Verses from the Oldest Poolio | Page 4

limb and leaden eye,
The Pig was on the ground
And straight towards the sleeper's house
His fearful way he wended;

And hooting owl and hovering bat
On midnight wing attended.
Back flew the bolt, up rose the latch,
And open swung the door,

And little mincing feet were heard
Pat, pat along the floor.
Two hoofs upon the sanded floor,
And two upon the bed;
And they
are breathing side by side,
The living and the dead!
"Now wake, now wake, thou butcher man!
What makes thy cheek so
pale?
Take hold! take hold! thou dost not fear
To clasp a spectre's
tail?"
Untwisted every winding coil;
The shuddering wretch took hold,

All like an icicle it seemed,
So tapering and so cold.
"Thou com'st with me, thou butcher man!"--
He strives to loose his
grasp,
But, faster than the clinging vine,
Those twining spirals
clasp;
And open, open swung the door,
And, fleeter than the wind,
The
shadowy spectre swept before,
The butcher trailed behind.
Fast fled the darkness of the night,
And morn rose faint and dim;

They called full loud, they knocked full long,
They did not waken
him.
Straight, straight towards that oaken beam,
A trampled pathway ran;

A ghastly shape was swinging there,--
It was the butcher man.
TO A CAGED LION

Poor conquered monarch! though that haughty glance
Still speaks thy
courage unsubdued by time,
And in the grandeur of thy sullen tread

Lives the proud spirit of thy burning clime;--
Fettered by things
that shudder at thy roar,
Torn from thy pathless wilds to pace this
narrow floor!
Thou wast the victor, and all nature shrunk
Before the thunders of
thine awful wrath;
The steel-armed hunter viewed thee from afar,

Fearless and trackless in thy lonely path!
The famished tiger closed
his flaming eye,
And crouched and panted as thy step went by!
Thou art the vanquished, and insulting man
Bars thy broad bosom as
a sparrow's wing;
His nerveless arms thine iron sinews bind,
And
lead in chains the desert's fallen king;
Are these the beings that have
dared to twine
Their feeble threads around those limbs of thine?
So must it be; the weaker, wiser race,
That wields the tempest and
that rides the sea,
Even in the stillness of thy solitude
Must teach
the lesson of its power to thee;
And thou, the terror of the trembling
wild,
Must bow thy savage strength, the mockery of a child!
THE STAR AND THE WATER-LILY
THE sun stepped down from his golden throne.
And lay in the silent
sea,
And the Lily had folded her satin leaves,
For a sleepy thing
was she;
What is the Lily dreaming of?
Why crisp the waters blue?

See, see, she is lifting her varnished lid!
Her white leaves are
glistening through!
The Rose is cooling his burning cheek
In the lap of the breathless
tide;--
The Lily hath sisters fresh and fair,
That would lie by the
Rose's side;
He would love her better than all the rest,
And he
would be fond and true;--
But the Lily unfolded her weary lids,
And
looked at the sky so blue.

Remember, remember, thou silly one,
How fast will thy summer
glide,
And wilt thou wither a virgin pale,
Or flourish a blooming
bride?
Oh, the Rose is old, and thorny, and cold,
And he lives on
earth," said she;
"But the Star is fair and he lives in the air,
And he
shall my bridegroom be."
But what if the stormy cloud should come,
And ruffle the silver sea?

Would he turn his eye from the distant sky,
To smile on a thing
like thee?
Oh no, fair Lily, he will not send
One ray from his far-off
throne;
The winds shall blow and the waves shall flow,
And thou
wilt be left alone.
There is not a leaf on the mountain-top,
Nor a drop of evening dew,

Nor a golden sand on the sparkling shore,
Nor a pearl in the waters
blue,
That he has not cheered with his fickle smile,
And warmed
with his faithless beam,--
And will he be true to a pallid flower,

That floats on the quiet stream?
Alas for the Lily! she would not heed,
But turned to the skies afar,

And bared her breast to the trembling ray
That shot from the rising
star;
The cloud came over the darkened sky,
And over the waters
wide
She looked in vain through the beating rain,
And sank in the
stormy tide.
ILLUSTRATION OF A PICTURE
"A SPANISH GIRL IN REVERIE,"
SHE twirled the string of golden beads,
That round her neck was
hung,---
My grandsire's gift; the good old man
Loved girls when he
was young;
And, bending lightly o'er the cord,
And turning half
away,
With something like a youthful sigh,
Thus spoke the maiden
gray:--
"Well, one may trail her silken robe,
And bind her locks with pearls,


And one may wreathe the woodland rose
Among her floating curls;

And one may tread the dewy grass,
And one the marble floor,

Nor half-hid bosom heave the less,
Nor broidered corset more!
"Some years ago, a dark-eyed girl
Was sitting in the shade,--

There's something brings her to my mind
In that young dreaming
maid,--
And in her hand she held a flower,
A flower, whose
speaking hue
Said, in the language of the heart,
'Believe the giver
true.'
"And, as she looked upon its leaves,
The maiden made a vow
To
wear