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Robert of Lincoln at length is made

Sober with work, and silent with care;
Off is his holiday garment laid,

Half forgotten that merry air:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink ;

Nobody knows but my mate and I
Where our nest and nestlings lie.
Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown;
Fun and frolic no more he knows;
Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone;
Off he flies, and we sing as he goes:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink ;

When you can pipe that merry old strain,
Robert of Lincoln, come back again.
Chee, chee, chee.

The Hurricane

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, I know thy breath in the burning sky! And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, For the coming of the hurricane!

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They darken fast and the golden blaze

Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,

And he sends through the shade a funeral ray —
A glare that is neither night nor day,

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A beam that touches, with hues of death,
The clouds above and the earth beneath.
To its covert glides the silent bird,
While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,
Uplifted among the mountains round,

And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold
His ample robes on the wind unrolled?

Giant of air! we bid thee hail! —

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;
How his huge and writhing arms are bent,
To clasp the zone of the firmament,

And fold, at length, in their dark embrace,
From mountain to mountain the visible space.
Darker-still darker! the whirlwinds bear
The dust of the plains to the middle air:
And hark to the crashing, long and loud,
Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!
You may trace its path by the flashes that start
From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,
As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,
And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that?-'tis the rain that breaks

In torrents away from the airy lakes,

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,

And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah! well-known woods, and mountains, and skies,
With the very clouds! ye are lost to my eyes.

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I seek ye vainly and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,
A whirling ocean that fills the wall

Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.
And I, cut off from the world, remain
Alone with the terrible hurricane.

JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

The Fight Between the Ariel and the Alacrity

(From The Pilot, Chapter 18)

The English cutter held her way from the land, until she got an offing of more than two miles, when she reduced her sails to a yet smaller number; and heaving into the wind, she fired a gun in a direction opposite to that which pointed to the Ariel.

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"Now I would wager a quintal of codfish, Master Coffin," said Barnstable, "against the best cask of porter that was ever brewed in England, that fellow believes a Yankee schooner can fly in the wind's eye! If he wishes to speak to us, why don't he give his cutter a little sheet, and come 10 down?"

The cockswain had made his arrangements for the combat, with much more method and philosophy than any other man in the vessel. When the drum beat to quarters, he threw aside his jacket, vest, and shirt, with as little 15 hesitation as if he stood under an American sun, and with all the discretion of a man who had engaged in an undertaking that required the free use of his utmost powers. As he was known to be a privileged individual in the Ariel, and one whose opinions, in all matters of seamanship, were 20 regarded as oracles by the crew, and were listened to by his commander with no little demonstration of respect, the question excited no surprise. He was standing at the breech of his long gun, with his brawny arms folded on a breast that had been turned to the color of blood by long 25 exposure, his grizzled locks fluttering in the breeze, and his tall form towering far above the heads of all near him.

"He hugs the wind, sir, as if it was his sweetheart," was

his answer; "but he'll let go his hold soon; and if he don't, 30 we can find a way to make him fall to leeward."

"Keep a good full!" cried the commander, in a stern voice; "and let the vessel go through the water. That fellow walks well, long Tom; but we are too much for him on a bowline; though, if he continue to draw ahead in this 35 manner, it will be night before we can get alongside him."

"Ay, ay, sir," returned the cockswain; "them cutters carries a press of canvas when they seem to have but little; their gaffs are all the same as young booms, and spread a broad head to their mainsails. But it's no hard matter to

40 knock a few cloths out of their bolt-ropes, when she will drop astarn and to leeward."

"I believe there is good sense in your scheme, this time," said Barnstable; "for I am anxious about the frigate's people-though I hate a noisy chase; speak to him, Tom, 45 and let us see if he will answer."

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Ay, ay, sir," cried the cockswain, sinking his body in such a manner as to let his head fall to a level with the cannon that he controlled, when, after divers orders, and sundry movements to govern the direction of the piece, he 50 applied a match, with a rapid motion, to the priming. An immense body of white smoke rushed from the muzzle of the cannon, followed by a sheet of vivid fire, until, losing its power, it yielded to the wind, and as it rose from the water, spread like a cloud, and, passing through the masts 55 of the schooner, was driven far to leeward, and soon blended in the lists which were swiftly scudding before the fresh breezes of the ocean.

Although many curious eyes were watching this beautiful sight from the cliffs, there was too little of novelty in the 60 exhibition to attract a single look of the crew of the schooner, from the more important examination of the effect of a shot on their enemy. Barnstable sprang lightly on a gun, and

watched the instant when the ball would strike with keen interest, while long Tom threw himself aside from the line of the smoke with a similar intention; holding one of his 65 long arms extended towards his namesake, with a finger on the vent, and supporting his frame by placing the hand of the other on the deck, as his eyes glanced through an opposite port-hole, in an attitude that most men might have despaired of imitating with success.

"There go the chips!" cried Barnstable. "Bravo! Master Coffin, you never planted iron in the ribs of an Englishman with more judgment. Let him have another piece of it; and if he likes the sport, we'll play a game of long bowls with him!"

"Ay, ay, sir," returned the cocks wain, who, the instant he witnessed the effects of his shot, had returned to superintend the reloading of his gun; "if he holds on half an hour longer, I'll dub him down to our own size, when we can close and make an even fight of it."

The drum of the Englishman was now, for the first time, heard, rattling across the waters, and echoing the call to quarters, that had already proceeded from the Ariel.

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"Ah! you have sent him to his guns!" said Barnstable; we shall now hear more of it; wake him up, Tom him up!"

"We shall start him on end, or put him to sleep altogether, shortly," said the deliberate cocks wain, who never allowed himself to be at all hurried, even by his commander. "My shot are pretty much like a shoal of porpoises, and com-90 monly sail in each other's wake. Stand by - heave her breech forward so; get out of that, you damned young reprobate, and let my harpoon alone!"

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"What are you at, there, Master Coffin?" cried Barnstable; "are you tongue-tied?"

"Here's one of the boys skylarking with my harpoon in

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