Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812 Part 28

For this mob found that, in her stolen guise Of softer beams, they had adored a cheat; A make-believe; a lie.

Immense their rage! One aim inspired them all-- To punish. But while they swayed and tossed In wrathful argument on just desert, Fair Truth indeed appeared, clad in her robes Of glorious majesty. "Desist, my friends,"

She cried; "the executioner condign Of Insincerity, and your avenger, Is Time, my faithful henchman."

THE TWO TREES.

FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.

Two trees, amid whose leafy shade The warbling birds their vigils paid, Stood neighbours--each as n.o.ble tree In height and girth as one might see.

The one, sequestered in the vale, All sheltered from the boisterous gale, Had pa.s.sed his days in soft repose; The other from the cliff arose, And bore the brunt of stormy wind That lashed him oft in frenzy blind.

A day there happed when from the north Aquilon drave his forces forth, And hurled them headlong on the rock Where, proudly poised to meet the shock, Our bold tree stood. In gallant might, He took the gage of proffered fight, And though in every fibre wrung, Kept every fibre still upstrung.

"Thou tremblest!" cried the sheltered tree, "Thine own the folly! Come to me.

Here no wild tempest rocks our boughs-- Scarce may it bend our haughty brows-- Scarce may a breeze our branches kiss-- From every harm a shelter this."

No word replied the storm-tried tree, But, wrestling for the mastery, He bowed and straightened, writhed and shook, And firmer of the rock he took A tightening clutch with grip of steel, Nor once the storm-fiend made him reel; And when his weary foe pa.s.sed by, Still towered he proudly to the sky.

Then through the vale the winged blast For the first time in fury pa.s.sed, As through ripe grain the sickles go, Widespread he scattered fear and woe; p.r.o.ne fell the tree--so safe before-- 'Mid ruin dire, to rise no more.

He cannot fall who knows to fight With stern adversity aright.

But soon is laid the victim low, That knows not how to ward a blow.

FABLE AND TRUTH.

Simply attired in Nature's strictest garb, Fair Truth emerged from out her sheltering well; But Time so many of her charms had touched That age and youth before her presence fled: And no asylum showed an open door Of welcome to the waif of shivering limb.

Sudden upon her sight a vision breaks-- Gay Fable richly robed, and pranked withal In plumes and jewels--mostly false 'tis true, But bright enough. "Ah, is it you, my friend?

How do?" quo' she, "but why upon the road.

"And all alone?"

"You see I freeze," says Truth, "And yet of those who pa.s.s I but implore A simple shelter, but I frighten them.

Alas! I see an aged woman gains But small consideration!"

"Younger than I,"

Saith Fable, "are you? Yet I may aver, Without conceit, that everywhere I am received with joy. But Mistress Truth, Why did you brave the light in such scant robe?

'Twas most ill-judged. Come, let's arrange for both, Since the same end is aim for me as you; Get 'neath my cloak, and we'll together walk.

Thus, for your sake, I shall not by the wise Be buffeted; and for my sake, you shall Be well received among the simpler sort.

Thus every one his proper taste may suit, And by these means each shall her end attain, Thanks to your sense, and my amusing speech.

And you will see, my sister, everywhere We shall be well received, in company."--_Florian_.

THE CALIPH.

In ancient days the Caliph Almamon A palace built in Bagdad, fairer far Than was the vaunted house of Solomon.

The portico a hundred columns graced Of purest alabaster. Gold and blue And jasper formed the rich mosaic floor.

Ceiled with the fragrant cedar, suites of rooms Displayed a wealth of sculpture; treasures rare In art and nature vied; fair flowers and gems, Perfumes and scented myrtles; verdure soft And piercing l.u.s.tre; past the embroidered couch The gushing fountains rolled on dancing wave.

And beauty reigned o'er all.

Near this abode, but just beyond the gate, A simple cottage stood, old and dilapidate, The home of a poor weaver. There, content With little gain procured by labour long, Without a debt and thus beyond a care, The old man lived, forgotten perhaps, but free.

His days all peaceful softly wore away And he nor envied was, nor envying.

As hath been told, his small and mean retreat, Just masked the palace gates. The Grand Vizier Would pull it down, without formality Of law, or word of grace. More just his lord Commands to buy it first. To hear is to obey; They seek the weaver's bearing bags of gold; "These shalt thou have."

"No; keep your lordly sum, My workshop yields my needs," responds the man, "And for my house, I have no wish to sell; Here was I born, and here my father died: And here would I die too. The Caliph may, Should he so will, force me to leave the place And pull my cottage down, but should he so Each day would find me seated on the stone The last that's left, weeping my misery.

I know Almamon's heart; 'twill pity me."

This bold reply the Vizier's choler raised; He would the rascal punish, and at once Pull down the sorry hut. Not so the Caliph: "No; while it stands my glory lives," saith he, "My treasure shall be taxed to make it whole; And of my reign it shall be monument; For when my heirs shall this fair palace mark They shall exclaim 'How great was Almamon!'

And when yon cottage 'Almamon was just!'"--_Florian_.

THE BLIND MAN AND THE PARALYTIC.

Kindly let us help each other, Lighter will our burden lie, For the good we do our brother Is a solace pure and high,-- So Confucius to his people, To his friends, the wise Chinese, Oft affirmed, and to persuade them, Told them stories such as these:--

In an Asiatic city Dwelt two miserable men,-- Misery knows nor clime nor country, Haunts alike the dome or den-- Blind the one, the other palsied, Each so poor he prayed for death; Yet he lived, his invocations Seeming naught but wasted breath.

On his wretched mattress lying, In the busy public square, See the wasted paralytic Suffering more that none doth care.

b.u.t.t for everybody's humour, Gropes the blind his devious way, Guide, nor staff, nor helper has he, To supply the light's lost ray; E'en a poor dog's willing service, Love, and guidance are denied; Till one day his groping finds him By the paralytic's side.

There he hears the sufferer's moaning, And his very soul is moved.

He's the truest sympathizer Who, like sorrow, erst has proved.

"I have, sorrows, thou hast others, Brother, let us join our woes, And their rigours will be softened,"

Thus the blind began propose.

"Ah, my friend, thou little knowest That a step I cannot take; Thou art blind; what should we gain then Of two burdens one to make?"

"Why, now, brother, see how lucky, 'Twixt us both is all we lack: Thou hast eyes, be thou the guide then, Thee I'll carry on my back; Thus without unfriendly question As to which bears heaviest load, I will walk for thee, and thou, friend, Choose for me the smoothest road."--_Florian_.

DEATH.

On a set day, fell Death, queen of the world,-- In h.e.l.l a.s.sembled all her fearful court That 'mongst them she might choose a minister Would render her estate more flourishing.

As candidates for the dread office came, With measured strides, from Tartarus' lowest depth, Fever, and Gout, and War--a trio To whose gifts all earth and h.e.l.l bare witness-- The queen reception gave them.

Then came Plague, And none his claims and merit might deny.

Still, when a doctor paid his visit, too, Opinion wavered which would win the day.

Nor could Queen Death herself at once decide.

But when the Vices came her choice fell quick-- She chose Excess.--_Florian_.