HOME-THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD. ROBERT BROWNING was born in Camberwell, England, May 7, 1812. He attended lectures at University College. At the age of nineteen he began the writing of verse. His poems are many and various, several of them being dramatic in form. It has been said that he is "distinguished for the depth of his spiritual insight, his dramatic energy, and power of psychological analysis." By a considerable number of thoughtful readers he is regarded as the greatest poet of modern times. He died at Venice, Dec. 12, 1889. Oh, to be in England now that April's there, Sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bow In England-now! And after April, when May follows, And the whitethroat builds, and all the swallows : Blossoms and dewdrops at the bent spray's edgeThat's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over, Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew, - Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! ROBERT BROWNING. INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP. I. You know, we French stormed Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day; With neck outthrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, II. Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reached the mound. III. Then off there flung in smiling joy, By just his horse's mane, a boy : (So tight he kept his lips compressed, You looked twice ere you saw his breast IV. "Well,” cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace, We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. V. The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes. "You're wounded!" 66 Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. ROBERT BROWNING. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, Nov. 3, 1794. There his earlier years were passed, amid the delights of lovely scenery and under the influences of a refined home. His literary work began while he was yet a boy. "Thanatopsis" was written when he was eighteen years of age. It has become an American classic. The young man studied for the profession of law, but literary pursuits proved more attractive. In 1826 he became assistant editor of the New York Evening Post, and in 1829 its editor in chief. But he is best known by his poetical writings. These are characterized by melody, purity, and high ethical tone. They show profound love of Nature, and accurate observation of her varying moods. In his later years he made admirable translations of the poems of Homer. He died in the city of New York, June 12, 1878. The present selection is used by courtesy of D. Appleton and Company. Pale is the February sky, And brief the midday's sunny hours; For the sweet time of leaves and flowers. Yet has no month a prouder day, Not even when the summer broods For this chill season now again Brings, in its annual round, the morn Our glorious Washington was born. Lo, where, beneath an icy shield, The wildest storm that sweeps through space, Or slacken his majestic course. Thus, 'mid the wreck of thrones, shall live WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. When to the common rest that crowns our days, His silver temples in their last repose; When o'er the buds of youth the death-wind blows, Stream, as the eyes of those that love us close, Lest goodness die with them, and leave the coming years. BRYANT. |