With my great-hearted brother on her deck: I watched him till he shrank to a speck, And his face was toward me all the way. Bright his hair was, a golden brown, The time we stood at our mother's knee; That beauteous head, if it did go down, Carried sunshine into the sea! Out in the field one summer night Of the corn-leaves' rustling, and of the shade The first half-hour the great yellow star, Propped and held in its place in the skies Afraid to go home, sir; for one of us bore A nest full of speckled and thin-shelled eggs,The other, a bird, held fast by the legs, Not so big as a straw of wheat: The berries we gave her she wouldn't eat, But cried and cried, till we held her bill, At last we stood at our mother's knee. Of the urchin that is likest me; I think 'twas solely mine, indeed: But that's no matter,― paint it so. The eyes of our mother take good heed · Looking not on the nest full of eggs, Nor the fluttering bird, held so fast by the legs, But straight through our faces down to our lies, And oh, with such injured, reproachful surprise, I felt my heart bleed where that glance went, as though A sharp blade struck through it. You, sir, know, That you on the canvas are to repeat Things that are fairest, things most sweet, Woods and cornfields and mulberry tree, The mother, the lads, with their bird, at her knee; But, oh, that look of reproachful woe! High as the heavens your name I'll shout, If you paint me the picture, and leave that out. THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMER - THOMAS MOORE NOTE TO THE PUPIL. Thomas Moore was born in Dublin in 1779. He was a most prolific writer, and no poet has expressed himself more gracefully; but it is questionable if he has written much that will prove to be a part of the enduring literature of the English language. His most elaborate work is "Lalla Rookh." Perhaps after some minor poems, his "Irish Melodies" will be longest read. Light satire and humor were his characteristic veins. Among his satires the most noted are "The Fudge Family in Paris" and "The Two Penny Post Bag." Moore received large sums of money for his works, and his society was much sought after, so that he knew little of the privations that most authors have suffered. He died in 1852. IS the last rose of summer 'TIS Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone; No flower of her kindred, No rose bud is nigh, I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Lie scentless and dead. So soon may I follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away! When true hearts lie withered, This bleak world alone? MARCO BOZZARIS FITZ-GREENE HALLECK NOTE TO THE PUPIL. Fitz-Greene Halleck was born at Guilford, Conn., in 1790. He had only the schooling his native town afforded. At the age of fifteen he entered his uncle's store as clerk, from here he went to a counting house in New York, then to a similar position with John Jacob Astor, in all forty-two years of mercantile life, and yet a poet. His most noted poems are those that follow. He was an intimate friend of Joseph Rodman Drake, and together they wrote the "Croaker" papers, a series of clever satires. AT midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, In dreams, through camp and court he bore In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then press'd that monarch's throne a king: At midnight, in the forest shades, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, And now there breathed that haunted air; With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far, as they. An hour pass'd on: the Turk awoke: "To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!" And death shots falling thick and fast "Strike! till the last arm'd foe expires; They fought like brave men, long and well; Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their loud hurrah, Then saw in death his eyelids close, |