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"A woodman 'mid the forest-shade
Had found me in my rest,
Had lifted up my head and laid
It softly on his breast!"

The princes sat and wondering heard,
Then said as closed the story,
"Long live the good Count Everhard,
His people's love and glory!"


The Song of the Brave Man.
THE brave man's praise in song is told,
Like bell or organ's echoing tone;
When bravery is the theme, not gold,
But song rewards-nor song alone :

Thank God, who prompts the brave man's deed,
And crowns him with his heavenly meed.

The spring-gale swept the southern sea,
And moist o'er fair Italia pass'd:
As from the wolf the cattle flee,
So fled the clouds before the blast.
It pierced the wood, it scour'd the field;
And floods long bound before it yield.

On mountain summits melts the snow,
And countless cataracts resound;
An ocean whelms the vales below,

The gathering stream o'erleaps the mound;
High dash the waves on every side,
And fearful icebergs choke the tide.

On arch and pillar rear'd, and made
Of solid stone, above the flood

A bridge across the stream was laid,
And midway rose a small abode;
Here lived a tollman, child, and wife:
O tollman, tollman, fly for life!

The tempest now more fiercely rang;
Near and more near its tumult howl'd.
Upon his roof the tollman sprang,
And gazed upon it as it scowl'd:
O gracious God, have pity now!--
Who, who can hear and save but Thou?

The icebergs meet, and wildly wash
From either shore, now here, now there;
On every side the waters dash,
And down both arch and pillar tear.
The trembling tollman, child, and wife,
Shriek'd louder than the tempest's strife.

The icebergs thunder'd, fall on fall,
In uproar wild along the shore;
They burst the bridge's shatter'd wall,
Pillar by pillar down they bore:
The havoc onward made its way-
"Have mercy, heaven!" they louder pray.

Aloft, upon the further brink,

A crowd stands gazing, great and small;
They scream, and wring their hands, but shrink

To risk the rescue: one and all.

The trembling tollman, child, and wife,

Above the tempest shriek'd for life.


Where should resound the brave man's fame,
Louder than bell or organ's tone?
In noblest song we'll give his name,
And place it there, aloft, alone.
Destruction is within a span-
Some to the rescue, thou brave man!

A count of noble race and worth,
Up gallops on his courser bold:
What in his hand is proffer'd forth?
A purse brimful of dazzling gold:
Two hundred pieces are his prize,
Who now to help the wretched flies!

Where's the brave man will strive to save ?
Is it the count, my song ?-O no!
Although the generous count is brave,
A braver on this task must go :

Come forth, brave man, advance with speed,
Impending ruin speaks thy need.

Higher and higher swells the flood,
Louder and louder roars the wind,
Colder and chiller grows the blood:
Oh, where shall we a saviour find?
Pillar on pillar, arch and wall,
In quick succession crash and fall.

Halloo! halloo! oh, who will fly?
The count the tempting prize uprears;
They hear, they shudder, and they sigh;
But among thousands none appears.
In vain the tollman, child, and wife,
Above the tempest shriek for life.

But see! a humble peasant now
Starts forth, the noble deed to dare:
Noble and lofty is his brow,
Although his garb is coarse and bare ;
He heard the boon proclaim'd anew,
And saw how near destruction drew.

And boldly in the name of God
He leapt into a fishing-bark,
And o'er the waves triumphant rode
Through whirlpool, storm, and billow dark;
But, ah! the boat is far too small
At once to bear, and save them all.

But thrice through gulfs he toil'd along,
That might the stoutest heart appal;
And thrice with manly sinews strong,
Row'd happily to save them all;
And scarcely were they safe and well,
When the last tottering ruin fell.

Who is the brave man ?-who is he?
Say on my song, his name unfold ;
And did he risk his life to be

The master of that glittering gold?

Had the proud count ne'er show'd the boon,
Would he have risk'd his life as soon?

"Here!" cried the count, "bold-hearted friend,

Receive the prize now thine to share;
And nobly earn'd!" But list the end-
The count a lofty soul might bear,
But higher feelings swell'd the breast

Of the brave man, so meanly drest.

"My life," he said, "shall ne'er be sold
For sordid pelf;-content, though poor;
But to the tollman give your gold:
His all is lost, his lot is sore."
Thus firmly spoke he, inly cheer'd,
Then turn'd his back, and disappear'd.

The brave man's praise in song is told,
Like bell or organ's echoing tone;
When bravery is the theme, not gold,
But song rewards-nor song alone:

Thank God, who prompts the brave man's decd,
And crowns him with his heavenly meed.


The Puff Birect.


[This is one of a series of capital imitation "puffs," from that collection of masterly jeux d'esprit called the Poems of Bon Gaultier." As the author of that book chooses to be anonymous, we have no right to break in upon his incognito; but report states that Professor Aytoun, or Mr. Theodore Martin could do so if either pleased.]

'Twas in the town of Lubeck,
A hundred years ago,

An old man walk'd into the church,
With beard as white as snow;
Yet were his cheeks not wrinkled,

Nor dim his eagle eye;

There's many a knight that steps the street
Might wonder, should he chance to meet

That man erect and high.

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