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The ladies' garland. [volume] (Harpers-Ferry, Va. [W. Va.]) 1824-1828, October 07, 1826, Image 4

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85059803/1826-10-07/ed-1/seq-4/

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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.
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.
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
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
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
“ 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.

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