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Alas! I cannot tell thee now,
I could not come to hold thy brow:
And wealth is late, nor ought I've won,
Were worth to hear thee call thy son,
In that dark hour when bands remove,
And none are named but names of love.

Alas, for me! I missed that hour;

My hands, for this, shall miss their power!
For thee, the sun, and dew, and rain,
Shall ne'er unbind thy grave again,
Nor let thee up the light to see,
Nor let thee up to be with me!

Yet, sweet thy rest from care and strife,
And many pains that hurt thy life!-
Turn to thy God-and blame thy son-
To give thee more than I have done.
Thou God, with joy beyond all years,
Fill up the channels of her tears.—

Thou carest not now for soft attire,
Yet wilt thou hear my soul's desire;
To earth I dare not call thee more,
But speak from off thy awful shore:
O ask this heart for monument,
And mine shall be a large content!

A DUTIFUL NEPHEW.

BY ASCANIO MORI DA CENO.

There once dwelt in our good city of Mantua a certain Messer Maffeo Strada, an elderly gentleman of very unobjectionable manners, and well to do in the world. But, though extremely active and vigilant in his affairs, he was not forgetful of his social duties, inasmuch as having lost his own wife and family, he took into his charge an orphan nephew, for the purpose of supplying the place of his parents, and educating him in a manner befitting his birth. When he found that the boy discovered little turn for letters, his kind uncle very properly took him away from school, with the intention of devoting him to mercantile affairs until he should be able to enter upon his own concerns. And such was the young man's prudence and discretion that he quickly imbibed the habits of business practised by his patron, insomuch as to excite the admiration and surprise of all his friends and acquaintance. On this account he daily gained ground in the good graces of his uncle, who Legan to regard him with as much pride and

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pleasure as if he had been his own son. the other hand the young man always showed his uncle the respect due to a father; and so great was his mercantile proficiency, that when the old gentleman was seized with a series of tertian ague-fits, he was absolutely competent to take upon himself the charge of the office.

Still his uncle's fits were a source of great disquietude to him, and he spared no pains and expense to restore him to his usual excellent state of health. The care of young Federigo, therefore, for by this name he had been christened, soon placed old Messer Matteo on his legs again, which were directly employed to bring him down as fast as possible to his counting-house, where his nephew received him at the head of all the clerks with three commercial cheers, evincing the greatest satisfaction in the world, while the news diffused a placid joy over the countenances of all the jobbers in the city. He was still, however, advised by his doctors to adhere for a period to his gentle soporific and perspiring draughts, in order, as they assured him, to carry off the dregs of his disease, under which discipline he remained somewhat weak and querulous.

His careful nephew, unacquainted with this last prescription, one morning went into his room to consult him on some affairs, and was surprised to find him buried under an enormous load of bed-clothes, just as he was beginning to promote the medicinal warmth. He had closed his eyes, and lay perfectly quiet, invoking the moisture to appear, with all a patient's anxiety and fervency of feeling, which cannot endure the least interference with the grand object he has in view. The careful nephew approached on tip-toe, fearful of rousing his good uncle too suddenly, and was concerned to behold him lying apparently in so piteous a plight. Anxious lest he had met with a relapse, he began to accuse himself of not having been sufficiently careful in preventing him from resuming business too soon. The old gentleman at first laughed a little on hearing his over-scrupulous observations; then he became rather uneasy at his repeated inquiries and lamentations over him; and lastly, he was afraid that this untimely interruption might check the course of the fluids, without in the least benefiting the solids, respecting both of which he had lately become very particular. In fact he began to fear that the necessary perspiration would be stopped, which, next to the stopping of the firm, was the thing he most dreaded in the world. When his careful nephew, therefore, again began to hint his precautions that he should not enter too soon

into the office, the patient said in a somewhat ened; and, gathering strength from his despair, angry tone:

"Get you gone; your lamentations make me quite sick; I tell you I am only taking a sweat.

"But I am sorry to think you have got a relapse; what can be the occasion of it? Do let me consult the doctor about it, for it were better to take it in time;" and so saying, he was hastening out of the room. No longer able to control his temper, and too impatient to explain, yet dreading to rise in a state of incipient perspiration, the old merchant raised his voice as loud as he dared, crying, “Don't go to the doctor, I say, and a plague upon you; only go out of the room."

Upon this the young man, approaching nearer, and marking his uncle's rising colour, who at the same time bestowed the most abusive epithets upon him, began to think he was a little touched in the head, and that there was the greater occasion for a sharp leech the more he asserted the contrary. As he stood in a thoughtful posture, with his eyes fixed on the inflamed countenance of his uncle, the calmness of his manner, and his fixed resolution of calling a physician, so incensed the latter, that he suddenly burst into a violent rage, threatening not only to cut him off without a farthing, but to knock his brains out instantly if he ventured to provoke him more; for which purpose he would rise though he was in a beautiful perspiration.

These words now confirmed the young gentleman's suspicions that something was wrong in his uncle's upper regions, being quite unlike himself, and he began to lament his situation louder than ever, ending with prayers and ejaculations for a physician. The uncle upon this put his threats into execution, leaping suddenly from his bed, while Federigo, on the other hand, believing him to be seized with a delirious paroxysm, ran towards him to keep him down, lest he should commit some horrible mischief. Escaping, however, from his hands, the enraged patient endeavoured to seize a large cudgel which he kept in the room, a design against which the young gentleman exerted himself to the utmost of his power.

His

he began to press Messer Maffeo very hard, who, engaging in his night-cap and gown, certainly fought at a great disadvantage. breath began to grow short and his strength to fail, and no longer able to utter a word, he fairly yielded to his adversary. The latter not venturing to let a madman loose, held him firmly down, pinioning his hands behind him, and fixing his knees upon his stomach. When he had at length bound him, hand and foot, the careful nephew again commenced his la mentations over him, regretting that so sensible a man should have run mad so suddenly. On this his uncle beginning to grin and show his teeth, he very calmly buried him under a heap of bed-clothes, and locking him fast in the chamber, went to consult a phy sician. The doctor, being just on the poin of visiting one of the young princes at the court, had only time to advise the carefu nephew to apply a couple of sharp blister upon his uncle's shoulders, and he would en deavour to call upon him in the evening. He would then, if necessary, order him something of a still more caustic nature, and bleed the patient copiously. For there was nothing, be said, like meeting the evil in the beginning and applying the remedies while the patien had strength to bear them.

The anxious Federigo accordingly hastened to the surgeon's house, and finding him, unluckily for his uncle, at home, he took him armed with lancet and blisters, along wit him. Proceeding with all haste, they so arrived at the patient's residence, the young man relating by the way the whole of his late engagement, as a clear proof of the patient lunacy. The ancient housekeeper met then at the door, crossing herself devoutly, and shedding tears, as she repeated further in stances of the insanity of her poor master, wh had never ceased to bite and kick, and ros? most outrageously, since his nephew had let the house.

By the time the dutiful nephew and surgeon approached the chamber the violence of the old gentleman's proceedings certainly afforded strong presumptive evidence against him; and when they appeared in his presence he grew more furious than before-shouting, swearing. imploring, and laughing by turns.

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A sharp contest for the possession of the stick now took place, sometimes inclining to one side, sometimes to the other; though the youth, believing his uncle endowed with the supernatural strength of a lunatic, was frequently on the point of being overcome. His great object was to secure the patient before he succeeded in obtaining the cudgel, and in flicting the severe castigation which he threat-caustics without fear of risk."

What, in heaven's name, must we do!" cried his nephew.

"Let us stay till he has worn himself out and the paroxysm is somewhat abated," said the barbarous leech; "we can then apply our

"No, I think we had better begin now," | Growing hotter and hotter, they at length replied the careful nephew; "let us lose no became so intolerable that he declared he felt time; for he will do himself some injury if we them eating his flesh away and drinking his permit him to go on thus. Follow me, and do blood: that gout and colic were a mere jest to not be afraid; for I think I shall manage him them; and that he would give up the whole better this time," continued Federigo with the of the business and all he was possessed of in utmost coolness; "and when once I have pin- the world if his cruel nephew would consent ioned down his arms you may seize him by to release him. The latter, however, only the legs." thought it a further sign of madness, and proposed to adopt still stronger applications, saying to the servant in the presence of the wretched patient, "Run quick, as far as the surgeon's; bring a large blister for the head, and I will shave him myself."

"But he is mad, quite mad," cried the surgeon, "let him alone, I say: when the frenzy subsides you will find he will go to leep, and we can seize him then." Such in fact was shortly the case, for, wearied with his violent efforts and exertions, the poor man, soon after they retired, fell into a sound sleep. But he was not long permitted to enjoy it; for the wily leech then addressing his nephew, said, "Now is the time: he is in a deep slumber, and what we have to do let us do quickly.'

'Softly, softly," said the careful Federigo, as he laid hands upon the poor merchant, there, I have him now; bring the blisters and a basin for the blood before he is well awake."

"Murder! help, help! for heaven's sake, help!" cried the patient, suddenly awakening, and beholding the fell surgeon approaching with the lancet and basin in hand; but vain were his cries; vain all his efforts to extricate himself from his impending fate. The more he struggled the more did Federigo think it his duty to use prompt remedies, and Messer Maffeo shortly lay as helpless as a new-born child. The surgeon, however, in securing his legs, had already received several severe contusions in the face; for which he was proceeding to take ample revenge in the blood of his enemy. At first, indeed, he thought of running away, but the young man encouraged him to do his duty, while the patient on his side exhibited symptoms of extreme rage and terror at his approach. The phlebotomist again advanced, and again drew back, like a spider that has got a wasp in his toils, holding his trenchant blade in his hand, nor was it until he was offered a double fee that he flew at him, and, in spite of all his shrieks and struggles, fixed a deadly blister upon either shoulder. He next attempted to draw blood, the careful nephew holding the arm, while the surgeon, with the same caution, proceeded to pierce the vein; and having accomplished this, and applied Some hot cataplasms to the soles of his feet, the man of blood departed.

The patient now lay exposed to the rising Jangs of the caustics, bound hand and foot.

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THE REIGN OF SUMMER.

[James Montgomery, born in Irvine, Ayrshire, 4th November, 1771; died in Sheffield, 30th April, 1854. He spent ten years at school in Fulneck in training for the Moravian ministry; but not caring to devote himself to that profession, he was apprenticed to a chandler. Soon afterwards he made his way to London with a bundle of verses in MS. The publisher to whom he applied gave him employment as a clerk, but would not print his poems. He proceeded to Sheffield in 1792, and became assistant to the proprietor of the Sheffield Register. On account of an article in the paper offensive to the government the proprietor was obliged to leave England, and Montgomery became editor and publisher of the Register, the name of which he altered to that of the Iris. He was twice fined and imprisoned -1794-5-for printing matter disagreeable to the authorities, but he continued to conduct the journal successfully, and, in the end, numbered amongst his best friends many who had been formerly opposed to him in politics. His chief poetical works are:-Prison Amusements: The Wanderer in Switzerland; The World before the Flood; Songs of Zion; The Pelican Island, &c. Professor Wilson wrote in Blackwood -" James Montgomery, of all the poets of this age, is in his poetryand, we believe, also out of it-the most religious man. All his thoughts, sentiments, and feelings are moulded and coloured by religion. A spirit of invocation, prayer, and praise pervades all his poetry, and it is as sincere as it is beautiful. The elements of air, earth, fire, and water are to him all sanctified, not by poetry alone, but by piety."]

The hurricanes are fled! the rains,

That plough'd the mountains, wreck'd the plains,
Have pass'd away before the wind,
And left a wilderness behind,
As if an ocean had been there
Exhaled, and left its channels bare.
But, with a new and sudden birth,
Nature replenishes the earth;

Plants, flowers, and shrubs o'er all the land
So promptly rise, so thickly stand,
As if they heard a voice,--and came,
Each at the calling of its name.
The tree, by tempest stript and rent,
Expands its verdure like a tent,
Beneath whose shade, in weary length,
The enormous lion rests his strength,
For blood, in dreams of hunting, burns,
Or, chased himself, to fight returns;
Growls in his sleep, a dreary sound,

Grinds his wedged teeth, and spurns the ground;
While monkeys, in grotesque amaze,
Down from their bending perches gaze,
But when he lifts his eye of fire,
Quick to the topmost boughs retire.

Loud o'er the mountains bleat the flocks;
The goat is bounding on the rocks;
Far in the valleys range the herds;
The welkin gleams with flitting birds,
Whose plumes such gorgeous tints adorn,

They seem the offspring of the morn.
From nectar'd flowers and groves of spice,
Earth breathes the air of Paradise;
Her mines their hidden wealth betray,
Treasures of darkness burst to day;
O'er golden sands the rivers glide,
And pearls and amber track the tide.
Of every sensual bliss possess'd,
Man riots here;-but is he blest?
And would he choose, for ever bright,
This Summer-day without a night?
For here hath Summer fix'd her throne,
Intent to reign,—and reign alone.

Daily the sun, in his career,
Hotter and higher, climbs the sphere,
Till from the zenith, in his rays,
Without a cloud or shadow, blaze
The realms beneath him:-in his march,
On the blue key-stone of heaven's arch,
He stands;-air, earth, and ocean lie
Within the presence of his eye,
The wheel of Nature seems to rest,
Nor rolls him onward to the west,
Till thrice three days of noon unchanged,
That torrid clime have so deranged,
Nine years may not the wrong repair;
But Summer checks the ravage there;
Yet still enjoins the sun to steer
By the stern Dog-star round the year,
With dire extremes of day and night,
Tartarean gloom, celestial light.

In vain the gaudy season shines,
Her beauty fades, her power declines:
Then first her bosom felt a care;
-No healing breeze embalm'd the air,
No mist the mountain-tops bedew'd,
Nor shower the arid vale renew'd;
The herbage shrunk; the ploughman's toil
Scatter'd to dust the crumbling soil;
Blossoms were shed; the umbrageous wood,
Laden with sapless foliage, stood;
The streams, impoverish'd day by day,
Lessen'd insensibly away;

Where cattle sought, with piteous moans,
The vanish'd lymph, midst burning stones,
And tufts of wither'd reeds, that fill
The wonted channel of the rill;
Till, stung with hornets, mad with thirst,
In sudden rout, away they burst,
Nor rest, till where some channel deep
Gleams in small pools, whose waters sleep
There with huge draught and eager eye
Drink for existence,-drink and die!

But direr evils soon arose,
Hopeless, unmitigable woes:

Man proves the shock; through all his veins
The frenzy of the season reigns;
With pride, lust, rage, ambition blind,
He burns in every fire of mind,
Which kindles from insane desire,
Or fellest hatred can inspire;

Reckless whatever ill befall, He dares to do and suffer all

That heart can think, that arm can deal,
Or out of hell a fury feel.

There stood in that romantic clime,
A mountain awfully sublime;

O'er many a league the basement spread,
It tower'd in many an airy head,

Height over height,-now gay, now wild,
The peak with ice eternal piled;
Pure in mid heaven, that crystal cone

A diadem of glory shone,

Reflecting, in the night-fall'n sky,
The beams of day's departed eye;
Or holding, ere the dawn begun,
Communion with the unrisen sun.

The cultured sides were clothed with woods,
Vineyards, and fields; or track'd with floods,
Whose glacier-fountains, hid on high,
Sent down their rivers from the sky.
O'er plains, that mark'd its gradual scale,
On sunny slope, in shelter'd vale,
Earth's universal tenant-he,
Who lives wherever life may be,
Sole, social, fix'd, or free to roam,
Always and everywhere at home,

Man pitch'd his tents, adorn'd his bowers.
Built temples, palaces, and towers,
And made that Alpine world his own,
-The miniature of every zone,
From brown savannahs parch'd below,
To ridges of cerulean snow.

Those highlands form'd a last retreat
From rabid Summer's fatal heat:
Though not unfelt her fervours there,
Vernal and cool the middle air;
While from the icy pyramid
Streams of unfailing freshness slid,
That long had slaked the thirsty land,
Till Avarice, with insatiate hand,
Their currents check'd; in sunless caves.
And rock-bound dells, engulf'd the waves,
And thence in scanty measures doled,
Or turn'd Heaven's bounty into gold.
Ere long the dwellers on the plain
Murmur'd; their murmurs were in vain ;
Petition'd, but their prayers were spurn'd;
Threaten'd,-defiance was return'd:
Then rang both regions with alarms;
Blood-kindling trumpets blew to arms;
The maddening drum and deafening fife
Marshall'd the elements of strife:
Sternly the mountaineers maintain
Their rights against the insurgent plain;
The plain's indignant myriads rose
To wrest the mountain from their foes,
Resolved its blessings to enjoy
By dint of valour,-or destroy.

The legions met in war-array;
The mountaineers brook'd no delay,
Aside their missile weapons threw,

From holds impregnable withdrew,
And, rashly brave, with sword and shield,
Rush'd headlong to the open field.
Their foes the auspicious omen took,
And raised a battle-shout that shook
The champaign;-stanch and keen for blood,
Front threatening front, the columns stood;
But, while like thunder-clouds they frown,
In tropic haste the sun went down;
Night o'er both armies stretch'd her tent,
The star-bespangled firmament,
Whose placid host, revolving slow,
Smile on the impatient hordes below,
That chafe and fret the hours away,
Curse the dull gloom, and long for day,
Though destined by their own decree
No other day nor night to see.
-That night is past, that day begun;
Swift as he sunk ascends the sun,
And from the red horizon springs
Upward, as borne on eagle-wings:
Aslant each army's lengthen'd lines,
O'er shields and helms he proudly shines,
While spears that catch his lightnings keen
Flash them athwart the space between.
Before the battle-shock, when breath
And pulse are still,-awaiting death;
In that cold pause, which seems to be
The prelude to eternity,

When fear, ere yet a blow is dealt,
Betray'd by none, by all is felt;

While, moved beneath their feet, the tomb
Widens her lap to make them room;
-Till, in the onset of the fray,
Fear, feeling, thought, are cast away,
And foaming, raging, mingling foes,
Like billows dash'd in conflict, close,
Charge, strike, repel, wound; struggle, fly,
Gloriously win, unconquer'd die:-
Hear, in dread silence, while they stand,
Each with a death-stroke in his hand,
His eye fix'd forward, and his ear
Tingling the signal blast to hear,

The trumpet sounds;- -ope note,--no more;
The field, the fight, the war is o'er;
An earthquake rent the void between,
A moment show'd, and shut, the scene;
Men, chariots, steeds,-of either host
The flower, the pride, the strength were lost:
A solitude remains;-the dead

Are buried there, -the living fled.

Nor yet the reign of Summer closed;
-At night in their own homes reposed
The fugitives, on either side,

Who 'scaped the death their comrades died;
When-lo! with many a giddy shock
The mountain-cliffs began to rock,
And deep below the hollow ground
Ran a strange mystery of sound,
As if, in chains and torments there,
Spirits were venting their despair.

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