Through the night, through the night,
In the saddest unrest,

Wrapped in white, all in white,

With her babe on her breast,1

Walks the mother so pale,

Staring out on the gale

Through the night!

Through the night, through the night,

Where the sea lifts the wreck,
Land in sight, close in sight,
On the surf-flooded deck
Stands the father so brave,
Driving on to his grave

Through the night!-Stoddard.

With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread-
Stitch! stitch! stitch!-3

In poverty, hunger, and dirt; 4

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch

She sang the "Song of the Shirt!"-Hood.

O! breathe not his name! let it sleep in the shade
Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid:
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed

As the night-dew that falls on the grave o'er his head.
But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it weeps,
Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he sleeps;
And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls,
Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.-Moore.

I am monarch of all I survey-
My right there is none to dispute;

From the center all round to the sea
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.

O solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.-Cowper.

O! dear to memory are those hours
When every pathway led to flowers,
When sticks of peppermint possessed
A scepter's power to sway the breast,
And heaven was round us while we fed
On rich, ambrosial gingerbread.-Eliza Cook.

A vile conceit in pompous words expressed
Is like a clown in regal purple dressed.-Pope.

Abou Ben Adhem-may his tribe increase!-
Awoke one night1 from a deep dream of peace
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich 2 and like 2 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 his head
And, with a look made all of 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 night1

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.-Hunt.

Under a spreading chestnut-tree

The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;

And the muscles of his brawny arms

Are strong as iron bands.-Longfellow.

Our bugles sang truce; for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die."—Campbell.

'Tis pleasant through the loopholes of retreat

To peep at such a world, to see the stir

Of the great Babel and not feel the crowd,

To hear the roar she sends through all her gates

At a safe distance, where the dying sound

Falls a soft murmur' on the uninjured ear.-Cowper.

The mothers of our forest-land!

On old Kentucky's soil

How shared they with each dauntless band

War's tempest and life's toil.-Gallagher.

Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;

But when loud surges lash the sounding shore

The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar:

When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw

The line too labors, and the words move slow:

Not so when swift Camilla scours the plain,

Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main.-Pope.

1 See p. 197, Rem. 10.

4[ Are strong.]

7 Rule II.

2 Rule VIII, Rem. 10.

See p. 221, 7.

8 [It is.]

3 Rule III.

• See p. 150.

They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of time
Cut him down,

Not a better man was found

By the crier on his round

Through the town.-Holmes.

And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.
So breaks on the traveler faint and astray

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.-Beattie.

Stand here by my side and turn, I pray,
On the lake below thy gentle eyes;
The clouds hang over it heavy and gray,2
And dark and silent the water lies;
And out of that frozen mist the snow
In wavering flakes begins to flow;

Flake after flake,3

They sink in the dark and silent lake.-Bryant.

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away,

O'er the camp of the invader, o'er the Mexican array,

Who is losing? Who is winning? Are they far, or come they near?

Look abroad and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear?- Whittier.

Wearily flaggeth my soul in the desert,

Wearily, wearily.

Sand, ever sand, not a gleam from the fountain;
Sun, ever sun, not a shade from the mountain;
Wave after wave flows the sea of the desert,
Drearily, drearily.-Bulwer.

Somewhat back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat:
Across its antique portico

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw;
And from its station in the hall

An ancient time-piece says to all,
"For ever-never-
Never-for ever."

Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee;
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb,

The Saviour has passed though its portals before thee,

And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.-Heber.

1 Rule VI, Rem. 4.

8 See p. 197, Rem. 10, last paragraph.

2 Rule VIII, Rem. 2, latter part.

4 Rule V, Rem. 5.

Hark! his hands the lyre explore;
Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her golden urn

Thoughts that breathe and words that burn.-Gray.

The harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were filed.

So sleeps the pride of former days;

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts that once beat high for praise
Now feel that pulse no more.-Moore.

Morn on the waters! and purple and bright
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light!
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See, the tall vessel goes gallantly on!

Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,

And her pennant streams onward, like hope in the gale!
The winds come around her in murmur and song,
And the surges rejoice as they bear her along.-Hervey.

Lo! in the middle of the wood

The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steeped at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow,
Falls, and floats adown the air.

Lo! sweetened with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.

All its allotted length 2 of days

The flower ripens in its place,

Ripens and fades and falls, and hath no toil,
Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.-Tennyson.

Were half the power that fills the world with terror,
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,

There were no need of arsenals or forts.-Longfellow.

To each his sufferings: all are men,

Condemned alike to groan; 5

The tender for another's pain,

The unfeeling for his own.

Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,

And happiness too swiftly flies?

Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more-where ignorance is bliss
'Tis folly to be wise.-Gray.

1 Rule VI, Rem. 5.

4 See p. 77, Rem. 11.

2See p. 197, Rem. 10.

3 See p. 77, Rem. 9.

See p. 223, second paragraph.

The day is ending,

The night is descending,

The marsh is frozen,

The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes
The red sun flashes

On village windows

That glimmer red.-Longfellow.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene

The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen
And waste its fragrance on the desert air.-Gray.

Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
Where the light wings of zephyr, oppressed with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom;

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;

Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky,

In color though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the color of ocean is deepest in dye;

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,

And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?--Byron.

Note. If one verse is made to run into the next, this passage consists entirely of dactyls except in a few places; as, Know ye the | land where the cypress and myrtle are | emblems of | deeds that are | done in their | clime, where the | rage of the vulture, the | love of the turtle now | melt into | sorrow, now | madden to etc.

Farewell life! my senses swim,
And the world is growing dim;
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night-
Colder, colder, colder still,
Upward steals a vapor chill;
Strong the earthy odor grows-
I smell the mould above the rose.

Welcome life! the spirit strives!
Strength returns and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn-
O'er the earth there comes a bloom,
Sunny light for sullen gloom,

Warm perfume for vapor cold

I smell the rose above the mould.-Hood.

All smatterers are more brisk and pert

Than those that understand an art;

As little sparkles shine more bright

Than glowing coals that give them light.-Samuel Butler.

1 See p. 162, first paragraph.

2 Rule III, Rem. 3.