45. THE MAID OF THE INN.-Southey. Who is she, the poor maniac, whose wildly-fixed eyes No aid, no compassion the maniac will seek ; Through the rags do the winds of the winter blow bleak Yet cheerful and happy, nor distant the day, The traveler remembers, who journeyed this way, Her cheerful address filled the guests with delight, When the wind whistled down the dark aisle. She loved, and young Richard had settled the day, 'Twas in autumn, and stormy and dark was the night, And fast were the windows and door; Two guests sat enjoying the fire that burnt bright, ""Tis pleasant," cried one, "seated by the fireside, To hear the wind whistle without." "A fine night for the abbey," his comrade replied, "Methinks a man's courage would now be well tried, Who should wander the ruins about. I myself, like a schoolboy, should tremble to hear For this wind might awaken the dead." "I'll wager a dinner," the other one cried, "That Mary would venture there now." Then wager and lose," with a sneer he replied, "I'll warrant she'd fancy a ghost by her side, And faint if she saw a white cow." "Will Mary this charge on her courage allow?" His companion exclaimed with a smile; "I shall win, for I know she will venture there now, And earn a new bonnet by bringing a bough From the alder that grows in the aisle." With fearless good humor did Mary comply, The night it was dark, and the wind it was high, O'er the path, so well known, still proceeded the maid, Where the abbey rose dim on the sight; Through the gateway she entered, she felt not afraid, Yet the ruins were lonely and wild, and their shade Seemed to deepen the gloom of the night. All around her was silent, save when the rude blast Over weed-covered fragments still fearless she passed, Where the alder-tree grows in the aisle. Well pleased did she reach it, and quickly drew near, When the sound of a voice seemed to rise on her ear- The wind blew, the hoarse ivy shook over her head ;She listened ;-naught else could she hear. The wind ceased, her heart sunk in her bosom with dread, Behind a wide column, half breathless with fear, That instant the moon o'er a dark cloud shone clear, Then Mary could feel her heart's-blood curdle cold! It blew off the hat of the one, and behold! "Curse the hat!" he exclaims; "Nay come on and first hide She ran with wild speed, she rushed in at the door, Then her limbs could support their faint burden no more, Ere yet her pale lips could the story impart, Her eyes from that object convulsively start, For, Oh God! what cold horror thrilled through her heart, When the name of her Richard she knew. Where the old abbey stands, on the common hard by, Not far from the inn it engages the eye, COMIC AND AMUSING. 1. TO AN OLD WIG.—Anonymous. Hail thou! that liest so snug in this old box; With awe I bend before thy wood-built shrine' Oh! 'tis not closed with glue, nor nails, nor locks, And hence the bliss of viewing thee is mine. Like my poor aunt, thou hast seen better days; Well curled and powdered, once it was thy lot Balls to frequent, and masquerades, and plays, And panoramas, and I know not what! Alas! what art thou now? a mere old mop! With which our housemaid Nan, who hates a broom Such is the fate of wigs-and mortals too! Vain man! to talk so loud, and look so big! -Gilman. 2. THE CHILD'S WISH IN JUNE. Mother, mother, the winds are at play, See, how slowly the streamlet glides; And pussy sits ncar, with a sleepy grace, And he sits and twitters a gentle note, You bid me be busy; but mother, hear I wish, oh, I wish I was yonder cloud, 3. THE INFANT ORATOR.-Everett. Don't view me with a critic's eye, Large streams from little fountains flow; Or, where's the town, go far and near, Or, where's the boy, but three feet high, Great, not like Cæsar, stained with blood; |