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Ah, lady! heed the monitor! thy mirror tells thee truth;
Assume the matron's folded vail, resign the wreath of youth:
Go, bind it on thy daughter's brow, in her thou'lt still look fair:
'T were well would all learn wisdom who behold the first gray hair.
T. H. BAYLY.

LESSON CLXXI.

THE OLD WEDDING RING.

[The device-two hearts united.

The motto "Dear love of mine, my heart is thine."]

I LIKE that ring, that ancient ring,
Of massive form, of virgin gold,
As firm, as free from base alloy,
As were the sterling hearts of old.
I like it, for it wafts me back,
Far, far along the stream of time,
To other men, and other days,

The men and days of deeds sublime.

But most I like it, as it tells
The tale of well requited love;
How youthful fondness persevered,
And youthful faith disdained to rove;
How warmly he his suit preferred,
Though she unpitying, long denied,
Till, softened and subdued, at last,

He won his fair and blooming bride;

How, till the appointed day arrived,

They blamed the lazy-footed hours;
How then the white-robed maiden train

Strewed their glad way with freshest flowers;
And how, before the holy man

They stood in all their youthful pride,
And spoke those words, and vowed those vows
Which bind the husband to his bride.

All this it tells; the plighted truth,
The gift of every earthly thing,
The hand in hand, the heart in heart;
For this I like that ancient ring.

I like its old and quaint device;

Two blended hearts; though time may wear them, No mortal change, no mortal chance,

Till death, shall e'er in sunder tear them.

Year after year, 'neath sun and storm,

Their hopes in heaven, their trust in God,
In changeless, heartfelt, holy love,

These two the world's rough pathway trod.

Age might impair their youthful fires,

Their strength might fail, 'mid life's bleak weather,

Still, hand in hand, they traveled on;

True hearts! they slumber now together.

I like its simple poesy too;

"Mine own dear love, this heart is thine!"
Thine, when the dark storm howls along,

As when the cloudless sunbeams shine:
"This heart is thine, mine own dear love!"
Thine, and thine only, and forever;
Thine, till the springs of life shall fail;
Thine, till the cords of life shall sever.

Remnant of days departed long,

Emblem of plighted troth unbroken,
Pledge of devoted faithfulness,

Of heartfelt, holy love, the token;
What varied feelings round it cling!
For these, I like that ancient ring.

G. W. DOANE.

LESSON CLXXII.

HOME AND LOVE.

Rienzi. CLAUDIA-nay, start not! Thou art sad to-day;

I found thee sitting idly, 'mid thy maids;

A pretty, laughing, restless band, who plied
Quick tongue and nimble finger. Mute, and pale

As marble, those unseeing eyes were fixed
On vacant air; and that fair brow was bent
As sternly, as if the rude stranger, Thought,
Age-giving, mirth-destroying, pitiless Thought,
Had knocked at thy young, giddy brain.

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To bear a merry heart with that clear voice,
Prattling, and that light, busy foot, astir
In her small housewifery, the blithest bee
That ever wrought in hive.

Cla.

Oh! mine old home!

Rie. What ails thee, lady-bird?
Mine own dear home!

Cla.

Father, I love not this new state; these halls,
Where comfort dies in vastness; these trim maids,
Whose service wearies me. Oh! mine old home!
My quiet, pleasant chamber, with the myrtle,
Woven round the casement; and the cedar by,
Shading the sun; my garden overgrown

With flowers and herbs, thick-set as grass in fields;
My pretty, snow-white doves; my kindest nurse;
And old Camillo. Oh! mine own dear home!

Rie. Why, simple child, thou hast thine old, fond nurse. And good Camillo, and shalt have thy doves,

Thy myrtles, flowers, and cedars: a whole province
Laid in a garden if thou wilt. My Claudia,
Hast thou not learnt thy power? Ask orient gems,
Diamonds, and sapphires, in rich caskets, wrought
By cunning goldsmiths; sigh for rarest birds,
Of farthest Ind, like winged flowers to flit
Around thy stately bower; and, at thy wish,
The precious toys shall wait thee. Old Camillo ?
Thou shalt have nobler servants; emperors, kings,
Electors, princes! Not a bachelor

In Christendom but would right proudly kneel
To my fair daughter.

Cla. Oh! mine own dear home!

Rie. Wilt have a list to choose from? Listen, sweet!

If the tall cedar, and the branchy myrtle,

And the white doves, were tell-tales, I would ask them,
Whose was the shadow on the sunny wall?

And if, at eventide they heard not oft

A tuneful mandolin, and then, a voice,

Clear in its manly depth, whose tide of song
O'erwhelmed the quivering instrument; and then,
A world of whispers, mixed with low response,
Sweet, short, and broken as divided strains
Of nightingales.

Cla. Oh, father! father! [runs to him, and falls upon his neck.] Rie. Well!

Dost love him, Claudia?

Cla. Father!

Rie. Dost thou love

Young Angelo? Yes? Said'st thou yes? That heart,
That throbbing heart of thine, keeps such a coil,

I cannot hear thy words. He is returned

To Rome; he left thee on mine errand, dear one;
And now,
is there no casement, myrtle-wreathed,
No cedar in our courts, to shade to-night
The lover's song?

Cla. Oh, father! father!

Rie.

Now,

Back to thy maidens, with a lightened heart,
Mine own beloved child. Thou shalt be first
In Rome, as thou art fairest; never princess
Brought to the proud Colonna such a dower
As thou. Young Angelo hath chosen his mate
From out an eagle's nest.

Cla. Alas! alas!

I tremble at the hight. Whene'er I think
Of the hot barons, of the fickle people,

And the inconstancy of power, I tremble
For thee, dear father.

Rie.

Tremble? let them tremble.

I am their master, Claudia, whom they scorned,
Endured, protected. Sweet, go dream of love!
I am their master, Claudia.

MISS MITFord.

LESSON CLXXIII.

CLAUDIA PLEADING FOR HER HUSBAND.

Claudia. [Without.] Father! father!

Rienzi.

Guard the door!

Be sure ye give not way.

Cla. [Without.] Father!

Rie. To see

Her looks! her tears!

Cla.

Enter Claudia hastily.

Who dares to stop me? Father!
[Rushes into the arms of Rienzi.

Rie. I bade ye guard the entrance.

Cla. Against me?

Ye must have men and gates of steel, to bar
Claudia from her dear father.

Where is he?

They said he was with you-he—thou know'st
Whom I would say. I heard you loud. I thought
I heard you; but perchance, the dizzying throb
Of my poor temples-Where is he! I see
No corse-if he were dead-Oh, no, no, no!
Thou couldst not, wouldst not!--say, he lives!
Rie. As yet

He lives.

Cla. Oh! blessings on thy heart, dear father! Blessings on thy kind heart! When shall I see him? Is he in prison? Fear hath made me weak, And wordless as a child. Oh! send for him. Thou hast pardoned him; didst thou not say but now Thou hadst pardoned him?

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Cla. Oh, thou hast thou hast!

This is the dalliance thou wast wont to hold
When I have craved some girlish boon, a bird,
A flower, a moonlight walk; but now I ask thee
Life, more than life. Thou hast pardoned him?
Rie. My Claudia !

Cla. Ay! I am thine own Claudia, whose first word Was father! These are the same hands that clung Around thy knees, a tottering babe; the lips

That, ere they had learned speech, would smile, and seek To meet thee with an infant's kiss; these eyes

Thou hast called so like my mother's, eyes that never Looked on thee, but with looks of love. Oh, pardon! Nay, father, speak not yet; thy brows are knit

Into a sternness. Pr'ythee speak not yet!

Rie. This traitor

Cla. Call him as thou wilt, but pardon !

Oh, pardon!

Rie.

He defies me.

Cla. See, I kneel.

And he shall kneel, shall kiss thy feet; wilt pardon?

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