sharp teeth, and hewing down horse and rider with his huge Danish battle-axe, which had twenty pounds of steel in the head of it, routing Turks as Maccabaeus of old routed Philistines. No wonder if he filled the West with pride and the East with dread. No wonder if Syrian mothers silenced their infants by his tremendous name. No wonder if, when the frighted Arab horse started from the way, his rider exclaimed, “What, dost thou think King Richard is in that bush?"

May his soul rest and roo,

And our souls when we come thereto!

The Gondola.

BY HENRY D. MOORE.

MERRILY with mirthful song,
Glides our Gondola along;
For our light heart Gondolier
Sings a lay with minstrel cheer.

Our painted canopy is o'er us,
And the welcome stream 's before us,
While brightly, gleely, as with laughter,
Come the ripples following after.
On either side, the distant shore—
With setting sunbeams sprinkled o'er,
With gold and silver beauty blest,
With bowers and palaces of rest-
Invites to moorings; still away
Glides our lightsome Gondola.

Now the sun is failing west,

And the evening star is keeping

Watch o'er nature seeking rest;

Now the dews begin their weeping,

Not from clouds,

Those darksome shrouds,

Closely guarding sorrow's seeming ;-
For each tear drop, gently roaming,—
From a sky of gladness coming,-
Seems a gem with radiance gleaming,
Blessing flowers that go to dreaming—
Bending down their tinted crests,
Mantling perfume o'er their breasts;

Though the eve comes on, no fear
Checks the song of our Gondolier.

The night-wind comes,-from whence I wist not,
And it matters little whither,-
But there is no rose it kiss'd not,
Coming on to greet us hither.

It does not sigh with burden'd sadness,
But it lightly wafts in gladness,
Bringing echoes of the song,

The birds were singing all day long;
Comes it too from fairest bowers,
Where it nestled with the flowers,
Raptured with their golden gushings,
Stealing fragrance mid their blushings,-
Comes with song, and fragrance here,
To bless the heart of our Gondolier.

The tints from highest skies are fading,
Going out as sinks the sun;

And the bright stars every one

Relieve the gloom of night's far shading.

Still no darkness mantles here, For the skies so polished are, They their happiest light from far Shed abroad with radiance clear, Seeming like a twilight blessing,

Lingering o'er the hours of night, Landscape far and near caressing, With the softest, kindliest light;— Still rows on, his song still clear,Our merry, light-heart Gondolier.

Our dreams of pleasure here were full
Of instant life, rare, beautiful;
And many a smile our rapture spoke,
As from the heart it sweetly broke,
Telling of thoughts, no words express,
That o'er our spirits came, to bless

Our happy gliding far away,

In the light speeding Gondola.

And now awakes the light guitar,

Casting on the air,

All around us, near and far,

Sounds of music rare.

Strings soft touched; and music stealing, Stealing o'er each heart-loved feeling;Or with rapture touched,—then leaping Forth, the strains that once were sleeping

Bound along,

And with the song,

Nature's true melody are keeping ;-
Making with the happiest cheer,

Glad the heart of our Gondolier.

Now the palaces are shrouded,
In a robe of misty light,

And the distant towers are crowded

With rich lanterns, glittering bright; And o'er the waters cometh near

The streaming light from palace pleasures; And listening still, there cometh clear The lightsome sound of palace measures. Now our own light song we cease,

And the harp-strings we release,

To catch more sure, the strains that wander, From the lighted palace yonder,

And to hear of love and glory,

Told to us in thrilling story,

Told to us with smile and tear,
By our kindly Gondolier.

Onward, gently with the tide,
On our Gondola did glide;

The Gondolier, then on his oar
Resting, told the story o'er,

Which many a time he told before;