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Then, reeling for the light, they steer,
But whence they came, I, with your leave,
The hut is reach'd; a man appears
Who eyes our two benighted friends
"Indeed, to tell your honours true,
If that can please you, soon you'll find
Most piteously upon his paunch
Said Bakel-"here I'll take
He said, and soon was fast asleep.
But no one could be found;
Between the guests and host alone
They heard him sing an evening hymn,
And now the godly service done,
Unto his spouse he thus began
"My dear, as soon as morning dawns,
They will be, when I think again,
Oh, how that bullet-round one will-
"Ah, Bakel! do you sleep? or hear
That, when the morning sun ascends,
Oh, from this horrid murderous den
"Proh dolor, Sir; but still there's hope,
We're not in Charon's barge;
Still may some good Convivia
Nay, ope your eyes,-look here, and see
"Yea! such a goose-quill thing as you
This ponderous body would but drop
Now Bakel used his eloquence
At last our friend the pedagogue
He lighted salva venia,.
Upon a hill of dung,
And bounding from the dirt unhurt
He sank up to the waist, nor could
While Bakel cursed and scampered round,
Meantime the roof poured torrents down
Now Bakel found all efforts vain
And though his friend there still had lain,
At last a powerful lever's found;
With it he heaves him from the ground.
But ah, how adverse is their fate!
Whose towering walls and barred gate
Thus fruitless all these dangers run
Now they prepare their hearts to sing
So found the candidates for death
It was a hovel near a shade
Where cattle used to feed.
It chanced that in that hole, his swine
But they had burst their little door,
And in the garden with their snouts
While in their place our pious friends
"Oh think, dear Bakel, that the grave
There beggars equal mighty kings;
The injured slave feels not the thong,
"Ah, yes, how truly says the bard,
Is fit Irus subito,
Qui modo Cræsus fuit."
Thus spent they all the hours of night
Now hideously the door did creak,
And mutter'd as he rubb'd away,
"Ye black ones, ye shall die to-day!"
The host a Flesher was by trade,
The Teacher and Divine;
Who fell into the odd mistake,
That he their lives design'd to take.
So forth he stretch'd his hand to draw
"The Devil! oh, ye powers of light!"
Now was their foolish blunder clear;
At parting all swore solemnly
But lately when I made a feast
The parson in a merry mood
The whole truth did reveal.
CORINNA AT THE CAPITOL.
MRS. MARIE J. FOTHERBY (MARIE J. EWEN).
THERE were footsteps on the Corso before the purple dawn,
And gatherings in the Forum ere the rosy blush of morn,
Loud voices round the Capitol, and on the marble stair A breathless crowd assembled, as for a triumph there. The chimes of San Giovanni, how merrily they ring! As if to all the city round a soul of joy to bring; There's noise of many chariots, and sounds of tramping feet,
And horses well caparison'd, and minstrels in the street. What mean the balconies, all hung with tapestry so fine? And why are garlands wreathed around the Arch of Constantine?
What mean those banners streaming bright, o'er tower and glittering dome,
Ye ladies fair, and gentlemen, that throng the streets of Rome!
It is a day of triumph, and the brightest of its kind, The victory of genius-the "triumph of the mind."