'Tis

open rebellion-quick-tell me who leads; Or, by Juno, I'll level a bolt at your heads. "You, King of the battle-plain, loitering here! I'll make you spin petticoat fringe for a year; And Boreas, I told you to get up a gale

In the Baltic-you villain, how came you to fail?

“And you, Miss Aurora, 'tis two hours at least
Since I saw you set off for your place in the east ;
Yet Day's portal is closed and the night-cloud's still black;-
You heedless young spirit, how dare you come back?"

He threatened them all, and he terrified each
With his light-flashing glance and his thundering speech,
Till Hebe stepped forth,—the rogue didn't forget
That Jupiter often had called her his pet.

She raised her fair hand ere she ventured to speak,
And threw back the curls from her down-covered cheek;
She looked up in his face—and 'twere easy to mark,
That the frown on his brow was a great deal less dark.
"Indeed, Sire," she cried, "'tis that serpent of song
Who has lured us from duty, and made us do wrong;
We all were intent on your mission and word,
When he struck up a tune that we never had heard.
"We believe that he picked it up somewhere on earth,
But 'tis rife with sweet melody, humour, and mirth ;
I attempted to pass, but I really could not;
For my wings and my senses were chained to the spot.
"Just allow him to play it !" Apollo's best skill
Was that moment exerted to charm and to thrill :
Jove laughed with delight, as he shouted "Encore!”
And inquired the name— -it was "Rory O'More."
""Tis well,” cried the King, "here's a pardon for all,
But mind, 'Pol, play that at our annual ball.
And, really (while looking at Hebe askance),
I think now we could manage a bit of a dance."
It was done, and they merrily footed awhile
In the good old Sir Roger de Coverley style;
Till Juno appeared in all possible state,

And looked most unlovable things at her mate.

"Come, Madam," cried Jove, "let us have no to-do, Here's Mars wants a partner, no doubt he'll take you." Juno listened a moment, then ran to her place,

As the music went on, with a smile on her face.

"Bless me!" and "How wonderful!" whispered the gods,
With very significant shruggings and nods;
"Why, her Majesty ne'er was so pleasant before,
It must be all owing to 'Rory O'More.'"

So it was, and a glorious time they all had ;
Blithe Momus was crazy, Melpomene glad ;
They danced till the minstrel began to complain

That his fingers were sore, and his wrists were in pain.

But 'tis noted that Jove since that musical day
Has most graciously bowed when 'Pol comes in his way;
And his manners and bearing most courteously tend
To make the god-minstrel his intimate friend ;

For he knows very well that Apollo's soft lyre
Is more than a match for his thunder and fire;
That his slaves would revolt-all supremacy o'er-
If led on by the quick-step of "Rory O'More."

Come with the Ring.

Eliza Cook.

I'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore :—
Young Love likes to knock at a pretty girl's door :
So he called upon Lucy-'twas just ten o'clock-
Like a spruce single man, with a smart double knock.

Now, a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at,
Will run like a puss when she hears a rat-tat:
So Lucy ran up-and in two seconds more
Had question'd the stranger and answer'd the door.

The meeting was bliss; but the parting was woe;
For the moment will come when such comers must go :
So she kiss'd him, and whisper'd-poor innocent thing,
"The next time you come, love, pray come with a ring."
Thomas Hood.

400

ADDITIONAL SELECTIONS

FOR READING AND RECITATION.

Marguerite of France.

THE Moslem spears were gleaming round Damietta's

towers,

Though a Christian banner, from her wall, waved free its lily-flowers,

[air;

Ay! proudly did the banner wave, as queen of earth and But faint hearts throbbed beneath its folds in anguish and despair.

Deep, deep in Paynim dungeon their kingly chieftain lay, And low on many an Eastern field their knighthood's best array.

[to send ; 'Twas mournful when at feast they met, the wine-cup round For, each that touched it silently, then missed a gallant

friend.

And mournful was their vigil on the beleaguered wall, And dark their slumber,-dark with dreams of slow defeat and fall.

Yet a few hearts of chivalry rose high to breast the storm, And one—of all the loftiest there—thrilled in a woman's form!

A woman, meekly bending o'er the slumber of her child,
With her soft, sad eyes of weeping love,-as the Virgin
Mother's mild !
[and lance,

Oh! roughly cradled was thy babe, midst the clash of spear
And a strange wild bower was thine, young queen! fair
Marguerite of France!

A dark and vaulted chamber, liked a scene for wizard-spell, Deep in the Saracenic gloom of the warrior citadel; And there, 'midst arms, the couch was spread, and with banners curtained o'er, [shore.

For the daughter of the minstrel-land, the gay Provençal

For the bright queen of St. Lewis, the star of court and hall! [tempest's call. But the deep strength of the gentle heart wakes to the Her lord was in the Paynim's hold, his soul with grief oppressed; [breast! Yet calmly lay she, desolate, with her young babe on her There were voices in the city, voices of wrath and fear"The walls grow weak, the strife is vain-we will not perish here! [bastion high !

Yield! yield and let the Crescent gleam o'er tower and Our distant homes are beautiful-we stay not here to die." They bore those fearful tidings to the sad queen where she lay

They told a tale of wavering hearts, of treason and dismay : The blood rushed through her pearly cheek, the sparkle to her eye[bands of Italy!" "Now call me hither those recreant knights from the Then through the vaulted chamber stern iron footsteps rang; And heavily the sounding floor gave back the sabre's clang. They stood around her-steel-clad men, moulded for storm and fight; [bright.

But they quailed before the loftier soul in that pale aspect Yes! as before the falcon shrinks the bird of meaner wing, So shrank they from the imperial glance of her-that fragile thing! [din of arms around— And her flute-like voice rose clear and high, through the Sweet, and yet stirring to the soul, as a silver clarion's sound.

"The honour of the Lily is in your hands to keep, And the banner of the Cross, for him who died on Calvary's steep! [holy bell:And the city which, for Christian prayer, hath heard the And is it these your hearts would yield to the godless infidel?

"Then bring me here a breast-plate, and a helm, before ye fly,

And I will gird my woman's form, and on the ramparts die! And the boy-whom I have borne for woe, but never for [race!

disgrace,

Shall go within mine arms to death--meet for his royal

"Look on him as he slumbers in the shadow of the lance! Then go, and, with the Cross, forsake the princely babe of

France!

d;

But tell your homes you left one heart to perish undefiled A woman, and a queen, to guard her honour and her child!" Before her words they thrilled, like leaves when winds are in the wood; [mood. And a deepening murmur told of men raised to a loftier And her babe awoke to flashing swords, unsheathed in many a hand, [band! As they gathered round the helpless one, again a noble "We are thy warriors, Lady! true to the Cross and thee; The spirit of thy kindling words on every sword shall be. Rest, with the fair child on thy breast; rest-we will guard thee well.

St. Denis for the Lily-flower and the Christian citadel !” Mrs. Hemans.

The Mariner's Hymn.

LAUNCH thy bark, Mariner! Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands !-good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily; tempests will come;

Steer thy course steadily! Christian, steer home!
Look to the weather-bow, breakers are round thee!
Let fall the plummet now-shallows may ground thee.
Reef-in the fore-sail there! hold the helm fast!
So-let the vessel ware! there swept the blast.
What of the night, watchman? What of the night?
"Cloudy-all quiet-no land yet-all's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant !-danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth securest to thee.
How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold-
Hoist up thy merchandise-heave out thy gold!
There-let the ingots go !-now the ship rights;
Hurrah! the harbour's near-lo, the red lights!
Slacken not sail yet at inlet or island;

Straight for the beacon steer-straight for the high land;
Crowd all thy canvas on, cut through the foam-
Christian cast anchor now-HEAVEN IS THY HOME!
Mrs. Southey.