I would not heap the golden chest,
That sordid spirits crave;
For every grain (by penury cursed)
Is gathered from the grave.
No; let my wreath unsullied be,
My fame be virtuous youth;
My wealth be kindness, charity;
My diadem be truth!
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.
That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure-
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell!
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.
How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
When, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from that loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well.
The old oaken bucket-the iron-bound bucket-
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.
S. WOODWORTH
THEY led a lion from his den,
The lord of Afric's sun-scorched plain;
And there he stood, stern foe of men,
And shook his flowing mane.
There's not of all Rome's heroes, ten
That dare abide this game.
His bright eye naught of lightning lacked;
His voice was like the cataract.
They brought a dark-haired man along,
Whose limbs with gyves of brass were bound:
Youthful he seemed, and bold and strong,
And yet unscathed of wound.
Blithely he stepped among the throng,
And careless threw around
A dark eye, such as courts the path
Of him who braves a Dacian's wrath.
Then shouted the plebeian crowd,-
Rung the glad galleries with the sound;
And from the throne there spake aloud
A voice,- "Be the bold man unbound!
And by Rome's sceptre yet unbowed,
By Rome earth's monarch crowned,
Who dares the bold, the unequal strife,
Though doomed to death, shall save his life."
Joy was upon that dark man's face;
And thus, with laughing eye, spake he:
the lord of Zaara's waste,
And let my arms be free:
He has a martial heart,' thou sayest;—
But oh! who will not be
A hero, when he fights for life,
For home and country, babes and wife!"
And he has bared his shining blade,
And springs he on the shaggy foe;
Dreadful the strife, but briefly played ;-
The desert-king lies low:
His long and loud death-howl is made;
And there must end the show.
And when the multitude were calm,
The favorite freed-man took the palm.
"Kneel down, Rome's emperor beside!"
He knelt, that dark man ;-o'er his brow
Was thrown a wreath in crimson died;
And fair words gild it now:
"Thou art the bravest youth that ever tried
To lay a lion low;
And from our presence forth thou go'st
To lead the Dacians of our host."
Then flushed his cheek, but not with pride,
And grieved and gloomily spake he:
"My cabin stands where blithely glide
Proud Danube's waters to the sea:
I have a young and blooming bride,
And I have children three :-
No Roman wealth or rank can give
Such joy as in their arms to live.
'My wife sits at the cabin door,
With throbbing heart and swollen eyes ;-
While tears her cheek are coursing o'er,
She speaks of sundered ties.
She bids my tender babes deplore
The death their father dies;
She tells these jewels of my home,
I bleed to please the rout of Rome.
"I cannot let those cherubs stray
Without their sire's protecting care;
And I would chase the griefs away
Which cloud my wedded fair."
The monarch spoke; the guards obey:
And gates unclosed are:
He's gone!-No golden bribes divide
The Dacian from his babes and bride.
THE Kaiser's* hand from all his foes
Had won him glory and repose:
Richly through his rejoicing land
Were felt the blessings of his hand;
And when at eve he sought his rest,
A myriad hearts his slumbers blessed.
In midnight's hush a tempest broke ;-
Throughout his realm its myriads woke;
And by the lightning's rapid flash,
And 'mid the thunder's bellowing crash,
In faith to heaven their prayers they spake,
For Christ's and for the Kaiser's sake.
But with a start, and with a pang,
Up from his couch the Kaiser sprang;
What! feareth he who never feared
When bloody deaths through hosts careered?
What! can the tempest's passing sound
That heart of battles thus confound?
No! no! but in its deepest deep
It wakes a cry no more to sleep;
And there! and there! in wrath begin
The pangs-the power of secret sin.
A blow is dealt,- -a strife is stirred,-
Without, the storm may pass unheard!
And, therefore, from his palace door
He passed into the loud uproar;
In wildest wind, and blackest night,
He passed away in sudden flight:
'Mid lightning, rain, and thunder's roll,
He went, a fire within his soul.
The Kaiser went in storm and night,
But ne'er returned in peace and light;
Astonished thousands asked his lot,
Love sought and sought, but found him not;
But conscience did what conscience would,
And sealed its errand-blood for blood!
A STORM was on the deep;
And lightning, in its wrath,
Called the darkness from its sleep,
In the fierce tornado's path:
The ocean waves went up among
The thunder-spirit's choir,
Recoiling as the death-note rung
From their canopy of fire.
"Awake! awake!—behold
Death throned among the clouds !
The sands of life are told-
The waves must be our shrouds."
Thus spake the chief, while, clinging round,
The shrieking concourse stood,
Waiting the sulphurous bolt to sound
Their requiem for the flood.
Stern Albuquerque that hour
Showed horror on his brow,
While conscience, in her power,
Made his haughty heart to bow;
Hot lightning blackened many a corse,
And cleft his bending mast,
While bounding like a reinless horse,
On went the proud ship fast.
Pressed down with guilty fear,
He knew his turn might be—
Another bolt fell near,
And burst upon the sea;--
When from a mother's bosom blest,
He snatched her infant care,
And clasping it before his breast,
Defied the lightning's glare.
"Now strike!—I stand prepared;
Hurl down, proud Heaven, thy worst! For innocence is bared
Before a bosom cursed !"
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