That pavement, damp and cold, No mingling voices sound A sob suppressed — again That short, deep gasp, and then The parting groau. O, change! — O, wondrous change! SOUTHEY. XIX. POSTHUMOUS FAME. THIS honest soul Would fain look cheery in my house's gloom; Smiles in the midst of blast and desolation, Where all around him withers. Perish this frail and fickle frame, Well, well, wither! this clay, That, in its dross-like compound, doth contain As swallows skim the air! Thou, fame's sole fountain, That doth transmit a fair and spotless name, When the vile trunk is rotten. Give me this O, give me but to live in after age Remembered and unsullied! Heaven and earth! When I am cold in death, and the slow fire That wears my vitals now, will no more move me, COLMAN. XX. ONE GOOD TURN DESERVES ANOTHER. WILL WAG went to see Charley Quirk, More famed for his books than his learning, In order to borrow a work He had sought for in vain over college. But Charley replied, "My dear friend, Now it happened, by chance, on the morrow, But Willy replied, "My dear friend, I have sworn and agreed, you must know, That bellows I never will lend, my But you may sit at my fire and blow.” MRS. GILMAN. XXI. DRIVING HOME THE COWS. OUT of the clover and blue-eyed grass, Under the willows and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace; Only a boy! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go: Two already were lying dead Under the feet of the trampling foe. But after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the foot-path damp, |