224 . THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
lofty aim is to seek and to save men, ney. When passing through Spain
as a christian brother. they were hard pressed by the Moors,
I congratulate you. ladies, upon the and one after another was stricken
success which has attended your socie- down. The conflict waxed hot and
ty during its existence of fifty years, terrible ; and at last the chief of the
May the future be more abundant in knights, in order to inspire his followers
good works, and the success commen- with more than human courage, if that
surate therewith. were possible, took the case containing
It is a tradition of the age of chiv- the precious relic, and throwing it into
airy that a Scottish King, when dying, the ranks of the enemy, cried " Forth,
bequeathed his heart to one of his no- heart of Bruce, and Douglass will follow
bles to be carried to Palestine for thee or die."
burial. The heart of God is leading you on- After his decease the heart was en- ward in this beneficent work. " Be closed in a silver casket, and the knight ye therefore followers of God as dear with his retinue started upon the jour- children."
��THE SOLITARY PIXE.
��BY FRED L. PATTEE.
Tossed in the North wind's freezing flight. Rocked by the tempest's power malign,
Upon a tall crag's lonely height, There stands an ancient, time-worn pine.
Long has that old pine braved the blast.
Long has its deep and sullen roar Defied the whirlwind's furies east
[Tpou its withered branches hoar.
On thy grim form our fathers gazed, In boyhood's days to thee we came,
To thee our aged eyes are raised. But thou, old tree, art still the same.
Dost thou not from thy throne, old pine.
The vale's sweet charms before thee spread. The wooded hills in broken line.
Admire the beauties around thee shed?
Thine are the first dim rays of morn ;
The last faint tints of eve are thine ; Thine are the terrors of the storm :
Dost thou not look in awe, old pine?
Like weary sighs for years Ions: flown.
Oft times at eventide we hear. On the cle r air a stifled moan,
From out thy spreading branches drear.
Dost thou still long for days <rone by,
"When painted red men roamed these vales,
When the wild eagle soared on high. And the fierce panther trod the dales?
O stanch old pine ! The years have flown, To earth thy brothers have been cast,
Till now in age thou art alone, A weary spirit of the past.
Grim time at length will sweep thee down.
And lay thy lofty crest serene Low in the dust, while all around
The storm, triumphant shall close the scene.
�� �
