I ride from land to land,

I sail from sea to sea;

Some day more kind I fate may find,
Some night kiss thee.

THE BROADSWORDS OF SCOTLAND.

Now there's peace on the shore, now there's calm on the sea,
Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free,
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee.
Oh the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

Old Sir Ralph Abercromby, the good and the brave-
Let him flee from our board, let him sleep with the slave,
Whose libation comes slow while we honor his grave.
Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

Though he died not, like him, amid victory's roar, Though disaster and gloom wove his shroud on the shore, Not the less we remember the spirit of Moore.

Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

Yea, a place with the fallen the living shall claim;
We'll entwine in one wreath every glorious name—
The Gordon, the Ramsay, the Hope, and the Graham.
All the broadswords of old Scotland!
And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

Count the rocks of the Spey, count the groves of the Forth,
Count the stars in the clear, cloudless heaven of the north;
Then
go blazen their numbers, their names and their worth.
All the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

The highest in splendor, the humblest in place,
Stand united in glory, as kindred in race,

For the private is brother in blood to his grace.
Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

Then sacred to each and all let it be

Fill a glass to the heroes whose swords kept us free,
Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee.
Oh, the broadswords of old Scotland!

And oh, the old Scottish broadswords!

EULOGY UPON CAPTAIN PATON.

His waistcoat, coat and breeches, were cut off the same web,
Of a beautiful snuff-color, of a modest gentry drab;

The blue stripe in his stocking round his neat, slim leg did go;
And his ruffles of the cambric fine, they were whiter than the snow.
Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

His hair was curled in order, at the rising of the sun,
In comely rows and buckles smart that down his ears did run;
And before there was a toupee, that some inches up did grow;
And behind there was a long queue, that did o'er his shoulders flow.
Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

And whenever we foregathered, he took off his wee three oockit, And he proffered you his snuff-box, which he drew from his side. pocket,

And on Burdett or Bonaparte he would make a remark or so;
And then along the plainstones like a provost he would go.

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo'e!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, a distinguished American poet, born at Portland, Me., Feb. 27, 1807; died at Cambridge, Mass., March 24, 1882. He entered Bowdoin College at fourteen, was graduated in 1825; was tutor there for a short time, and in 1826 was appointed Professor of Modern Languages. He then went to Europe; returning late in 1829, he entered upon his duties as Professor. In 1835 he was chosen to succeed George Ticknor as Professor of Modern Languages and Literature in Harvard College. He established himself in the old Craigie House, which had been Washington's headquarters in 1775-1776, which continued to be his home during the remainder of his life. He resigned his professorship in 1854. While a student at Bowdoin he contributed several short poems to the Boston Literary Gazette, which were afterward brought together under the title of "Earlier Poems." While Professor at Bowdoin he contributed several papers to the North American Review, one of which, on "The Moral and Devotional Poetry of Spain," contained his translation of the "Coplas de Manrique."

Although Longfellow is most distinctively known as a poet, he wrote much graceful prose. Besides his college prelections and contributions to the North American Review he published "Outre Mer," a series of sketches from Europe (1826); "Hyperion," a romance (1839), and "Kavanagh," a tale of New England life (1849).

His poems include "Voices of the Night" (1839); "Ballads and Other Poems" (1842); "Poems on Slavery" (1842); "The Spanish Student" (1843). His important collection "Poets and Poetry of Europe," still a favorite anthology, was published in 1845. Then came "The Belfry of Bruges and Other Poems" (1846); "Evangeline, a Tale of Acadie" (1847); "The Seaside and the Fireside" (1850); "A Volume of Poems" (1850); "The Golden Legend" (1851); "Song of Hiawatha" (1855); "Prose Works," a series of essays, collected (1857); "Poems," complete edition (1857); "Courtship of Miles Standish" (1858); "Tales of a Wayside Inn" (1863); "Household Poems" (1865). He translated and published Dante's "Divine Comedy" (in 1867); "A New England Tragedy" came next (1868); "The Building of the Ship" (1870); "Excelsior" (1872); "Aftermath" (1873); "The Hanging of the Crane" (1875); "The Masque of Pandora and Other Poems"

(1875). He edited his "Poems of Places" in 31 vols. (1876-1879); "Poems of the Old South Church" (1877); "The Skeleton in Armor " (1878); "Kéramos and Other Poems" (1879). "From my Armchair" was printed in 1879; "Michael Angelo" in 1879; "Ultima Thule" in 1882. Shortly after his death was published "In the Harbor," a small volume containing his last poems. Under the general title of "Christus," he brought together in 1879 three dramatic poems already published: "The Divine Tragedy," "The Golden Legend," and "The New England Tragedies." "Complete Poetical Works with Later Poems," with a biographical sketch by Octavius B. Frothingham, in 1880-1883.

Longfellow's translations — mainly from French, Italian, German, Spanish, and Swedish poets are numerous. The collection entitled "The Poets and Poetry of Europe" (1845), contains many translations by himself which are now included in his Works.

THE FOREST PRIMEVAL.1

(From "Evangeline.")

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced neighboring ocean Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the wail of the forest.

This is the forest primeval; but where are the hearts that beneath it

Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the voice of the huntsman?

Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian farmers, Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water the woodlands, Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image of heaven? Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever departed! Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts of October Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far o'er the

ocean.

Naught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of Grand-Pré.

EVANGELINE AND GABRIEL.

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-Pré Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household. Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal, 1 Selections used by permission of Houghton, Mifflin. & Co.

Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deepest devotion; Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her gar

ment!

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,

And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron;
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music.
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome;
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith,

Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men;
For since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations,
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people.
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood
Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician,
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their
letters

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song.

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed, Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith. There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything, Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cartwheel

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders.

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice,

Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows,
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away o'er the meadow.
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children.
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning,
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman.
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sun-
shine

VOL. XIII. -34