The Council of Horses.

UPON a time a neighing steed,

Who grazed among a numerous breed,
With mutiny had fired the train,
And spread dissension through the plain.
On matters that concern'd the state,
The council met in grand debate.
A colt, whose eyeballs flamed with ire,
Elate with strength and youthful fire,
In haste stepp'd forth before the rest,
And thus the listening throng address'd:
"Goodness, how abject is our race,
Condemn'd to slavery and disgrace!
Shall we our servitude retain,

Because our sires have borne the chain? Consider, friends, your strength and might; 'Tis conquest to assert your right.

How cumbrous is the gilded coach!
The pride of man is our reproach.
Were we design'd for daily toil,

To drag the ploughshare through the soil,
To sweat in harness through the road,
To groan beneath the carrier's load?
How feeble are the two-legg'd kind!
What force is in our nerves combined!
Shall, then, our nobler jaws submit
To foam and champ the galling bit?

Shall haughty man my back bestride?
Shall the sharp spur provoke my side?
Forbid it, heavens! Reject the rein;
Your shame, your infamy, disdain.
Let him the lion first control,
And still the tiger's famish'd growl :
Let us, like them, our freedom claim,
And make him tremble at our name

A general nod approv'd the cause,
And all the circle neigh'd applause.
When, lo, with grave and solemn paco
A steed advanc'd before the race;
With age and long experience wise,
Around he cast his thoughtful eyes,
And, to the murmurs of the train,
Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain :

"When I had health and strength like you

The toils of servitude I knew ;

Now grateful man rewards my pains,
And gives me all these wide domains;
At will I crop the year's increase,
My latter life is rest and peace.
I grant, to man we lend our pains,
And aid him to correct the plains;
But doth not he divide the care

Through all the labours of the year?

*NESTOR.-An aged chieftain who took part with the Greeks in the siege of Troy. From his age and experience he was looked up to as the adviser or counsellor of the army.

How many thousand structures rise,

To fence us from inclement skies!
For us he bears the sultry day,

And stores up all our winter's hay;
the harvest's gain—

He Sows, he reaps

We share the toil, and share the grain!
Since every creature was decreed

To aid each other's mutual need,
Appease your discontented mind,
And act the part by Heaven assign'd."

The tumult ceased. The colt submitted,
And, like his ancestors, was bitted.

GAY.

What is that, Mother?

WHAT is that, mother ?—

The lark, my child.

The morn has but just looked out and smiled,
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest,
And is up and away
with the dew on his breast,

And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright

sphere,

To warble it out in his Maker's ear.

Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays

Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise.

What is that, mother?—

The dove, my son,

And that low, sweet voice, like a widow's moan,
Is flowing out from her gentle breast,
Constant and pure, by that lonely nest,

As the wave is poured from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return.

Ever, my son, be thou like the dove,

In friendship as faithful, as constant in love!

What is that, mother?—

The eagle, boy,

Proudly careering his course of joy,
Firm in his own mountain vigour relying,
Breasting the dark storm, the red bolt defying;
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun,
He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.
Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
Onward and upward, true to the line.

What is that, mother?

The swan, my love.

He is floating down from his native grove,
No loved one now, no nestling nigh;

He is floating down by himself to die ;
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings,
Yet the sweetest song is the last he sings.
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swan-like and sweet, it may waft thee home.

DOANE.

The Vulture of the Alps.

'VE been among the mighty Alps, and wandered through their vales,

And heard the honest mountaineers relate their dismal tales,

As round the cottage blazing hearth, when their daily work was o'er,

They spake of those who disappeared, and ne'er were heard of more.

[fear, And there I from a shepherd heard a narrative of A tale to rend a mortal heart, which mothers might not hear :

The tears were standing in his eyes, his voice was tremulous;

But, wiping all those tears away, he told his story thus:

"It is among these barren cliffs the ravenous vulture dwells,

Who never fattens on the prey which from afar he smells; [rock, But, patient, watching hour on hour upon a lofty He singles out some truant lamb, a victim, from the flock.

"One cloudless Sabbath summer morn, the sun

was rising high,

When, from my children on the

green, I heard a

fearful cry,