LXXXIV.-UNDER THE VIOLETS.

O. W. HOLMES.

1. Her hands are cold; her face is white;
No more her pulses come and go;
Her eyes are shut to life and light ;—
Fold the white vesture, snow on snow,
And lay her where the violets blow.

2 But not beneath a graven stone,

To plead for tears with alien eyes;
A slender cross of wood alone

Shall say, that here a maiden lies
In peace beneath the peaceful skies.

3. And

gray old trees of hugest limb
Shall wheel their circling shadows round
To make the scorching sunlight dim

That drinks the greenness from the ground,
And drop their dead leaves on her mound.

4. When o'er their boughs the squirrels run,
And through their leaves the robins call,
And, ripening in the autumn sun,

The acorns and the chestnuts fall,
Doubt not that she will heed them all.

5. For her the morning choir shall sing
Its matins from the branches high,
And every minstrel-voice of spring,
That trills beneath the April sky,
Shall greet her with its earliest cry.

6. When, turning round their dial-track,
Eastward the lengthening shadows pass,
Her little mourners, clad in black,
The crickets, sliding through the grass,
Shall pipe for her an evening mass.

7. At last the rootlets of the trees

Shall find the prison where she lies,
And bear the buried dust they seize
In leaves and blossoms to the skies.
So may the soul that warmed it rise!

8. If any, born of kindlier blood,

Should ask, What maiden lies below?
Say only this: A tender bud,

That tried to blossom in the snow,
Lies withered where the violets blow.

LXXXV. THE POET AND THE ALCHEMIST

ANONYMOUS.

1. Authors of modern date are wealthy fellows ;-
'Tis but to snip his locks they follow
Now the golden-haired Apollo.-
Invoking Plutus to puff up the bellows
Of inspiration, they distil

The rhymes and novels which cajole us,

Not from the Heliconian rill,

But from the waters of Pactolus.

2. Before this golden age of writers,
A Grub street Garreteer existed,
One of the regular inditers

Of odes and poems to be twisted
Into encomiastic verses,

For patrons who have heavy purses.—
Besides the Bellman's rhymes, he had
Others to let, both gay and sad,

All ticketed from A to Izzard;
And, living by his wits, I need not add,
The rogue was lean as any lizard.
Like a ropemaker's were his ways;
For still one line upon another

He spun, and like his hempen brother,
Kept going backwards all his days.

3. Hard by his attic lived a chemist,
Or alchemist, who had a mighty
Faith in the Elixir Vitæ ;

And though unflattered by the dimmest
Glimpse of success, he still kept groping
And grubbing in his dark vocation,
Stupidly hoping

To find the art of changing metals,
And guineas coin from pans and kettles,
By mystery of transmutation.

4. Our starving poet took occasion To seek this conjuror's abode,

Not with encomiastic ode,

Or laudatory dedication,

But with an offer to impart,

For twenty pounds, the secret art
Which should procure, without the pain
Of metals, chemistry, and fire,
What he so long had sought in vain,
And gratify his heart's desire.

5. The money paid, our bard was hurried
To the philosopher's sanctorum,
Who, somewhat sublimized and flurried
Out of his chemical decorum,

Crowed, capered, giggled, seemed to spurn his
Crucibles, retort, and furnace,

And cried, as he secured the door

And carefully put to the shutter, "Now, now, the secret I implore;

Out with it-speak-discover-utter ! "

6. With grave and solemn look, the poet
Cried-"List-O, list! for thus I show it:
Let this plain truth those ingrates strike,

Who still, though blessed, new blessings crave,
That we may all have what we like,
Simply by liking what we have."

LXXXVI. THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

JANE TAYLOR.

1. An old clock that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm;

hands made a vain effort to continue their course ; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation, when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their innocence.

2. But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke :-"I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged, that it was on the very point of striking.

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3. "Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me, it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness! You, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards year after year, as I do."

.

4. "As to that," said the dial, " is there not a window in your house, on purpose for you to look through?" "For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the

cours of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."

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5. The minute-hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times." Exactly so,” replied the pendulum; "well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself, I'll stop."

6. The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: “Dear, Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself, should have been overcome by this sudden action. It is true, you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argument?"

7. The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in its usual pace. "Now," resumed the dial, “may I be allowed to inquire, if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least,” replied the pendulum, "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." "Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess," said the pendulum. "Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate," we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed if we stand idling thus."

8. Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing, and, to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in