We buried him darkly,―at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning;
By the struggling moon-beams' misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest-
With his martial cloak around him!

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow;
But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought—as we hollow'd his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow-
How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow!

"Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him;

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him."

But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down,

From the field of his fame fresh and gory ! We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, But we left him-alone with his glory!

TH

HE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but he had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead;
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.
The flames roll'd on-he would not go,
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.

He call'd aloud:-"Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!

And," but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,

And look'd from that lone post of death,
In still yet brave despair:

* Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the admiral of the Orient, a French ship of war, remained at his post in the battle of the Nile, after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel when the flames had reached the powder.

And shouted but once more aloud, "My father!' must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud.
The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapp'd the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,

And stream'd above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder-sound, -
The boy,-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around
With fragments strew'd the sea!

With mast and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,—
But the noblest thing which perish'd there,
Was that young and faithful heart!

MRS. HEMANS.

25. REMEMBRANCES.

REMEMBER, I remember,
The house where I was born,
The little window, where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.
He never came a wink too soon,
Nor brought too long a day;
now, I often wish the night
Had borne my breath away!

But

I remember, I remember,
The roses red and white,
The violets and the lily-cups,
Those flow'rets made of light;
The lilacs where the robins built,
And where my brother set
The laburnum, on his birth-day-
The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember,
Where I was used to swing,
And through the air would rush as fresh
As swallows on the wing;
My spirit flew in feathers, then,
That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender spires,
Were close against the sky!

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 'tis little joy

To know I'm further off from heaven,

Than when I was a boy!

T. HOOD.

26. THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW

A

WORM.

NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,

Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to feel, as well he might,-
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied, far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So, stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.

The worm, aware of his intent,
Harangued him thus, right eloquent:-
"Did you admire my lamp," quoth he,
"As much as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song;
For 'twas the self-same power divine
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I with light,
Might beautify and cheer the night."

The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else

COWPER.