240 THE SETTLER. Which was the living chronicle Of deeds that wrought the change. The violet sprung at Spring's first tinge, His garden spade, or drove his share He marked the fire-storm's blazing flood He marked the rapid whirlwind shoot, His gaunt hound yelled, his rifle flashed, His fangs, with dying howl; The fleet deer ceased its flying bound, THE SETTLER. Its snarling wolf-foe bit the ground, The beaver sank beneath the wound Humble the lot, yet his the race! Who cumbered Bunker's height of red, 241 BALLAD. BY E. C. EMBUR Y. 66 La rose cueillie et le cœur gagne ne plaisent qu'un jour.” THE maiden sat at her busy wheel, Her heart was light and free, And oft I heard her say, "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart Can charm but for a day." I looked on the maiden's rosy cheek, And I sighed to think that the traitor love, But she thought not of future days of wo, A year passed on, and again I stood By the humble cottage-door; : BALLAD. The maid sat at her busy wheel, But her look was blithe no more; The big tear stood in her downcast eye, "The gathered rose, and the stolen heart Oh! well I knew what had dimmed her eye, The maid had forgotten her early song, She had tasted the sweets of his poisoned cup, And the stolen heart, like the gathered rose, 243 SATURDAY AFTERNOON. BY N. P. WILLIS. I LOVE to look on a scene like this, And persuade myself that I am not old, And my locks are not yet gray; For it stirs the blood in an old man's heart, To catch the thrill of a happy voice, I have walked the world for fourscore years; And they say that I am old, And my heart is ripe for the reaper, Death, And my years are well nigh told. It is very true; it is very true; I'm old, and "I 'bide my time :" But my heart will leap at a scene like this And I half renew my prime. Play on, play on; I am with you there, In the midst of your merry ring; |