The warrior, and the warrior's deeds,—
The morrow, and the morrow's meeds,-

No daunting thoughts came o'er him;
He looked around him, and his eye
Defiance flashed to earth and sky.

He looked on ocean,-its broad breast
Was covered with his fleet;

On earth :—and saw, from east to west,
His bannered millions meet:

While rock, and glen, and cave, and coast,
Shook with the war-cry of that host,
The thunder of their feet!

He heard the imperial echoes ring,—
He heard,—and felt himself a king.

I saw him next alone :-nor camp,
Nor chief, his steps attended;
Nor banner blazed, nor courser's tramp
With war-cries proudly blended.
He stood alone, whom fortune high
So lately seemed to deify;

He, who with heaven contended,

Fled like a fugitive and slave !

Behind, the foe ;-before,-the wave:

He stood;-fleet, army, treasure, gone,―
Alone, and in despair!

But wave and wind swept ruthless on,

For they were monarchs there;

And Xerxes, in a single barque,

Where late his thousand ships were dark,

Must all their fury dare :

What a revenge,— -a trophy, this,

For thee, immortal Salamis !

[Miss Jewsbury.

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
UNDER a spreading chestnut tree,
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long,

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat;
He earns whate'er he can,

And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.

Week out, week in, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the old kirk chimes
When the evening sun is low.

And children, coming home from school, Look in at the open door:

They love to see a flaming forge,

And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks, that fly
Like chaff from a thrashing-floor.

He goes, on Sunday, to the church,
And sits among his boys;

He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter's voice,

Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,

How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard rough hand he wipes
A tear from out his eyes.

Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes:
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus, at the flaming forge of Life,

Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus, on its sounding anvil shaped,
Each burning deed and thought.

[Longfellow.

BERNARDO AND KING ALPHONSO.

WITH Some good ten of his chosen men,
Bernardo hath appeared,

Before them all in the palace hall,

The lying king to beard;

With cap in hand and eye on ground,

He came in reverend guise,

But ever and anon he frowned,

And flame broke from his eyes.

"A curse upon thee," cries the king,
"Who com'st unbid to me!

But what from traitor's blood should spring,
Save traitor like to thee?

His sire, lords, had a traitor's heart,—
Perchance our champion brave

May think it were a pious part
To share Don Sancho's grave."*

"Whoever told this tale,

The king hath rashness to repeat,"
Cries Bernard," here my gage I fling
Before the liar's feet.

No treason was in Sancho's blood,—
No stain in mine doth lie:

Below the throne, what knight will own
The coward calumny?

"Ye swore upon your kingly faith,
To set Don Sancho free;

But, curse upon your paltering breath!
The light he ne'er did see:
He died in dungeon cold and dim,
By Alphonso's base decree;

And visage blind, and mangled limb,
Were all they gave to me.

"The king that swerveth from his word
Hath stained his purple black:
No Spanish lord will draw his sword
Behind a liar's back.

66

But noble vengeance shall be mine;

And open hate I'll show ;

The king hath injured Carpio's line,

And Bernard is his foe !"

Seize, seize him!" loud the king doth scream:

66 There are a thousand here;

Let his foul blood this instant stream;

What! caitiffs, do you fear?

Seize, seize the traitor!" But not one

To move a finger dareth: Bernardo standeth by the throne,

And calm his sword he bareth.

He drew the falchion from its sheath,
And held it up on high;

And all the hall was still as death :-
Cries Bernard, "Here am I;

And here's the sword that owns no lord,
Excepting heaven and me:

Fain would I know who dares its point,―
King, condé, or grandee."

Then to his mouth his horn he drew,-
It hung below his cloak;

His ten true men the signal knew,

And through the ring they broke,
With helm on head, and blade in hand,
The knights the circle break,
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand,
And the false king to quake.

"Ha! Bernard!" quoth Alphonso,
"What means this warlike guise?

Ye know full well I jested ;

Ye know your worth I prize!" But Bernard turned upon his heel, And, smiling, passed away. Long rued Alphonso and Castile

The jesting of that day!

THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN.

WIDE o'er Bannock's heathy wold

Scotland's deathful banners roll'd,

And spread their wings of sprinkled gold
To the purpling east,

¡Lockhart.