fort his brother, so filled Antonio with shame and remorse, that he wept and was unable to speak; and the kind old Gonzalo wept to see this joyful reconciliation, and prayed for blessings on the young couple.

Prospero now told them that their ship was safe in the harbor, and the sailors all on board her, and that he and his daughter would accompany them home the next morning. "In the meantime," says he, "partake of such refreshments as my poor cave affords; and for your evening's entertainment I will relate the history of my life from my first landing in this desert island." He then called for Caliban to prepare some food, and set the cave in order; and the company were astonished at the uncouth form and the savage appearance of this ugly monster, who (Prospero said) was the only attendant he had to wait upon him.

66

Before Prospero left the island, he dismissed Ariel from his service, to the great joy of that lively little spirit; who, though he had been a faithful servant to his master, was always longing to enjoy his free liberty, to wander uncontrolled in the air like a wild bird, under green trees, among pleasant woods, and sweet-smelling flowers. My quaint Ariel," said Prospero to the little sprite when he made him free, "I shall miss you; yet you shall have your freedom." “Thank you, my dear master," said Ariel; "but give me leave to attend your ship home with prosperous gales, before you bid farewell to the assistance of your faithful spirit; and then, master, when I am free, how merrily shall I live!" Here Ariel sung this pretty song:

"Where the bee sucks, there suck I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie:

There I couch when owls do cry.

On the bat's back I do fly

After summer merrily.

Merrily, merrily shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."

XXXI. THE CLOUD.

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY (1792-1822) was one of the rare poets of nature who saw always beauty. Every flower, every tree, every cloud, had a meaning to him; and his power to express that hidden meaning in the choicest and most rhythmical language has been surpassed, or even equaled, by but few writers of English. Shelley was a friend of Byron and Leigh Hunt. He was drowned in the Mediterranean by the capsizing of a boat in which he was returning to his home at Spezia. Among Shelley's most beautiful poems are his "Ode to the Skylark," and the following.

BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers,

From the seas and the streams;

I bear light shades for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.

From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet buds every one,

I wield the flail of the lashing hail,

And whiten the green plains under; And then again I dissolve it in rain,

And laugh as I pass in thunder.

I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast;
And all the night 'tis my pillow white,

While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers,
Lightning, my pilot, sits:

In a cavern under is fettered the thunder,
It struggles and howls by fits;

Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion,
This pilot is guiding me,

Lured by the love of the Genii that move
In the depths of the purple sea;

Over the rills, and the crags, and the hills,
Over the lakes and the plains,

Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream,
The Spirit he loves remains ;

And I all the while bask in heaven's blue smile,
Whilst he is dissolving in rains.

The sanguine sunrise, with its meteor eyes,
And his burning plumes outspread,

Leaps on the back of my sailing rack,

When the morning star shines dead.

As on the jag of a mountain crag,

Which an earthquake rocks and swings,

An eagle, alit, one moment may sit

In the light of its golden wings.

And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, Its ardors of rest and love,

And the crimson pall of eve may fall

From the depth of heaven above,
With wings folded I rest, on mine airy nest,
As still as a brooding dove.

That orbed maiden, with white fire laden,
That mortals call the moon,

Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor,
By the midnight breezes strewn ;

And whenever the beat of her unseen feet,
Which only the angels hear,

May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof,
The stars peep behind her and peer;

And I laugh to see them whirl and flee,
Like a swarm of golden bees,

When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent,
Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas,
Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high,
Are each paved with the moon and these.

I bind the sun's throne with the burning zone,
And the moon's with a girdle of pearl;

The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim,
When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl.
From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape,
Over a torrent sea,

Sunbeam-proof, I hang like a roof,

The mountains its columns be.

The triumphal arch through which I march,
With hurricane, fire, and snow,

When the powers of the air are chained to my chair

In the million-colored bow;

The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove,

Whilst the moist earth was laughing below.

I am the daughter of earth and water,

And the nursling of the sky;

I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores;
I change, but I cannot die.

For after the rain, when with never a stain,
The pavilion of heaven is bare,

And the wind and sunbeams with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air,

I silently laugh at my own cenotaph,

And out of the caverns of rain,

Like a child from the womb, like a ghost from the tomb, I arise and upbuild it again.

XXXII. THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.1

BY AN ENGLISH RESIDENT.

N every side death stared us in the face; no human

ΟΝ skill could avert it any longer. We saw the moment

fully perover. The

We women

approach when we must bid farewell to earth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have been experienced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore. We were resolved to die rather than to yield, and were suaded that in twenty-four hours all would be engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. strove to encourage one another, and to perform the light duties that had been assigned to us, such as conveying. orders to the batteries and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups of coffee, which we prepared day and night.

1 Lucknow is a city in India. In 1857, when the people of India rose in rebellion against the English who ruled them, an army of Indian rebels surrounded the city of Lucknow, in which many English were gathered. The English held out bravely, but were nearly starved to death when they were relieved by an army of Scotch soldiers under Campbell.