Never to waken more!

His hours are few,

But terrible his agony.

Soon the storm

Burst forth; the lightnings glanced; the air

Shook with the thunders.
Amazed upon their feet.

They awoke; they sprung
The dungeon glow'd

A moment as in sunshine, and was dark;
Again, a flood of white flame fills the cell,
Dying away upon the dazzled eye,

In darkening, quivering tints, as stunning sound
Dies, throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence,
And blackest darkness!

With intensest awe

The soldier's frame was fill'd; and many a thought
Of strange foreboding hurried through his mind,
As underneath he felt the fever'd earth

Jarring and lifting, and the massive walls

Heard harshly grate and strain; yet knew he not,
While evils undefined and yet to come

Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless

wound

Fate had already given.

Where, man of woe!

Where, wretched father! is thy boy? Thou call'st

His name in vain: he cannot answer thee.

Loudly the father call'd upon his child:

No voice replied. Trembling and anxiously

He searched their couch of straw; with headlong haste

Trod round his stinted limits, and, low bent,

Groped darkling on the earth: no child was there.
Again he called; again, at farthest stretch

Of his accursed fetters, till the blood

Seem'd bursting from his ears, and from his eyes
Fire flash'd; he strain'd, with arm extended far,
And fingers widely spread, greedy to touch
Though but his idol's garment.

Useless toil!

Yet still renew'd; still round and round he goes,
And strains, and snatches, and with dreadful cries
Calls on his boy. Mad frenzy fires him now:
He plants against the wall his feet; his chain
Grasps; tugs with giant strength to force away
The deep-driven staple; yells and shrieks with rage;
And, like a desert lion in the snare,

Raging to break his toils, to and fro bounds.

But see! the ground is opening; a blue light
Mounts, gently waving, noiseless; thin and cold
It seems, and like a rainbow-tint, not flame:
But by its lustre, on the earth outstretch'd,
Behold the lifeless child! His dress is sing'd;
And o'er his face serene a darken'd line

Points out the lightning's track.

The father saw,

And all his fury fled: a dead calm fell

That instant on him; speechless, fix'd, he stood;
And, with a look that never wander'd, gazed
Intensely on the corse. Those laughing eyes
Were not yet closed; and round those ruby lips
The wonted smile return'd.

Silent and pale

The father stands; no tear is in his eye;

The thunders bellow, but he hears them not;
The ground lifts like a sea,-he knows it not;

The strong walls grind and gape; the vaulted roof

Takes shapes like bubbles tossing in the wind;
See! he looks up and smiles; for death to him
Is happiness. Yet, could one last embrace
Be given, 'twere still a sweeter thing to die.

It will be given. Look! how the rolling ground,
At every swell, nearer and still more near,
Moves toward his father's outstretch'd arms his boy:
Once he has touch'd his garment; how his eye
Lightens with love, and hope, and anxious fears!
Ha! see! he has him-now! he clasps him round,
Kisses his face, puts back the curling locks
That shaded his fine brow; looks in his eyes,—
Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands;
Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont
To lie when sleeping, and resign'd awaits
Undreaded death.

And death came soon, and swift,
And pangless. The huge pile sunk down at once
Into the opening earth. Walls-arches-roof-
And deep foundation-stones-all-mingling-fell!
EDWIN ATHERTON.

MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG.

"MY

Y sister 'll be down in a minute, and says you 're
to wait, if you please,

And says I might stay 'till she came, if I'd promise her

never to tease,

Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that's nonsense, for how would you know

What she told me to say, if I did n't? Don't you really and truly think so?

"And then you'd feel strange here alone! And you would n't know just where to sit;

For that chair is n't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit.

We keep it to match with the sofa. But Jack says it I would be like

you

To flop yourself right down upon it and knock out the very last screw.

"S'pose you try? I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh! you're afraid they would think it was mean! Well, then, there's the album-that's pretty, if you're sure that your fingers are clean.

For sister says sometimes I daub it, but she only says that when she's cross.

There's her picture. You know it? It's like her, but she ain't as good-looking, of course!

"This is me.

It's the best of 'em all. Now, tell me,

you'd never have thought

That once I was little as that? It's the only one that could be bought—

For that was the message to Pa from the photograph man where I sat

That he would n't print off any more till he first got his money for that.

"What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than this.

There's all her back hair to do up and all of her front curls to friz.

But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you and me.

Do you think you'll be coming here often? Oh, do! But don't come like Tom Lee.

"Tom Lee? Her last beau. Why, my goodness! He used to be here day and night,

Till the folks thought that he'd be her husband, and Jack says that gave him a fright.

You won't run away, then, as he did? for you 're not a rich man, they say.

Pa says you are poor as a church mouse. Now, are you? And how poor are they?

"Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am, for I know now your hair isn't red;

But what there's left of it is mousy, and not what that naughty Jack said.

But there! I must go. Sister's coming. But I wish I could wait just to see

If she ran up to you and kissed you in the way that she used to kiss Lee."-BRET HARTE.

NIAGARA.

THE thoughts are strange that crowd upon my brain
As I look upward to thee! It would seem

As if God poured thee from his hollow hand,
And hung His bow upon thine awful front,
And spake in that loud voice that seemed to him
Who dwelt in Patmos for his Saviour's sake,
The sound of many waters; and had bade
Thy flood to chronicle the ages back,
And notch his centuries in the eternal rock!

Deep calleth unto deep, and what are we
That hear the questions of that voice sublime,