How like a mounting devil in the heart Rules the unreined ambition! Let it once But play the monarch, and its haughty brow Glows with a beauty that bewilders thought, And enthrones peace forever. Putting on The very pomp of Lucifer, it turns The heart to ashes, and with not a spring Left in the bosom for the spirit's life, We look upon our splendor, and forget The thirst of which we perish! Oh, if earth be all, and heaven nothing, What thrice mocked fools are we! N. P. Willis. CLXX. CASABIANCA. The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but him had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead. The flames rolled on. He would not go Without his father's word; That father faint in death below, His voice no longer heard. He called aloud: "say, father, say If yet my task is done!" He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son. "Speak, father!" once again he cried, "If I may yet be gone!" And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on. Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair; And shouted but once more aloud, "My father! must I stay?" While o'er him fast through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way. They wrapt the ship in splendor wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child Like banners in the sky. Then came a burst of thunder sound-- The boy--oh! where was he! Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea, With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part; But the noblest thing that perished there Was that young faithful heart! Mrs. Hemans. CLXXI. THE BENDED BOW.