Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the breezy

wind

The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind; The stranger hath thy bridle rein-thy master hath his gold

Fleet limbed and beautiful! farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold!

Farewell! those free, untired limbs, full many a mile

must roam,

To reach the chill and wintry sky, which clouds the stranger's home;

Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare;

The silky mane I braided once, must be another's care! The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee

Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where we were wont to be;

Evening shall darken on the earth; and o'er the sandy plain

Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me home again.

Yes, thou must go! the wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,

Thy master's home-from all of these, my exiled one must fly.

Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy step become less fleet,

And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's hand

to meet.

Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing

bright,

Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and

light;

And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,

Then must I, starting, wake, to feel-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,

Till foam wreaths lie, like crested waves, along thy panting side;

And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant

pain,

Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count each startled vein.

Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but no, it can

not be

Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free!

And yet, if haply when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn―

Can the hand, which casts thee from it now, command thee to return?

Return! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy master

do,

When thou, who wert his all of joy, hast vanished from his view?

When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and, through the gathering tears,

Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage

appears,

Slow and unmounted will I roam, with weary foot alone, Where with fleet step, and joyous bound, thou oft hast borne me on;

And, sitting by the pyramids, I'll pause and sadly think, "It was here he bowed his glossy neck, when last I saw him drink!"

When last I saw thee drink! away! the fevered dream is o'er

I could not live a day, and know, that we should meet

no more!

They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong

They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long. Who said that I had given thee up? who said that thou wert sold?

'Tis false-'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!

Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains;

Away! who overtakes us now, may claim thee for his pains!

LESSON LXXXIII.

VANITY FAIR.

The following Satire was written by THOMAS H. BAYLY, of England, who probably took the idea from the description of Vanity Fair in the Pilgrim's Progress, a popular religious Allegory or Dream, written by JOHN BUNYAN, an English Tinker of remarkable talent in that style of compositions.

To Vanity Fair all my neighbors have been,

To see all the sights that were there to be seen;

Old and young, rich and poor, were all hurrying there, To pick up a bargain at Vanity Fair!

A

very

rich man ostentatiously came,

To buy with his lucre a liberal name;

He published his charities everywhere,
And thought he bought virtue at Vanity Fair!

A lady, whose beauty was on the decline,
Rather tawny from age, like an over-kept wine;
Bought lilies and roses, teeth, plumpers, and hair,
And emerged, a new person, from Vanity Fair!

Another, so plain that she really resigned
Pretensions to beauty-save that of the mind,
Picked up a half-mad, intellectual air,

And came back quite a genius from Vanity Fair!

A soldier came next, and he flourished a flag,
By sword, gun and bayonet torn to a rag!
He had faced the grim mouth of a cannon, to share
Renown's twig of laurel in Vanity Fair!

A mathematician there made up his mind
To sneer at all things of a frivolous kind;
A circle he vowed was by no means a square,
And he thought he enlightened all Vanity Fair!

Another, despising refinement and grace,

Growled at all who were near, with a frown on his face;
He prided himself on being rude as a bear,
So he shone the eccentric of Vanity Fair!

A ci-devant beau, with one foot in the grave,
Still followed the ladies, their shadowy slave;
Concealing his limp with a strut debonair,
He smoothed down his wrinkles in Vanity Fair!

The next was an orator, longing to teach,
And to cut a great figure by figures of speech;
At dinner he sat in the President's chair,
In attitudes purchased at Vanity Fair!

One sailed to the Red Sea-and one to the Black;
One danced on the tight rope-and one on the slack;
And all were agog for the popular stare,—
All mad to be lions in Vanity Fair!

One raised on new doctrines his personal pride,-
His pen put the wisdom of ages aside;
The apple of Eve after all was a pear!
So said the reformer of Vanity Fair!

A poet came last with a fine rolling eye,

His shirt collar open-his neckcloth thrown by ;-
Such matters complete inspiration declare,
So he sticks up his portrait in Vanity Fair!

LESSON LXXXIV.

TIME.

The following stanzas are extracted from the Childe Harold of LORD BYRON. The first stanza is what in rhetoric is both an apostrophe and an invocation, an address to an unreal being, and a calling upon him. In the fourth stanza are specimens of exclamation and interrogation, also figures of rhetoric. The measure of the stanza is elsewhere described.

Oh time! the beautifier of the dead,
Adorned of the ruin, comforter

And only healer when the heart hath bled-
Time! the corrector where our judgments err,
The test of truth, love,-sole philosopher,
For all besides are sophists, from thy thrift,
Which never loses though it doth defer-
Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift

My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift.

It is not that I may not have incurred

For

my

ancestral faults or mine, the wound
I bleed withal, and, had it been conferred,
With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound;
But now my blood shall not sink in the ground;
To thee I do devote it-thou shalt take

The vengeance which shall yet be sought and found,
Which if I have not taken for the sake-

But let it pass-I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake.

And if my voice break forth, 't is not that now
I shrink from what is suffered : let him speak
Who hath beheld decline upon my brow,
Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak;