THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE.
NOT a drum was heard, not a funeral note

As his corpse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot
O'er the grave where our hero we buried.
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning,
By the struggling moonbeams' misty light,
And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin enclosed his breast,

Not 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 hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down his lonely pillow,

That 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 he'll little 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 struck 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, and we raised not a stoneBut we left him alone with his glory.

Charles Wolfe: 1791-1823.

Wolfe was an Irish clergyman, curate, in 1817, of Ballyclog, Tyrone, and afterwards of Donoughmore. He died young, of consumption. But his memory will be kept alive by this grand poem, though he wrote little else that is noteworthy, his days being spent in earnest devotion to his ministerial duties.

HUMOROUS POEMS.

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.

THE mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter 'Little prig ;'
Bun replied,

'You are doubtless very big,

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year,

And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace
To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry:

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut.'

Ralph Waldo Emerson: born, 1803.

An American philosopher and essayist, who has also pubished two or three volumes of verse. He is known as a deep and very original thinker, and has also acquired fame as a public lecturer. Orations and Representative Men are perhaps the most widely-read of his works.

FALSE FRIENDS-LIKE.

WHEN I was still a boy and mother's pride,
A bigger boy spoke up to me so kind-like,
'If you do like, I'll treat you with a ride
In this wheel-barrow.' So then I was blind-like

To what he had a-working in his mind-like,
And mounted for a passenger inside;

And coming to a puddle, pretty wide,

He tipp'd me in, a-grinning back behind-like.
So when a man may come to me so thick-like,
And shake my hand where once he pass'd me by,
And tell me he would do me this or that,

I can't help thinking of the big boy's trick-like,
And then, for all I can but wag my hat,
And thank him, I do feel a little shy.

William Barnes.

(See page 114.)

THE ELEPHANT.1

IT was six men of Indostan,
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation

Might satisfy his mind.

The first approach'd the Elephant,
And, happening to fall

Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:

"Bless me! it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall!"

The second, feeling of the tusk,

Cried "Ho! what have we here

So very round and smooth and sharp?

To me 'tis mighty clear,

This wonder of an Elephant

Is very like a spear!"

1 Illustrates the humour of diverting incident, and teaches a lesson similar to that conveyed by James Merrick's well-known poem of The Chameleon, viz.,

'Think others see as well as you,

Nor wonder if you find that none
Prefers your eyesight to his own.'

The third approach'd the animal,
And happening to take

The squirming1 trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake :

"I see "-quoth he-"the Elephant
Is very like a snake!"

The fourth reach'd out his eager hand,
And felt about the knee :

"What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain"-quoth he,
"Tis clear enough the Elephant

Is very like a tree !"

The fifth, who chanc'd to touch the ear,
Said- "E'en the blindest man

Can tell what this resembles most;

Deny the fact who can,

This marvel of an Elephant

Is very like a fan!"

The sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see" said he "the Elephant
Is very like a rope!"

And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion

Exceeding stiff and strong,

Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!

Moral.

So, oft in theologic wars
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance

Of what each other mean;

And rate about an Elephant

Not one of them has seen!

John Godfrey Saxe: born, 1816.

An American author and public lecturer, who adopted literature as a profession on his retirement from the bar, after some years' practice as a lawyer.

1 squirming-writhing like a worm.

OLD GRIMES.1

OLD GRIMES is dead! that good old man
We never shall see more ;

He used to wear a long black coat,
All button'd down before.

He lived at peace with all mankind,
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Kind words he ever had for all,
He knew no base design;

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

He modest merit sought to find,

And pay it its desert;

He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to Fortune's chances;
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturb'd by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran;

And everybody said he was

A fine old gentleman.

Albert Gorton Greene: 1802-1868.

An American lawyer and poet. The author of many able and popular ballads, of which the most famous is The Baron's Lasi Banquet. Greene was clerk of the municipal court of Providence, and judge of probate.

1 Herein the humour arises from incongruity, the indiscriminate mingling together of moral virtues and personal peculiarities.