In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us, then, be up and doing, DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. (ALEXANDER Pope.) Vital spark of heavenly flame, Hark! they whisper; angels say, Drowns my spirit, draws my breath? The world recedes; it disappears! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly, VAT YOU PLEASE. (WM. B. FOWLE.) Two Frenchmen, who had just come over, (No weasels ere were thinner,) Trudged up to town from Dover, Their slender store exhausted on the way, Towards night, one Frenchman at a tavern door Roast goose or ducks, sir, choose you that or these ?"— It was a glorious treat, pie, pudding, cheese and meat; "Pay, pay, ma foi! I call for notting, sare, pardonnez moi! You show to me the pooden, goose and sheeze, Could not help laughing in the Frenchman's face, Our Frenchman's appetite subdued, And, turning round the corner of a street, He told how he had taken John Bull in. Fired with the tale, the other licks his chops, The waiter saw the joke, and slyly took "What will you have, sir?" venturing to repeat ;- O dear, monsieur, what for you strike me? huh! THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA. (J. G. WHITTIER.) A letter-writer from Mexico states that, at the terrible fight of Buena Vista, Mexican women were seen hovering near the field of death, for the purpose of giving aid and succor to the wounded. One poor woman was found surrounded by the maimed and suffering of both armies, ministering to the wants of Americans as well as Mexicans with impartial tenderness. Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away. O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far, or come they near? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear. "Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shiver Puebla's charging lines! Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall; Like the ploughshare in its furrow, through them ploughs the northern ball." O my heart's love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me, canst thou see? O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once more On the blessed Cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o'er!" Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest; Let his hands be meekly folded; lay the Cross upon his breast; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away; But, as tenderly before him then the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the northern hostile Eagle shining on his pistol-belt. With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his strug gling breath of pain. And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again. "A bitter curse upon them, boy, who to battle led thee forth, From some gentle, saddened mother, weeping lonely in the North!" Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena! "Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind: Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive; Hide your faces, holy angels! O, thou Christ of God, forgive!" |