Is there a way to forget to think?

At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends,
A dear girl's love—but I took to drink ;—
The same old story; you know how it ends.
If you could have seen these classic features-
You needn't laugh, sir; they were not then
Such a burning libel on God's creatures:
I was one of your handsome men !

If you had seen HER, so fair and young,
Whose head was happy on this breast!
If could have heard the songs I sung

you

When the wine went round, you wouldn't have guessed, That ever I, sir, should be straying

From door to door, with fiddle and dog,

Ragged and penniless, and playing

To you to-night for a glass of grog!

She's married since-a parson's wife:
'Twas better for her that we should part-
Better the soberest, prosiest life

Than a blasted home and a broken heart.
I have seen her? Once: I was weak and spent
On the dusty road: a carriage stopped:

But little she dreamed, as on she went,

Who kissed the coin that her fingers dropped!

You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry:

It makes me wild to think of the change!
What do you care for a beggar's story?
Is it amusing? you find it strange?
I had a mother so proud of me!
'Twas well she died before- -Do

you know

If the happy spirits in heaven can see
The ruin and wretchedness here below?

Another glass, and strong, to deaden
This pain; then Roger and I will start.
I wonder, has he such a lumpish, leaden,
Aching thing, in place of a heart?

He is sad sometimes, and would weep, if he could,
No doubt, remembering things that were—
A virtuous kennel, with plenty of food,

And himself a sober, respectable cur.

I'm better now; that glass was warming.-
You rascal! limber your lazy feet!
We must be fiddling and performing

For supper and bed, or starve in the street.—
Not a very gay life to lead, you think?

But soon we shall go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink;— The sooner, the better for Roger and me.

J. T. Trowbridge.

A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

"The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around."-COLERIDGE.

"OH, whither sail you, Sir John Franklin ?” Cried a whaler in Baffin's Bay.

"To know if between the land and the pole

I

may find a broad sea-way."

"I charge you back, Sir John Franklin,
As you would live and thrive;

For between the land and the frozen pole
No man may sail alive.”

But lightly laughed the stout Sir John,

And spoke unto his men :

"Half England is wrong if he is right;

Bear off to westward then."

“Oh, whither sail you, brave Englishman?"
Cried the little Esquimaux.
"Between your land and the polar star
My goodly vessels go."

"Come down, if you would journey there,"
The little Indian said,

"And change your cloth for fur clothing, Your vessel for a sled."

But lightly laughed the stout Sir John,
And the crew laughed with him too:
"A sailor to change from ship to sled,
I ween, were something new !"

All through the long, long polar day,

The vessels westward sped;

And wherever the sail of Sir John was blown,

The ice gave way and fled

Gave way with many a hollow groan,

And with many a surly roar,

But it murmured and threatened on every side.

And closed where he sailed before.

"Ho! see ye not, my merry men,
The broad and open sea?

Bethink ye what the whaler said,
Think of the little Indian's sled !"
The crew laughed out in glee.

"Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold,
The scud drives on the breeze,

The ice comes looming from the north,
The very sunbeams freeze."

66

'Bright summer goes, dark winter comes―

We cannot rule the year;

But long ere summer's sun goes down,

On yonder sea we'll steer."

The dripping icebergs dipped and rose,

And floundered down the gale;

The ships were stayed, the yards were manned,

And furled the useless sail.

"The summer's gone, the winter's come,

We sail not on yonder sea:

Why sail we not, Sir John Franklin ?"

A silent man was he.

"The summer goes, the winter comes--
We cannot rule the year:

I ween, we cannot rule the ways,
Sir John, wherein we'd steer."

The cruel ice came floating on,
And closed beneath the lee,

Till the thickening waters dashed no more;
"Twas ice around, behind, before-

My God! there is no sea!

"What think you of the whaler now? What of the Esquimaux?

A sled were better than a ship,

To cruise through ice and snow."

Down sank the baleful crimson sun,
The Northern Light came out,
And glared upon the ice-bound ships,
And shook its spears about.

The snow came down, storm breeding storm,

And on the decks was laid:

Till the weary sailor, sick at heart,

Sank down beside his spade.

"Sir John, the night is black and long,

The hissing wind is bleak,

The hard, green ice is strong as death:-
I prithee, Captain, speak!"

“The night is neither bright nor short,
The singing breeze is cold,

The ice is not so strong as hope—
The heart of man is bold!"

"What hope can scale this icy wall,
High o'er the main flag-staff?
Above the ridges the wolf and bear
Look down with a patient, settled stare,
Look down on us and laugh."

The summer went, the winter came-
We could not rule the year;

But summer will melt the ice again,
And open a path to the sunny main,
Whereon our ships shall steer.