XIX. THE SONG OF THE FORGE. 1. CLANG, clang! the massive anvils' ring; Clang, clang! Say, brothers of the dusky brow, 2 What are your strong arms forging now? Clang, clang! Our colter's course shall be By many a streamlet's silver tide, Through woodbine hedges and sweet may,* When regal Autumn's bounteous hand We bless we bless the PLOUGH. 2. Clang, clang! Again, my mates, what glows *In England, the familiar name of the common hawthorn and its flower 'Mid stormy winds and adverse tides; Anxious no more, the merchant sees Calmly he rests, though far away Say, on what sands these links shall sleep, By many an iceberg, lone and hoar,- Say, shall they feel the vessel reel, The crashing broadside makes reply? Hold grappling ships, that strive the while For death or victory? 3. Hurrah! Cling, clang! Once more, what glows, Dark brothers of the forge, beneath The iron tempest of your blows, The furnace's red breath? Clang, clang! A burning torrent, clear And brilliant, of bright sparks, is poured Around and up in the dusky air, As our hammers forge the swORD. *The battle of the Nile was fought near one of the mouths of the River Nile, August 1, 1798. In this battle the English fleet, commanded by Lord Nelson, badly defeated the French fleet under Brueys. 1 ĂN/VIL. The sword! a name of dread; yet when The war-drums roll, the trumpets sound, Whenever, for the truth and right, Whether in some wild mountain pass, An iron block on which | 5 ROAD'STEAD. A place of anchorage iron and other metals are laid to at some distance from the shore. 6 ICE BERG. A vast mass of ice. * LEONIDAS. A king of Sparta who defended the pass of Thermopyla with three hundred Spartans against the Persian army under Xerxes, and gained immortal glory by the heroic death of himself and his little band. † MARSTON MOOR. A large plain about eight miles from York, England, where the parliamentary forces gained a decisive victory over the royalists, in 1644. BANNOCKBURN. A village in Scotland famous for a battle in which the Scots under Robert Bruce signally defeated the English army under Edward II., in 1314. § TYROL. An Austrian province north of Italy. [Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, the world-renowned author of Uncle Tom's Cabin, is the daughter of the Rev. Lyman Beecher, D. D., and wife of Professor Calvin E. Stowe, of the Theological Seminary at Andover, Massachusetts. The following extract is from the May-Flower, a collection of sketches and narratives, marked by the same combination of humor and pathos which is so conspicuous in her novel.] 1. WERE any of you born in New England, in the good old catechising', church-going, school-going, orderly times? If so, you may have seen my uncle Abel; the most perpendicular, rectangular 2, upright, downright good man that ever labored six days and rested on the seventh. 2. You remember his hard, weather-beaten countenance, where every line seemed drawn with "a pen of iron and the point of a diamond;" his considerate gray eyes, that moved over objects as if it were not best to be in a hurry about seeing; the circumspect' opening and shutting of the mouth; his downsitting and uprising, all performed with deliberate forethought; in short, the whole ordering of his life and conversation, which was, after a military fashion, "to the right about face-forward, march." 3. Now, if you supposed, from all this sternness of exterior, that this good man had nothing kindly within, you were much mistaken. You often find the greenest grass under a snow-drift; and though my uncle's mind was not exactly of the flower-garden kind, still there was an abundance of wholesome and kindly vegetation there. 4. It is true he seldom laughed, and never joked himself; but no man had a more serious and weighty conviction of what a joke was in another; and when a witticism1 was uttered in his presence, you might see his face relax into an expression of solemn satisfaction, and he would took at the author with a sort of quiet wonder, as if it were past his comprehension how such a thing could ever come into a man's head. 5. Uncle Abel, too, had some relish for the fine arts; in proof of which, I might adduce the pleasure with which he gazed at the plates in his family Bible, the likeness whereof is neither in heaven, nor on earth, nor under the earth. And he was also so eminent a musician, that he could go through the singing book at one sitting without the least fatigue, beating time like a windmill all the way. 6. He had, too, a liberal hand, though his liberality was all by the rule of three. He did by his neighbor exactly as he would be done by; he loved some things in this world very sincerely; he loved his God much, but he honored and feared him more; he was exact with others, but he was more exact with himself, and he expected his God to be more exact still. 7. Every thing in uncle Abel's house was in the same time, place, manner, and form, from year's end to year's end. There was old Master Bose, a dog after my uncle's own heart, who always walked as if he were studying the multiplication table. There was the old clock, forever ticking in the chimney corner, with a picture of the sun upon its face, forever setting behind a perpendicular row of poplar trees. There was the never-failing supply of red peppers and onions hanging over the chimney. 8. There, too, were the yearly hollyhocks and morning glories blooming about the windows. There was the "best room," with its sanded floor; the cupboard in one corner, with its glass doors; the evergreen asparagus bushes in the chimney; and there was the stand with the Bible and almanac on it in another corner. There, too, was aunt Betsey, who never looked any older, because she always looked as old as she could; who always dried her catnip and wormwood the last of September, and began to clean house the first of May. In short, this was the |