MISCELLANEOUS. EXCELSIOR. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye beneath The accents of that unknown tongue, In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright; "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 "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche !" This was the peasant's last good night! Excelsior! At break of day, as heavenward A voice cried through the startled air, A traveller, by the faithful hound, There, in the twilight cold and gray, THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. UNDER a spreading chestnut-tree With large and sinewy hands; And the muscles of his brawny arms 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 in, week out, from morn till night, You can hear his bellows blow; You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, Like a sexton ringing the village bell, And children coming home from school Look in at the open door; They love to see the flaming forge, And hear the bellows roar, And catch the burning sparks that fly He goes on Sunday to the church, And it makes his heart rejoice. It sounds to him like her mother's voice, He needs must think of her once more, And with his hard rough hand he wipes Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing, Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, ENDYMION. THE rising moon has hid the stars Lie on the landscape green, |