EXCELSIOR.

BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device
Excelsior!

His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a faulchion from its sheath,

And like a silver clarion rung

The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!

In happy homes he saw the light

Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,

And from his lips escaped a groan,
Excelsior!

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EXCELSIOR.

Try not the Pass!" the old man said; "Dark lowers the tempest overhead,

The roaring torrent is deep and wide!"
And loud that clarion voice replied
Excelsior!

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
Thy weary head upon this breast!
A tear stood in his bright blue eye,
But still he answered, with a sigh,
Excelsior!

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche !"

This was the peasant's last Good-night,
A voice replied, far up the height,
Excelsior!

At break of day, as heavenward
The pious monks of Saint Bernard
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer,

A voice cried through the startled air
Excelsior!

A traveller, by the faithful hound,
Half-buried in the snow was found,

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Still grasping in his hand of ice

That banner with the strange device Excelsior!

There in the twilight cold and gray,
Lifeless but beautiful, he lay,

And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!

TO THE AUTHOR'S WIFE,

ABSENT ON A VISIT.

BY SEBA SMITH.

COME home my dear Elizabeth;
I'm sure could you but know
The sadness of my lonely hours,
You would not leave me so.

If love could not restrain you,
Sure the kindness of your heart
Would not allow that mine so long
Should feel this aching smart.

Like the dove that found no resting
On the weary waters wide,
I wander, but I find no rest

Apart from thee, my bride.

Yes, bride I still must call thee, Though sixteen years have fled, Fraught with the ills and joys of life, Since the day that saw us wed.

Yes, bride I still must call thee,
For still I feel thou art

The morning light unto mine eyes,
And the life-blood to my heart.

With gentle words and tone,

And all the light, gay world may smile,

But still I am alone.

The bright bird that you

left me,

Chirps often through the day,

And his music but reminds me

That you are far away.

For

your sake I will feed him

With fresh seeds and with flowers,

And his morning and his evening song

Shall count my weary hours.