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THE I’A KTI-COLOUR El) SHIELD.
In the days of knight errantry ami paganism, one of the old llritish princes set up a statue to the Goddess of Victory, in a point where four i oads met together. In her.right hand she held .1 spear, and rested her left upon a shield ; the outside of this shield was of 'sold and the inside of silver, and on the former was inscribed in the old ill itish language : “ To the Goddess ever ju rolivable," and on the other, “ Tor four victories obtained successively over the Piets and other in habit nuts of the northern island." It happened one day that two knights com pletelv armed, one in black the other in vhilc, arrived from opposite parts of the country to this statue, just about the same time; and as neither of them had seen it before, they stopped to read the inscription, and observe the excel lency of the workmanship. After contemplat ing it for some time, “The golden shield,” says the black knight, “ Golden Shield !” cried the white knight, (who was strictly observing the opposite side) “ why, if I have my eyes, it is silver.” “ 1 know nothing of your eyes,” re plied the. black knight, “ but if ever 1 saw a golden shield in my life, this is one.” “ ^ cs,” returned the white knight, smiling, “indeed, that they should expose a shield of gold in so public a place as this ; fo* my part, 1 wonder even a silver one is not too strong a temptation for the devotion of some people that pass this way ; and it appears by the date that this has been here above three years.” The black knight could not bear the smile with which this was delivered, they grew sowarmin the dispute, that it soon ended in a challenge ; they both therefore turned their horses, rode back so far as to have surlicient space for their career, threw ■ heir spears in their rests, anil flew at each other with the greatest fury and impetuosity. Their .hock was so rude, and the blows on each side so effectual, that they both fell to the ground, much wounded and bruised, and lay there for some time as in a trance. A good druid, who was travelling that way, found them in this con dition. The druids were the physicians of those times as well as priests. He had a sovereign balsam about him lie had composed himself, for he was very skilful in all the plants that grew in the field or in the forest; he staunched their blood, applied his balsam to their wounds, and brought them as it were from death to life again. As soon as they were sufficiently recovered, lie began to inquire into the occasion of their quar rel ; “ Why this man,” said the black knight, “ will have it, that the shield yonder is silver.” “ And he will have it," replied tlie white knight, “ that it is gold,” and then told him all the par ticulars of the affair “Ah!” said the druid, with a sigh, ‘‘you are both of you my brethren iu the right, and both of you in the wrong; had either of you given himself time to look upon the opposite side of the shield, as well as that which first presented itself to his view, all this passion ami bloodshed might have been avoided ; how ever, there is a very good lesson to be learned j from the evils that have befallen you on this oc casion. Permit me, therefore, to entreat you by all your tcods, and by this goddess of victory in particular, never to enter into any dispute for the future, till you hare fairly considered both sides of the question.—Pehcivai,. Worth mokes the J\Ian.—Themistocles, after all the honour of his life, sits down with this conclusion, “ that the way to the grave is more desirable than the way to worldly honour.” Ills daughter being courted by one of little ! wit and great wealth, and another of little wealth, and great goodness, lie chose the poor j man for his son in-law. For, saith he, I will ra- i ther have a man without money, than money without a man, reckoning that not money, but worth makes the man. lleing told by Symma chus, that he w ould teach him the art of memo ry, he gravely answered he had rather learn the. art of forgetfulness; adding, he could remem ber enough, but many things he could not for get, which were necessary to be forgotten; as the honours, glories, pleasures, and conquests he had spent his days in, were too apt to trans port him to vain glory. POETRY. THE CARRIER PIGEON. Come hither thou beautiful rover, Thou wand’rer of earth and of air, Who bearest the sighs of a lover, And bringesthim news of his fair. Rend hither thy light waving pinion, And shew me the gloss of thy neck ; 0 perch on my hand, dearest minion, And turn up thy bright eye and peck. Here is bread of the whitest and sweetest, And there is a sip of red wine ; Tho’ thv wing is the lightest and fleetest, ’Twill he fleeter when nerv’d by the vine. 1 have written on rose-scented paper, With thy quill a soft billet-doux, I have melted the wax in love’s taper, ’Tistbe color of true hearts, sky blue. 1 have fasten’d it under thy pinion, With a blue ribbon round thy soft neck. So go from me, beautiful minion, While the pure ether shows not a speck. Like a cloud in the dim distance fleeting, Like an arrow he hurries away, And farther and farther retreating, He is lost in the clear blue of dav. TOO MANY LOVERS. When a heart is contented with one little Love, No pleasures, no follies, can tempt him to rove, In storm and in sunshine that one love will live, Outweighing all else that the wide world can give. Hut when one little heart flirts with too many loves, Each cupid a wild little wanderer proves : His smile has no charm, his resentment no sting, And his faith is more light than a butterfly’s wing. When too many loves sport in beauty’s fair bowers, They scatter the blossom of too many flowers ; They revel ’mid roses all day, but thev leave No fragrance, no blossom, to refresh them at eve ; Hut when beauty admits only one little guest, He flies to one rose never heeding the rest, That one rose may wither, vet sweet to the last I ’Twill serve for his pillow, when summer is past CASAHIANCA.’ By Mns. Hemakk. The boy stood on the burning’ deck Whence ail but him had fled ; The flame that lit the battle’s wreck, Shone round him o’er the dead. Yet beautiful and bright he stood, * As born to rule the storm ; A creature of heroic blood, A proud, though child-like form. The flames rolled on—he would not Without his father’s word ; The father faint in death below, Mis voice no longer heard V lie called aloud : “Say, Father, sav. If yet my task is done Me knew not that the chieftain lav Unconscious of his son. '• Speak, Father!” once again he cried, “ If 1 may yet begone !” And—but the booming shot replied ; And fast the flumes rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his wav ing hair, And looked front that lone post of death. In still, yet brave despair. And shouted but once more aloud, “ My Father ! must I stay While o’er him fast, through sail and siuoud. The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child, Like banners in the sky. There came a burst of thunder sound— The boy—oh ! where was he * Ask of the winds, that far around With fragments strewed the sea ! With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part : But the noblest thing which perished there Was that young faithful heart ! * Young Casablanca, a boy about thirteen years old, sun to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at bis post, (in the battle of the Nile) after the ship had taken fire, and all the guris had been abandon ed, and perished in the explosion of the vessci, when the flames had reached the powder. The following beautiful lines on Henry Kirk White, who was an early victim of the enthusiasm of study, are among the earlier, and the happiest of Lord Byron’s effusions. The leading idea in the metaphor is not new, but its management, and the appropriateness of its introduction, and the strength combined with sweetness of versification, entitle it to rank among the most select specimens of English poetry. “ ’Twas thine own genius gave the fatal blow, “ And help’d to plant the wound that laid thee low > “So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, “No more through rolling clouds to soar again, “Viewed his own feather on the fatal dart, “ And winged the snsft that quivered in bis heart ; “Keen were bis pangs, but keener far to feel “He nursed the pinion which impelled the steel , “While the same plumage that bad warmed his nest, “ If rank the lust life drop ofhis bleeding breast.” How sweetly on yon tranquil stream, The setting om Imprints bis ire ; Which back reflects the saffron beam, And glows when it lias pass’d awav. More sweetly far, when death draws nigh, Religion casts oer soothing light, Sheds on the spirit’s opening eve, Her hue's immortal, pure aad'bright.—[Muni.