The Classic and the Beautiful from the Literature of Three Thousand Years

GONE WITH A HANDSOMER MAN.

FROM FARM BALLADS.

'VE worked in the field all
day, a-ploughin' the
"stony streak;"

I've lived with you six months, John, and so far I've been true;

But I'm going away to-day with a hand-
somer man than you.”

I've scolded my team till
I'm hoarse; I've tramp-
ed till my legs are weak; A han'somer man than me!

I've choked a dozen swears

(so's not to tell Jane
fibs)

When the plough-p'int struck
a stone and the handles
punched my ribs.

ain't much to say;

Why, that

There's han'somer men than me go past here every day.

There's han'somer men than me--I ain't of the han'some kind;

But a lovin'er man than I was I guess she'll never find.

Good God! my wife is gone! my wife is As sure as the world goes on, there'll come gone astray! a time when she The letter it says, "Good-bye, for I'm a-go- Will read the devilish heart of that han'somer man than me;

ing away;

And there'll be a time when he will find, as | Ah, here is her kitchen dress! it makes my others do,

poor eyes blur;

That she who is false to one can be the same It seems, when I look at that, as if 'twas

holdin' her.

And here are her weekday shoes, and there is her weekday hat,

And yonder's her weddin'-gown: I wonder she didn't take that.

'Twas only this mornin' she came and called

me her" dearest dear,"

And said I was makin' for her a regular paradise here;

O God! if you want a man to sense the pains of hell,

Before you pitch him in just keep him in heaven a spell!

Good-bye! I wish that death had severed us two apart.

You've lost a worshipper here, you've crushed a lovin' heart.

I'll worship no woman again; but I guess I'll learn to pray,

And kneel as you used to kneel before you run away.

And if I thought I could bring my words on Heaven to bear,

And if I thought I had some little influence there,

I would pray that I might be, if it only could be so,

I'll take my hard words back, nor make a As happy and gay as I was a half an hour

bad matter worse;

She'll have trouble enough; she shall not have

my curse;

ago.

JANE (entering).

But I'll live a life so square-and I well Why, John, what a litter here! you've know that I canthrown things all around!

That she always will sorry be that she went Come, what's the matter now? and what've

with that han'somer man.

you lost or found?

And here's my father here, a-waiting for A race of slaves; he sets, and his last beam supper, too; Falls on a slave. Not such as, swept along I've been a-riding with him he's that han'- By the full tide of power, the the conqueror leads To crimson glory and undying fame, But base, ignoble slaves-slaves to a horde

somer man than you.—

Ha! ha! Pa, take a seat, while I put the Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords
Rich in some dozen paltry villages,

kettle on, And get things ready for tea, and kiss my Strong in some hundred spearmen, only great In that strange spell a name. Each hour

dear old John.

It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty tick- He tossed not high his ready cap in air
lish dream:
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts
And I think she "smells a rat," for she At sight of that great ruffian!

smiles at me so queer;

I hope she don't! Good Lord! I hope that they didn't hear!

Be we men,

And suffer such dishonor? men, and wash

not

The stain away in blood? Such shames are

common.

'Twas one of her practical drives-she I have known deeper wrongs-I, that speak thought I'd understand!

to ye:

But I'll never break sod again till I get the I had a brother once, a gracious boy
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,

lay of the land.

But one thing's settled with me-to appre- Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look Of heaven upon his face which limners give

ciate heaven well,

'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen To the beloved disciple. How I loved minutes of hell.

WILL CARLETON.

RIENZI TO THE ROMANS.

FRIENDS,

I come not here to talk. Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom. We are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights

That gracious boy, younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips: in one short hour
The pretty, harmless boy was slain. I saw
The corse-the mangled corse; and then I
cried
For vengeance.

ye, slaves!

Rouse ye, Romans! Rouse

Have ye brave sons? Look in the next Thou hast strewn the lordly palace
In ruin o'er the ground,

fierce brawl
To see them die! Have ye fair daughters? And the dismal screech of the owl is heard
Look
Where the harp was wont to sound :

To see them live, torn from your arms, But the selfsame spot thou coverest

With the dwellings of the poor, dare call for jus- And a thousand happy hearts enjoy What one usurped before.

And if ye

distained, Dishonored! tice, Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome, That sat on her seven hills and from her

throne

'Tis true thy progress layeth

Full many a loved one low,

Of beauty ruled the world! Yet we are And for the brave and beautiful

Romans!

Why, in that elder day to be a Roman
Was greater than a king. And once again-
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus !-once again, I swear,
The Eternal City shall be free!

MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.

Thou hast caused our tears to flow;
But always near the couch of Death

Nor thou nor we can stay,
And the breath of thy departing wing
Dries all our tears away.

WILLIAM H. TIMROD,

Two bustos fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He placed in view; resolved to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these;
From these corrected every feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was comẹ,
His pallet ready o'er his thumb.
My Lord appeared; and, seated right
In proper attitude and light,

The painter looked. He sketched the piece,
Then dipped his pencil, talked of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air:
"Those eyes, My Lord, the spirit there,
Might well a Raphael's hand require
To give them all the native fire;
The features, fraught with sense and wit,
You'll grant are very hard to hit;
But yet with patience you shall view
As much as paint and art can do.
Observe the work." My lord replied:
"Till now I thought my mouth was wide;
Besides, my nose is somewhat long;

Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young.

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The Classic and the Beautiful from the Literature of Three ..., Volume 2