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11. We were not long in using up all the other balls of darning cotton in that marvellous work-box; and such a reward as I found for my industry sure never was met with before or since.' Truly, it was a fairy box, and my needle the fairy's wand.

12. No less than ten fifty-pound notes were thus brought to light; and my father laughingly declared I had wrought my own dower' with my needle. No persuasions could induce him to appropriate the treasure; he said it was my “ reward,” and belonged to me alone. 1 AN-NŪ'I-T¥. A sum of money paid body, or that around which matter yearly.

is collected. 2 DE-VĪŞED'. Gave by a will.

6 POUND. A money of account used 3 KYNŞ'WOM-ẠN (-wûm-an). A female in England, equivalent to about relative.

four dollars and eighty-four cents. 4 LÉG'A-Cụ. A gift of money or goods 7 DÖWER. The portion or property by a will,

which a woman brings her hus5 NU'CLỆ-ys. The central part of al band in marriage ; dowry.

XXVII. - THE THREE MIGHTY.

NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. [The incidents on which these lines are founded is related in the twenty-third chapter of the Second Book of Samuel, and also in the eleventh chapter of the First Book of Chronicles.] 1. WATCHFIRES are blazing on hill and plain;

The noonday light is restored again;
There are shining arms in Rephaim’s vale,
And bright is the glitter of clanging mail.

2. The Philistine hath fixed his encampment here;

Afar stretch his lines of banner and spear,
And his chariots of brass are ranged side by side,

And his war steeds neigh loud in their trappings' of pride 3. His tents are placed where the waters flow;

The sun hath dried up the springs below,

And Israel hath neither well nor pool,
The rage of her soldiers' thirst to ccol.

4. In the cave of Adullam King David lies,

Overcome with the glare of the burning skies;
And his lip is parched, and his tongue is dry,
But none can the grateful draught supply.

5. Though a crownéd king, in that painful hour,

One flowing cup might have bought his power.
What worth, in the fire of thirst, could be
The purple pomp of his sovereignty?

6. But no cooling cup from river or spring,

To relieve his want, can his servants bring;
And he cries, “ Are there none in my train or state'
Will fetch me the water of Bethlehem gate?”

7. Then three of his warriors, “ the mighty three,"

The boast of the monarch's chivalry,
Uprose in their strength, and their bucklers * rang,
As with eyes of flame on their steeds they sprang.

8. On their steeds they sprang, and with spurs of speed

Rushed forth in the strength of a noble deed.
And dashed on the foe like the torrent flood,
Till he floated away in a tide of blood.

9. To the right to the left - where their blue swords

shine,
Like autumn corn falls the Philistine;
And sweeping along with the vengeance of fate,
The “mighty” rush onward to Bethlehem gate.

10. Through a bloody gap in his shattered array,

To Bethlehem's well they have hewn their way;

Then backward they turn on the corse-covered plain,
And charge through the foe to their monarch again.

11. The king looks at the cup, but the crystal draught,

At a price too high for his want, hath been bought;
They urge him to drink, but he wets not his lip;
Though great is his need, he refuses to sip.

12. But he pours it forth to Heaven's Majesty,

He pours it forth to the Lord of the sky;
'Tis a draught of death — 'tis a cup blood-stained -
'Tis a prize from man's suffering and agony gained.

13. Should he taste of a cup that his "mighty three”

Had obtained by their peril and jeopardy?
Should he drink of their life? 'Twas the thought of a

king;
And again he returned to his suffering.

1 TRĂP'PINGŞ. Ornaments, especially | 3 CHỈv'ẠL-R¥. Body of knights or of

such as are used to decorate a brave and courteous warriors. horse.

| 4 BÚCK'LER. A kind of shield worn on 2 STĀTE. Persons forming the suite the left arm. or attendants of another.

5 JĚOP'AR-D¥. Danger.

XXVIII. — MARCO BOZZARIS.

HALLECK.

(Fitz-Greene Halleck was born in Guilford, Connecticut, July, 1795. Marco Bozzaris (bot-săr'is or bot'sạ-ris), one of the most admired of his poems, was first published in 1827, in a small volume of poems, most of which had previously appeared in a fugitive form. 'Bozzaris was one of the martyrs in the cause of the independence of Greece. He fell in a night attack upon the cang of the Turks, August, 1823, near the site of the old battle-field of Platæa..]

1. At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance? bent,

Should tremble at his power:
In dreams through camp and court he bore
The trophies’ of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch’s signetring, –
Then pressed that monarch's throne, — a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.

2. At midnight, in the forest shades,

Bozzaris ranged his Suliote 4 band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,

Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood,

On old Platæa's day;
And now there breathed that haunted air
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arm to strike, and soul to dare,

As quick, as far, as they.

3. An hour passed on,- the Turk awoke;

That bright dream was his last; He woke, to hear his sentries shriek — “ To arms!— they come! - The Greek! the Greek !” He woke, to die midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre stroke,

And death-shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzaris cheer his band -
“Strike — till the last armed foe expires !
Strike — for your altars and your fires !
Strike — for the green graves of your sires !

God, and your native land !”

4. They fought, like brave men, long and well;

They piled the ground with Moslem slain:
They conquered; but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud hurrah,

And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

5. Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother's, when she feels
For the first time her first-born's breath;

Come when the blesséd seals
That close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in Consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;
Come when the heart beats high and warn,

With banquet song, and dance, and wino,
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear,

Of agony, are thine.

6. But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris ! with the storied • brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's timo,
Rest thee: there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime.

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