle door, aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound was smeared with gouts of gore; his lips and fangs ran blood ! Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, unused such looks so meet;

His favourite checked his joyful guise, and crouched and licked his feet.
Onward in hast Llewellyn passed—and on went Gelert too!

And still, where'er his eyes were cast, fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!
O'erturned his infant's bed he found! the blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground with recent blood besprent !
He called his child—no voice replied! he searched with terror wild,