The chieftain shook in his banner'd hall,
As the sound of war drew nigh;
And the warder shrank from the castle wall,
As the gleam of spears went by.

Woe, woe, to the stranger, then ;

At the feast and flow of wine,
In the red array of mailed men,

Or bow'd at the holy shrine;
For the waken'd pride of an injured land
Had burst its iron thrall;

From the plumed chief to the pilgrim band; Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul!

Proud beings tell that hour,

With the young and passing fair, And the flame went up from dome and tower, The avenger's arm was there! The stranger priest at the altar stood, And clasp'd his beads in prayer, But the holy shrine grew dim with blood; The avenger found him there!

Woe, woe, to the sons of Gaul;

To the serf and mailed lord;
They were gather'd darkly, one and all,
To the harvest of the sword;

And the morning sun, with a quiet smile,
Shone out o'er hill and glen,
On ruin'd temple and mouldering pile,
And the ghastly forms of men.

Ay, the sunshine sweetly smiled,

As its early glance came forth ;
It had no sympathy with the wild
And terrible things of earth;
And the man of blood that day might read,
In a language freely given,

How ill his dark and midnight deed
Became the light of heaven.

231

"IMPH-M."

JAMES NICHOLSON.

YE'VE heard hoo the de'il, as he wauchel'd through Beith

Wi' a wife in ilk oxter, an' ane in his teeth,

When some ane cried out, "Will ye tak' mine the

morn?"

He wagg'd his auld tail while he cockit his horn,
But only said "Imph-m,"

That usefu' word "Imph-m;"
Wi' sic a big mouthfu', he couldna say, A-y-e!

When I was a laddie langsyne at the schule,
The maister aye ca'd me a dunce an' a fule;
For a' that he said, I could ne'er un'erstan',
Unless when he bawled, "Jamie! haud out yer
han'!"

Then I gloom'd, and said "Imph-m," I glunch'd, and said "Imph-m;" I wasna owre proud, but owre dour to say, A-y—e! Ae day a queer word, as lang-nebbit's himsel', He vow'd he would thrash me if I wadna spell, Quo' I, "Maister Quill," wi' a kin' o' a swither, "I'll spell ye the word gif ye'll spell me anither: Let's hear ye spell'Imph-m,'

That common word 'Imph-m,' That auld Scotch word 'Imph-m,' ye ken it meansA-y-e?"

Had ye seen hoo he glower'd, hoo he scratched his big pate,

An' shouted, "Ye villain, get oot o' my gate!
Get aff tae yer seat! yer the plague o' the schule!
The de'il o' me kens if yer maist rogue or fule!"
But I only said "Imph-m,"

That common word "Imph-m,"
That auld-farran' "Imph-m," that stan's for an-
A-y-el

An' when a brisk
wooer, I courted my Jean-
O' Avon's braw lasses the pride an' the queen-
When 'neath my grey plaidie, wi' heart beatin' fain,
I spiered in a whisper, if she'd be my ain,
She blush'd, an' said "Imph-m,"
That charming word " Imph―m,'
A thoosan' times better an' sweeter than-A-y—c!

An' noo I'm a dad wi' a hoose o' my ain

A dainty bit wifie, an' mair than ae wean;
But the warst o't is this-when a question I spier,
They pit on a luik sae auld farran an' queer,
But only say " Imph-m,"

That daft-like word "Imph-m,"

That vulgar word "Imph-m "-they winna sayA-y-e!

Sae I've gi'en owre the "Imph-m"-it's no a nice word;

When printed on paper, its perfect absurd;
An' gif ye're owre lazy to open yer jaw,
Jist haud ye yer tongue, an' say naething ava;
But never say "Imph-m,'

""

That daft-like word "Imph-m," It's ten times mair vulgar than even braid-A-y—e!

From a volume entitled "Kilwuddie; and other Poems;" published by the Scottish Temperance Society.

"" SIX FEET BY TWO."

JAMES BRUTON.

FOOL! fool!

Prithee, be cool

All thy writhing will nothing do! Though thou'rt dressed in a lordling guise, Making heads bow, and hats to rise!

Thou'st but ten fingers, and just ten toes,
And thy meanest slaves have as many as those!
Though coarser their food, their drink, and clothes,
Say, is thy appetite keener than theirs?
And is thy velvet couch free from cares?
Ample thy land is: its value vast—
But look thee, man, it dwindles at last
To"Six feet by two!"

Fool! fool!

Lay down no rule

Each man's equal in Heaven's view! Learn Nature's truth: when thou wert born, Not one single gem did thy body adorn! Thy heir unborn thou canst leave wealth toBut say, will it be his own well-earned due ? And more-did God give it to him and you? At any one moment is stopt thy breath! Look not to thy BIRTH! but look to thy death! Rich man! the worm is thy lord at lastAnd all that is left thee of ALL the past Is "Six feet by two!"

Fool! fool!

In this world's rule

The law is false, as Heaven is true! Can there be love or can there be blissWhen that clod will not speak to this? Out on man's pride! it rankles to find That human clay, with God-given mind— Than the valley-clod is far less kind! The knoll on which the daisies nodAs the sculptur'd tomb is as fair to God! Nor rises the cherub, with marble wings, So near to Heaven as the robin who sings O'er "Six feet by two!"

(Copyright-Contributed.)

THE RESCUE-A STRANGE YARN.

ROBERT DALE OWEN.

[The following story is a very exciting and singular one, and, as a narrative, is told with Defoe-like reality. It will be necessary, however, to caution young English readers that it is taken from an American publication.-ED. P. R.]

MR. ROBERT BRUCE, originally descended from some branch of Scottish family of that name, was born, in humble circumstances, about the close of the last century, at Torbay, in the south of England, and there bred up to a seafaring life.

When about thirty years of age, to wit, in the year 1828, he was first mate on a barque trading between Liverpool and St. John's, New Brunswick.

On one of her voyages bound westward, being then some five or six weeks out, and having neared the eastern portion of the Banks of Newfoundland, the captain and mate had been on deck at noon, taking an observation of the sun; after which they both descended to calculate their day's work.

The cabin, a small one, was immediately at the stern of the vessel, and the short stairway descending to it ran athwart-ships. Immediately opposite to this stairway, just beyond a small square landing, was the mate's state room; and from that landing there were two doors, close to each other, the one opening aft into the cabin, the other fronting the stairway into the state room. The desk in the state room was in the forward part of it, close to the door; so that any one sitting at it and looking over his shoulder could see into the cabin.

The mate, absorbed in his calculation, which did not result as he expected, varying considerably from the dead-reckoning, had not noticed the captain's motions. When he had completed his calculations, he called out, without looking round

"I make our latitude and longitude so-and-so. Can that be right? How is yours?"