And jests went round, and laughs that made The house-dog answer with his howl, And kept astir the barnyard fowl. But still the sweetest voice was mute From lip of maid or throat of bird; And let the hay-mow's shadow fall She sat apart, as one forbid, Who knew that none would condescend The seasons scarce had gone their round, Poor Mable from her mother's grave So dark, would somewhere meet the day. So in the shadow Mable sits; Untouched by mirth she sees and hears, But cruel eyes have found her out, And taunt her with her mother's shame. She answered not with railing words, Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze He felt that mute appeal of tears, "She is indeed her mother's child; The broadest lands in all the town, - not I. The skill to guide, the power to awe, Were Harden's; and his word was law. None dared withstand him to his face, But one sly maiden spake aside : "The little witch is evil-eyed! Her mother only killed a cow, Or witched a churn or dairy-pan; But she, forsooth, must charm a man!" Poor Mabel, in her lonely home, Sat by the window's narrow pane, The river, on its pebbled rim, Made music such as childhood knew; Had heard in moonlights long ago; She saw the rippled waters shine; She saw and heard, but heeded not. Poor child! the prayer begun in faith, And hide me where the cruel speech "I dare not breathe my mother's name: With few to pity, and with none Whose faith in thee grows weak and small And take me ere I lose it all!" A shadow on the moonlight fell, And murmuring wind and wave became Had then God heard her? Had he sent His angel down? In flesh and blood "Dear Mabel, this no more shall be; And if his hair is mixed with gray, His heart less warm than when she smiled Her tears of grief were tears of joy, He led her through his dewy fields, To where the swinging lanterns glowed, And through the doors the huskers showed. "Good friends and neighbors!" Esek said, “I'm weary of this lonely life; In Mabel see my chosen wife! "She greets you kindly, one and all; The past is past, and all offence Falls harmless from her innocence. Henceforth she stands no more alone; You know what Esek Harden is; He brooks no wrong to him or his." Now let the merriest tales be told, And let the sweetest songs be sung, That ever made the old heart young! For now the lost has found a home; And a lone hearth shall brighter burn, As all the household joys return! Oh, pleasantly the harvest moon, Between the shadow of the mows, Looked on them through the great elm-boughs! On Mabel's curls of golden hair, On Esek's shaggy strength, it fell, And the wind whispered, "It is well!" J. G. WHITTIER. SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV. [KING HENRY IV., HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, AND NORTHUMBERLAND.] King Henry. Henceforth Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer : Send me your prisoners with the speediest means, As will displease you. My lord Northumberland, [Exit KING HENRY. Hotspur. And if the devil come and roar for them, I will not send them: I will after straight, And tell him so; for I will ease my heart, Although it be with hazard of my head. Northumberland. What! drunk with choler? stay, and pause awhile; Here comes your uncle. Hot. [Enter WORCester. Speak of Mortimer! Zounds! I will speak of him, and let my soul Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins, As high i' the air as this unthankful king, |