"Spare pity, King of Aragon! I would not hear thee lie: My lord is looking down from heaven "Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down, Fly! I will grant thee time." "This flag They girt the standard round about, But still they heard the battle-cry, And there, against all Aragon, Olea fought until the sword Among the foe with that high scorn They hewed the hauberk from his breast, They hewed the hands from off his limbs; Clasping the standard to his heart, That rang as if a trumpet blew,— "Olea for Castile!" George H. Boker. HER LETTER. I'm sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire,— It cost a cool thousand in France; I'm be-diamonded out of all reason, A dozen engagements I 've broken; Likewise a proposal, half spoken, That waits on the stairs-for me yet. They say he'll be rich,—when he grows up,And then he adores me indeed. And you, sir, are turning your nose up, "And how do I like my position?" "And what do I think of New York?" "And now, in my higher ambition, With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And is n't it nice to have riches, And diamonds, and silks, and all that?" Well, yes,—if you saw us out driving And yet, just this moment, when sitting The "finest soirée of the year, In the mists of a gauze de Chambéry, And the hum of the smallest of talk, Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork;" Of Harrison's barn, with its muster Of the candles that shed their soft luster Of the steps that we took to one fiddle; Of the moon that was quietly sleeping On the hill, when the time came to go; To "the best-paying lead in the State." Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny And swam the North Fork, and all that, But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing! I'm spooning on Joseph,-heigh-ho! Good-night, here's the end of my paper; . Good-night, if the longitude please, For maybe while wasting my taper, Your sun's climbing over the trees. But know if you have n't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart 's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it,—on Poverty Flat. Bret Harte. THE BUGLE SONG. The splendor falls on castle walls O hark! O hear! how thin and clear, O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill, or field, or river: Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, THE GREEN GNOME. Ring, sing! ring, sing! pleasant Sabbath bells! And I galloped and I galloped on my palfrey white as milk, My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk was of the silk; My hair was golden yellow, and it floated to my shoe; My eyes were like two harebells bathed in little drops of dew; My palfrey, never stopping, made a music sweetly blent With the leaves of autumn dropping all around me as I went; And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far behind me peal and play, Fainter, fainter, fainter, till they seemed to die away; And beside a silver runnel, on a little heap of sand, I saw the green gnome sitting, with his cheek upon his hand. Then he started up to see me, and he ran with cry and bound, And drew me from my palfrey white and set me on the ground. O crimson, crimson were his locks, his face was green to see, But he cried, "O light-haired lassie, you are bound to marry me!" He clasped me round the middle small, he kissed me on the cheek, He kissed me once, he kissed me twice,-I could not stir or speak; He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice,-but when he kissed again, I called aloud upon the name of Him who died for men. Sing, sing! ring, ring! pleasant Sabbath bells! Chime, rhyme! chime, rhyme! through dales and dells! O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and maids to pray, man: His hands were white, his beard was gold, his eyes were black as sloes, His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken were his hose; speak; "O, you have cast away the charm my step-dame put on me, Seven years I dwelt in Faëryland, and you have set me free. O, I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride to kirk with thee, And, by those little dewy eyes, we twain will wedded be!"' Back we galloped, never stopping, he before and I behind, And the autumn leaves were dropping, red and yellow, in the wind: |