And from each ample fold Of the clouds about him rolled Scattering everywhere As the farmer scatters his gain. 9. He can behold Things manifold That have not yet been wholly told, Down to the graves of the dead, Down through chasms and gulfs profound, To the dreary fountain-head Of lakes and rivers under ground; 10. Thus the Seer, With vision clear, Sees forms appear and disappear, In the perpetual round of strange, Mysterious change From birth to death, from death to birth, From earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; Till glimpses more sublime Of things unseen before, Unto his wondering eyes reveal The Universe, is an immeasurable wheel Turning for evermore In the rapid and rushing river of Time. A STREET SCENE.-LYDIA M. CHILD. 1. THE other day, as I came down Broome street, I saw a street musician, playing near the door of a genteel dwelling. The organ was uncommonly sweet and mellow in its tones, the tunes were slow and plaintive, and I fancied that I saw in the woman's Italian face an expression that indicated sufficient refinement to prefer the tender and the melancholy, to the lively "trainer tunes" in vogue with the populace. She looked like one who had suffered much, and the sorrowful music seemed her own appropriate voice. 2. A little girl clung to her scanty garments, as if afraid of all things but her mother. As I looked at them, a young lady of pleasing countenance opened the window, and began to sing like a bird, in keeping with the street organ. Two other young girls came and leaned on her shoulder; and still she sang on. Blessings on her gentle heart! It was evidently the spontaneous gush of human love and sympathy. The beauty of the incident attracted attention. 3. A group of gentlemen gradually collected round the organist; and ever as the tune ended, they bowed respectfully toward the window, waved their hats, and called out: "More, if you please!" One, whom I knew well for the kindest and truest soul, passed round his hat; hearts were kindled, and the silver fell in freely. In a minute, four or five dollars were collected for the poor woman. 4. She spoke no word of gratitude, but she gave such a look! "Will you go to the next street, and play to a friend of mine?" said my kind-hearted friend. She answered, in tones expressing the deepest emotion: "No, sir, God bless you all God bless you all," (making a courtesy to the young lady, who had stepped back, and stood sheltered by the curtain of the window,)" I will play no more to-day: I will go home, now." The tears trickled down her cheeks, and as she walked away, she had ever and anon wiped her eyes with the corner of her shawl. came. 5. The group of gentlemen lingered a moment to look af ter her, then turning toward the now closed window, they gave three enthusiastic cheers, and departed, better than they The pavement on which they stood had been a church to them; and for the next hour, at least, their hearts were more than usually prepared for deeds of gentleness and mercy. Why are such scenes so uncommon? Why do we thus repress our sympathies, and chill the genial current of nature, by formal observances and restraints? THE PERSIAN PEASANT.-NICOLAL 1. IN Erivan Once on a time there lived a poor plain man; To tend it was his only occupation. A tree that stood upon his ground, Bore fruit well known and every where renowned, So red and rich and round, Such sunny radiance beaming, With such balsamic juices teeming, The very smell Were quite enough to make a sick man well. The Sheik, they say, has a sweet tooth, ay, marry, Mark me! for every piece of fruit you carry, 2. "Faith, I myself should think so," says the man; He buys the finest basket he can find, And packs into it The choicest fruits assorted to his mind, Takes leave of all his friends, And gaily wends His way along the road to Ispahan, Already big and bright with many a plan, What he will do with all the golden pieces; E'en now, in thought, his house, his ground increases: And so the lightened moments ran, And ere he thinks, he is at Ispahan. To the chief marshal they announce his name; Who soon returns, our worthy man informing, To fruit so charming; In his own person had devoured the store, 3. Hey! my good Persian, what a trade! Thou hast thy fortune made! He watches till the moment suits Softly to whisper in the Emperor's ear, He is the peasant with the fruits; He stands where soon the Emperor must appear, Stares at the great who here do seem so small; That the poor man Must laugh, do all he can. Unluckily this dwarf was the prime minister: He squints at our poor friend. One word: the guard Now he may sit and whistle for his purses The tree, the garden; curses thrice, Body and soul, The neighbor whose advice Brought him to this dark hole. But all his curses cannot mend the matter, Cannot undo what's done nor make it better. And so a whole year fled,— Too long a time by half For one poor little laugh!— Men thought no more of him than if he had been dead. 4. At length the time of fruit came round, 5. They brought the Sheik the best that could be found: Who is he? Quick, make search, and let me know?" They search, and solve the mystery. The Emperor laughs to hear the tragic history: "Good! Bring him hither! I myself will see That the poor creature's lot shall be Better than this!" He comes: "I know your story, Good friend!" so says the Sheik, "I'm very sorry. But for lost time, jail fare, and money due you, Ask what you will, we'll freely give it to you." "Sir, give me only," answered the poor man, "An axe, a bag of salt, and Alcoran." |