The reapers long have ceased their toil, And idly in the shade They dream away the drowsy noon, Beside each silent blade,— While now and then a snatch of song Some sleeper low will croon, As in his dreams he joins the dance Beneath the harvest moon. The sun is at his highest point, Yet on that burning field Two youthful gleaners humbly toil, God be to them a shield! Their aged parent bed-rid lies, And want is at their door,— Ah! well young martyrs may you strive— No rest is for the poor. Their store is gleaned—they homeward hie— How smilingly they go! We little know how light a thing May dry the tears of woe. The pittance slight, the one kind word With which we all can part, May take the sting from poverty, Or save a broken heart. To view those gleaners on their way It were a pleasant thing— They’re talking of their mother’s joy To see the store they bring. How gracefully the sister moves, As if she stepped to song; And gaily at her statelier side The glad boy trips along. Smile on! smile on, ye happy pair, God’s blessing on your way! It fills my breast with joy to know That ye can be so gay. Smile on, for soon ye’ll hear _her_ voice, And know her welcome bright,— And happy hearts shall beat I ween Beneath your roof to-night. * * * * * JUGURTHA; A LEGEND OF THE COMMONWEALTH. BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE BROTHERS,” “CROMWELL,” “RINGWOOD THE ROVER,” ETC. It was a glorious day in Rome; the unclouded sun was blazing in the clear azure of a deep Italian sky, filling the universal air with life and lustre; the summer winds were all abroad, crisping the bosom of the yellow Tiber into ten thousand tiny rivulets, tossing ten thousand dewy odors from their wings, and bearing with them, far and near, the myriad harmonies of nature. It was a day of revelry, of loud exulting mirth, of gratified ambition to the one, of haughty triumph to the million.