you, Old year, you shall not die ; He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er, To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post haste, But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, How hard he breathes! over the snow The cricket chirps: the light burns low : Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: His face is growing sharp and thin, Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, A new face at the door. CCCLXIV. MARTIN F. TUPPER, 1811— 1. STUDY OF NATURE. That which may profit and amuse is gathered from the volume of creation, For every chapter therein teemeth with the playfulness of wisdom. The elements of all things are the same, though nature hath mixed them with a difference, And learning delighteth to discover the affinity of seeming opposites: So out of great things and small draweth he the secrets of the universe, And argueth the cycles of the stars, from a pebble flung by a child. It is pleasant to note all plants, from the rush to the spreading cedar, From the giant king of palms, to the lichen that staineth its stem; To watch the workings of instinct, that grosser reason of brutes, The river horse browsing in the jungle, the plover screaming on the moor, The cayman basking on a mud-bank, and the walrus anchored to an iceberg, The dog at his master's feet, and the milch-kine lowing in the meadow. To trace the consummate skill that hath modelled the anatomy of insects, Small fowls that sun their wings on the petals of wildflowers; To learn a use in the beetle, and more than a use in the butterfly; To recognise affections in a moth, and look with admiration on a spider. It is glorious to gaze upon the firmament, and see from far the mansions of the blest, Each distant shining world, a kingdom for one of the redeemed; To read the antique history of earth, stamped upon those medals in the rocks Which design hath rescued from decay, to tell of the green infancy of time; To gather from the unconsidered shingle the mottled starlike agates, Full of unstoried flowers in the budding bloom-chalcedony ; Orgay and curious shells, fretted with microscopic carving, Corallines, and fresh sea weeds, spreading forth their delicate branches, It is an admirable lore to learn the cause in the change, To study the chemistry of nature, her grand but simple secrets, To search out all her wonders, to track the resources of her skill, To note her kind compensations, her unobtrusive excellence. In all it is wise happiness to see the well-ordained laws of Jehovah, The harmony that filleth all his mind, the justice that tempereth his bounty, The wonderful all-prevalent analogy that testifieth one Creator, The broad arrow of the Great King, carved on all the stores of his arsenal. 2. MAN. Yet more, thou may'st know, That many things go Over earth in their kind, Unlike to the view In shape as in hue. Known or unknown, Some forms of them all On earth lying prone Must creep and must crawi; By feathers help'd not, Nor walking on feet, As it is their lot, Earth they must eat. Its going well knows, Some flying high Yet to this earth Is everything bound, Bowed from its birth And leaning to dust, And some as they must. Man alone goes Of all things upright, That his mind and his might Ever should rise Up to the skies. Unless like the beast So far should sink Yet, downwards to think. CCCLXV. EDGAR A. POE, 1811--1849. THE RAVEN. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door; ""Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber-door Only this, and nothing more." Ah! distinctly I rer.ember it was in the bleak December, And each sep'rate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow-sorrow for the lost Lenore For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating: "'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamberdoor Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door: This it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I "or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore ; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, That I scarce was sure I heard you" here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word" Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word "Lenore!" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into my chamber turning, all my soul within mə burning, |