PART II.

POETIC PIECES.

"I DON'T CARE."

OLD "Don't Care" is a murderer foul,
Yes, a murderer foul is he;

He beareth a halter in his hand,
And his staff is the gallows-tree;
And slyly he follows his victim on,
Through high degree and low,
And strangles him there when least aware,
And striketh the fatal blow,—

Hanging his victim high in the air,

A villain strong, is old "DON'T CARE!"

He looks on the babe at its mother's breast,
And blighteth that blossom fair;

For its young buds wither, and fade, and die,
'Neath the gaze of old "Don't Care!"
And in place of these there springeth up

Full many a poisonous weed,

And their tendrils coil around the victim's heart,—

A rank and loathsome breed:

Blighting the spirit young and fair,

A villain, in truth, is old "DON'T CARE!"

He meeteth bold manhood on his way,
And wrestleth with him there;

He falls a sure and an easy prey

To the strength of old "Don't Care:"

Then he plants his foot on the victim's breast, And shouteth with demon joy,

And treadeth the life from his panting heart, And exulteth to destroy,

Crushing bold manhood everywhere;

A villain, indeed, is old "DON'T CARE!"

THE KAISER.

THE Kaiser's hand from all his foes
Had won him glory and repose;
Richly through his rejoicing land
Were felt the blessings of his hand;
And when at eve he sought his rest,
A myriad hearts his slumbers blessed.

In midnight's hush a tempest broke ;-
Throughout his realm its myriads woke;
And by the lightning's rapid flash,
And 'mid the thunder's bellowing crash,
In faith to heaven their prayers they spake,
For Christ's and for the Kaiser's sake.

But with a start, and with a pang,

Up from his couch the Kaiser sprang;
What! feareth he who never feared
When bloody deaths through hosts careered?
What! can the tempest's passing sound
That heart of battles thus confound?

No! no! But in its deepest deep
It wakes a cry no more to sleep;

And there and there! in wrath begin
The pangs, the power of secret sin.
A blow is dealt,—a strife is stirred,-
Without, the storm may pass unheard!

And, therefore, from his palace door
He passed into the loud uproar;
In wildest wind, and blackest night,
He passed away in sudden flight:
'Mid lightning, rain, and thunder's roll,
He went, a fire within his soul.

--

The Kaiser went in storm and night,
But ne'er returned in peace and light;
Astonished thousands asked his lot,

Love sought, and sought, but found him not;
But conscience did what conscience would,
And sealed its errand,-blood for blood!

[W. Howitt.

BERNARDINE DU BORN.

KING HENRY sat upon his throne,
And, full of wrath and scorn,

His eye a recreant knight surveyed,-
Sir Bernardine du Born.

And he that haughty glance returned,
Like lion in his lair,

And loftily his unchanged brow

Gleamed through his crisped hair.

"Thou art a traitor to the realm!
Lord of a lawless band!

The bold in speech, the fierce in broil,
The troubler of our land!

Thy castles and thy rebel towers
Are forfeit to the crown;

And thou beneath the Norman axe
Shall end thy base renown!

"Deign'st thou no word to bar thy doom,-
Thou with strange madness fired?
Hath reason quite forsook thy breast?"
Plantagenet inquired.

Sir Bernard turned him toward the king,
And blenched not in his pride;
"My reason failed, most gracious liege,
The year Prince Henry died."

Quick, at that name, a cloud of woe
Passed o'er the monarch's brow;
Touched was that bleeding chord of love,
To which the mightiest bow.

And backward swept the tide of years;

Again his first-born moved,-
The fair, the graceful, the sublime,
The erring, yet beloved.

And ever, cherished by his side,
One chosen friend was near,
To share in boyhood's, ardent sport,
Or youth's untamed career;
With him the merry chase he sought,
Beneath the dewy morn,

With him in knightly tourney rode
This Bernardine du Born.

Then in the mourning father's soul

Each trace of ire grew dim, And what his buried idol loved

Seemed cleansed of guilt to him ;—

And faintly through his tears he spoke,
"God send his grace to thee!

And, for the dear sake of the dead,

Go forth, unscathed and free."

[Sigourney,

THE AMERICAN PATRIOT'S SONG.

HARK! hear ye the sounds that the winds on their pinions Exultingly roll from the shore to the sea,

With a voice that resounds through her boundless dominions? 'Tis Columbia calls on her sons to be free!

Behold on yon summits, where heaven has throned her,
How she starts from her proud inaccessible seat;
With nature's impregnable ramparts around her,

And the cataract's thunder and foam at her feet!
In the breeze of her mountains her loose locks are shaken,
While the soul-stirring notes of her warrior-song
From the rock to the valley re-echo,-"Awaken,
Awaken, ye hearts that have slumbered too long!"

Yes, despots! too long did your tyranny hold us,

In a vassalage vile, ere its weakness was known;

Till we learned that the links of the chain that controlled us Were forged by the fears of its captives alone.

Go, tame the wild torrent, or stem with a straw

[them;

The proud surges that sweep o'er the strand that confines

But presume not again to give freemen a law,

Nor think, with the chains they have broken, to bind them.

THE FLIGHT OF XERXES.

I SAW him on the battle-eve,

[Anonymous.

When, like a king, he bore him,—
Proud hosts in glittering helm and greave,

And prouder chiefs before him: