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, Our painted canopy is o'er us, 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 ;- Though the eve comes on, no fear The night-wind comes,-from whence I wist not, It does not sigh with burden'd sadness, The birds were singing all day long; The tints from highest skies are fading, 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 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 ;- Glad the heart of our Gondolier. Now the palaces are shrouded, 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, Onward, gently with the tide, The Gondolier, then on his oar Which many a time he told before; |