8. He springs from his hammock, || he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him || with images dire; Wild winds and mad waves || drive the ve sel a wreck, The masts fly in splinters, || the shrouds are on fire! 9. Like mountains the billows || tumultuously swell, In vain the lost wretch' || calls on mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits || are ringing his knell, And the death-angel flaps || his broad wings o'er the wave. 10. Oh, Sailor-boy'! | woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness || dissolves the gay frost-work of bliss; Where now is the picture || that Fancy touched bright; Thy parents' fond pressure, || and love's honeyed kiss? 11. Oh, Sailor-boy'! Sailor-boy'! || never again

Shall home, love, or kindred, || thy wishes repay;
Unblessed and unhonored, || down deep in the main
Full many a score fathom, || thy frame shall decay.
12. No tomb shall e'er plead || to remembrance for thee,
Or redeem form or fame || from the merciless surge;
But the white foam of waves || shall thy winding-sheet be,
And winds, in the midnight || of winter, thy dirge.

13. On beds of green sea-flower || thy limbs shall be laid,
Around thy white bones || the red coral shall grow;
Of thy fair, yellow locks, || threads of amber be made,
And every part suit || to thy mansion below.

14. Days', months', years', and ages, || shall circle away,
And still the vast waters || above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern || forever and aye;
Oh, Sailor-boy'! Sailor-boy'! | peace to thy soul.

DIMONI

LESSON XXXII.

MARY, THE MAID OF THE INN.

1. WHERE is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes
Seem a heart overcharged to express?
She weeps not', yet often and deeply she sighs;
She never complains; but her silence implies
The composure of settled distress.

2. No aid', no compassion', the maniac will seek;
Cold and hunger awake not her care;

Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak
On her poor withered bosom, half bare`; and her cheek
Has the deadly pale hue of despair.

3. Yet cheerful and happy`, nor distant the day,
Poor Mary, the maniac, has been`:

The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way,
No damsel so lovely, no damsel so gay',
As Mary, the Maid of the Inn."

4. Her cheerful' address filled the guests with delight,
As she welcomed them in with a smile;
Her heart was a stranger to childish affright,
And Mary would walk by the Abbey at night,
When the wind whistled down the dark aisle.

5. She loved'; and young Richard had settled the day`, And she hoped to be happy for life:

But Richard was idle and worthless; and they
Who knew him would pity poor Mary', and say,
That she was too good for his wife.

6. 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night,
And fast were the windows and door;
Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burned bright;
And, smoking in silence, with tranquil delight,
They listened to hear the wind roar.

7. "Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside,
To hear the wind whistle without."

"A fine night for the Abbey`!" his comrade replied:
"Methinks a man's courage would now well be tried,
Who would wander the ruins about.

8. "I myself, like a school-boy, should tremble to hear
The hoarse ivy shake over my head;
And could fancy I saw, half persuaded by fear,
Some ugly, old abbot's white spirit appear,
For this wind might awaken the dead."

9. "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried,

"That Mary' would venture there now`:"
"Then wager, and lose," with a sneer he replied;
"I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side,
And faint if she saw a white cow!"

10. "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?"
His companion exclaimed with a smile`;

"I shall win, for I know she will venture there now,
And earn a new bonnet, by bringing a bough
From the alder that grows in the aisle."

11. With fearless good-humor did Mary comply,
And her way to the Abbey she bent;

The night it was gloomy, the wind it was high;
And, as hollowly howling it swept through the sky,
She shivered with cold as she went.

12. O'er the path so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the Abbey rose dim on the sight;

Through the gateway, she entered, she felt not afraid;

Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade
Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night.

13. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast
Howled dismally round the old pile;

Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed,
And arrived at the innermost ruin at last,

Where the alder-tree grew in the aisle.

14. Well pleased did she reach` it, and quickly drew near,
And hastily gathered the bough;

When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear;
She paused, and she listened, all eager to hear,
And her heart panted fearfully now!

15. The wind blew`, the hoarse ivy shook over her head`:
She listened`; naught else could she hear.

The wind ceased', her heart sunk in her bosom with dread,
For she heard in the ruins-distinctly—the tread
Of footsteps approaching her near.

16. Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear,
She crept, to conceal herself there;

That instant, the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear,
And she saw in the moonlight two ruffians appear,
And between them, a corpse did they bear.

17. Then Mary could feel her heart-blood curdle cold!
Again the rough wind hurried by;

It blew off the hat of the one, and behold,
Even close to the feet of poor Mary it rolled`;
She fell; and expected to die!

18. "Stop! the hat!" he exclaims; "Nay, come on, and fast hide
The dead body!" his comrade replies.
She beheld them in safety pass on by her side,
She seizes the hat`, fear her courage supplied,
And fast through the Abbey she flies!

19. She ran with wild speed`, she rushed in at the door`,
She look'd horribly eager around`:

Her limbs could support their faint burden no more;
But exhausted and breathless, she sunk on the floor,
Unable to utter a sound.

20. Ere yet her pale lips could her story impart,
For a moment, the hat met her view:

Her eyes from that object convulsively start,

For, Ŏ Heaven! what cold horror thrilled through her heart,
When the name of her Richard she knew!

21. Where the old Abbey stands, on the common hard by',
His gibbet is now to be seen;

Not far from the inn, it engages the eye`;

The traveler beholds it, and thinks with a sigh',
Of poor Mary, the Maid of the Inn.

SOUTHET.

LESSON XXXIII. 3 3

MIDNIGHT MASS FOR THE DYING YEAR.

1. YES, the year is growing old,

And his eye is pale and bleared;
Death, with frosty hand and cold',
Plucks the old man by the beard,
Sorely, sorely`!

2. The leaves are falling, falling',
Solemnly and slow;

Caw! caw! the rooks are calling,
It is a sound of woe`,
A sound of wōe!

3. Through woods and mountain-passes
The winds like anthems roll;
They are chanting solemn masses,
Singing; Pray for this poor soul!
Pray! pray!

4. The hooded clouds, like friars,
Tell their beads in drops of rain,
And patter their doleful prayers;
But their prayers are all in vain,
All in vain!

5. There he stands, in the foul weather,
The foolish, fond Old Year`,

Crown'd with wild flowers and with heather',
Like weak, despised Lear`,

A king,-a king!

6. Then comes the summer-like day,
Bids the old man rejoice!

His joy! his last! O, the old man gray
Loveth her ever soft voice,

Gentle and low`.

7. To the crimson woods he saith,
And the voice gentle and low

Of the soft air, like a daughter's breath,
Pray, do not mock me so!

Do not laugh at me!

8. And now, the sweet day is dead';
Cold in his arms it lies,

No stain from its breath is spread
Over the glassy skies,

No mist or stain!

9. Then, too, the Old Year dieth,

And the forests utter a moan,
Like the voice of one who crieth
In the wilderness alone,

Vex not his ghost!

10. Then comes, with an awful roar,
Gathering and sounding on',
The storm-wind from Labrador,
The wind Euroclydon`,
The storm-wind!

11. Howl! howl! and from the forest
Sweep the red leaves away!
Would, the sins that thou abhorrest',
O soul', could thus decay',
And be swept away'!

12. For there shall come a mightier blast,
There shall be a darker day;

And the stars from heaven downcast,
Like red leaves be swept away!

Kyrie Eleyson!

Christe Eleyson!*

LONGFELLOW.

LESSON XXXIV. 4

THE SOLDIER'S REST.

1. SOLDIER', rest! || thy warfare o'er',

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battle-fields || no more,

Days of danger', || nights of waking,

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen || thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music || fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! | thy warfare o'er',

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking`;
Dream of battle-fields || no more,
Morn of toil', || nor night of waking`.

2. No rude sound shall reach thine ear",
Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trump nor pibroch summon here,
Mustering clan', or squadron tramping.
Yet the lark's shrill fife may come',
At the daybreak from the fallow`,
And the bittern sound his drum',
Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here.

Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping.

These words mean, "Lord, have meroy! Christ, have mercy!"