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are tbere here celestial springs living waters, whence he drew?

ad here he suffer'd !-this recess

There even Nature fail'd to cheer, -as witness'd oft his deep distress,

nd precious drops have fallen here !

And scarcely dare she lift her eyes,
To where her lifeless treasure lies.
But yesterday who could forsee
That such a change as this might be,
That she should call and he not hear,-
That bird who knew and loved her dear;
Who, when her finger touched the cage,
'Gainst it a mimic war would wage ;
Who pecked the sweetmeat from her hand,
And on her riuglets took his stand!
As all these recollections rise,
Again does sorrow drown the eyes,
The little bosom swell with sighs;
“ Another bird !--No, never! never!
Empty shall be that cage for ever.”

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Tis her first grief -and it will fade
Or ere the next sun sinks in shade.
Ah! happy age, when smile and tear
Alternate in the eyes appear !
When sleep can every care remove,
And morn's light wake to hope and love.
But Childhood flies like spring-time's hour,
And deepening shadows o'er youth lour!
Even thou, fair girl, must one day know
Of life the painfulness and wo,
The sadness that sleep cannot cure,
Griefs that through nights and days endure;
Those natural pangs to mortals given,
To wean us from this earth, and lead our

thoughts to heaven.

'Tis her first grief !-Motionless there
Is stretched the fundling of her care ;
No longer may she bear his voice,
No longer in his sports rejoice;



Poor Oscar! how feebly thou crawl'st to the door,
Thou, who wert all beauty and vigour of yore;
How slowly thou stealest the supbeams to find,
And thy straw-sprinkled pallet-how crippled and blind!

Thy hairs now are silvered, thou hearest my voice,
And thy slow-wagging tail says thou yet canst rejoice ;
But how different art thou from the Oscar of old,
So sleek and so gamesome, 80 swift and so bold !

At sunrise I waken'd to hear thy lov'd bark,
With the coo of the house-dove, the song of the lark;
And out to the green fields 'twas ours to repair,
When bright was the blue sky and fresh was the air.

How then wouldst thou gambol and start from my feet,
To scare the wild birds from their sylvan retreat;
Or plunge in the smooth stream, and bring to my hand
The twig or the wild flower I threw from the land.

On the moss-sprinkled stone if I sat for a space,
Thou wouldst cower on the greensward and look in my face;
In wantonness pluck up the blooms in thy teeth,
And toss them in ether, or tread them beneath.

Then I was a schoolboy all thoughtless and free,
And thou wert a whelp full of gambol and glee;
Now dimm'd is thine eyeball, and gray is thy hair ;
And I am a man, doom'd to thought and to care.

Thou bring'st to my mind all the pleasures of youth, When Hope was the mistress, not handmaid, of Truth ; When Earth look'd an Eden, when Joy's sunny hours Were cloudless, and Life's path besprinkled with flowers.

Now summer is fading, soon tempest and rain
Shall harbinger desolate winter again;
And thou all unable the cold to withstand,
Shalt die when the snow-flakes fall wbite o'er the land.

Then thy grave shall be dug 'neath the old cherry-tree,
And in spring-time 'twill shed down its blossoms on thee;
So when a few fast-fieeting seasons are o'er
Thy faith and thy love shall be thought of no more.

Tben all who caress'd thee, and loved, shall be laid,
Life's pilgrimage o'er, in the tomb's dreary shade;
Other steps shall be heard on these flours, and the past
Like a shadow be quite from the memory cast.

Improvements will follow; old walls be thrown down ;
Old trees be removed, when old masters are gone;
And the gardener, when delving, shall marvel to see
White bones where once blossom'd the old cherry-tree.

Frail things! could we read but the objects around,
In the meanest some deep-lurking truth might be found,
Some type of our weakness, some warning to show
How uncertain the sands are we build on below!

Our fathers have pass'd, and are laid in the mould ;
Year passes on year, and the young become old :
Time, though a stern teacher, is partial to none;
And the friends whom we loved pass away one by one!


Among the bed of lilies, I

Have sought it oft, where it should lie; MARVELL.

Yet could not, till itself should rise, The wanton troopers riding by,

Find it although before my eyes : Have shot my fawn, and it will die. For, in the flasen lilies' shade, Ungentle men! they cannot thrive

It like a band of lilies laid. Who killed thee: thou ne'er didst, alive,

Upon the roses it would feed, Them any harm : alas! nor could,

Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed; Thy death yet do them any good.

And then to me would boldly trip, I'm sure I never wish'd them ill;

And print those roses on my lip. Nor do I for all this—nor will

But all its chief delight was still But, if my simple prayers may yet

On roses thus itself to fill; Prevail with Heaven to forget

And its pure virgin-limbs to fold

In whitest sheets of lilies cold.
Thy murder, I will join my tears
Rather than fail. But, O my fears!
It cannot die so : Heaven's King
Keeps register of every thing;
And nothing we may use in vain,
Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain;
Else men are made their deodands;

Though they should wash their guilty hands

In this warm life-blood, which doth part
From thine, and wound me to the heart !

The lark has sung his carol in the sky; Yet could they not be clean : their stain

The bees have hammed their noontide lulIs dy'd in such a purple grain.

laby. There is not such another in

Still in the vale the village-bells ring round, The world, to offer for their sin.

Still in Llewellen-hall the jests resound:

For now the caudle-cup is circling there, With sweetest milk, and sugar, first

Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their I it at my own fingers nurst;

prayer, And as it grew, so every day

And crowding, stop the cradle, to admire It waxed more white and sweet than they. | The Babe, the sleeping image of his Sire. It had so sweet a breath! and oft It blush'd to see its foot more soft

A few short years—and then these sounds And white, than-shall I say my hand ?

shall hail Nay, any lady's of the land.

The day again, and gladness fill the vale; It is a wondrous thing, how fleet

So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, 'Twas on those little silver feet !

Eager to run the race his fathers ran. With what a pretty skipping grace

Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirIt oft would challenge me the race ; And when't had left me far away,

The ale, now brewed, in floods of ainber 'Twould stay, and run again, and stay :

shine : For it was nimbler much than hinds; And basking in the chimney's ample blaze And trod as if on the four winds.

Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,

« Twas on these knees he sate so oft and I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown,

smiled.” And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness :

And soon again shall music swell the breeze ; And all the spring-time of the year

Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the It only loved to be there.


loin ;

“ Cold blows the blast across the moor,

The sleet drives hissing in the wind: Yon toilsome mountain lies before,

A dreary, treeless waste behind.

Vesture of nuptial white; and hymns be

inng, And violets scattered round; and old and

young, In every cottage-porch, with garlands green, Stand still to gaze, and gazing, bless the

scene; While her dark eyes declining, by his side Moves in ber virgin-veil the gentle bride.

“ My eyes are weak and dim with age,

No road or path can I descry;
And these poor rags ill stand the rage

Of such a keen, inclement sky.

And once, alas! not in a distant hour, “ So faint I am—these tottering feet
Another voice shall come from yonder tower; No more my palsied frame can bear;
When in dim chambers, long, black weeds | My freezing heart forgets to beat,
are seen,

And drifting snows my tomb prepare. And weepings heard, where only joy had been,

“Open your hospitable door, When by his children borne, and from his And shield me from the biting frost: door

Cold, cold it blows across the moor, Slowly departing to return no more,

The weary moor that I have cross'd." He rests in earth with them that went before.

With basty step the farmer ran,

And close beside the fire they place And such is Hgman Life, so gliding on, The poor half-frozen beggar-man, It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone! With shaking limbs, and blue-pale face.

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Her presence-chamber once, but now her Now morning dawns; and thro' the yellow

tomb, While all around her palsied votaries sate, Yonder a pair go forth, betwixt a row Stunn'd by the leaden mace of the proud Of life-lorn houses ;-one ye see doth dog tyrant Fate.

The footsteps of the vther; and they go

For ever thus together; shrieks of wo

Sound to their ears sweet music.--Now the 'Twas midnight, and each door was closed;

first around

Is PLA UE, as well er jaundice-eyes do Stood iron-featured watchmen; in their

shew, hands

And toad-like skin that scarce forbears to Were halberts,wberewithal upon the ground,

burst, Some one oft struck, as at his silent stand

As aye on the dank air she spits her venom Appalled he linger’d; and the garrulons

carsed. band Of echo answer'd quick, and bade his heart Be of good cheer; and every door thus Bebind, her meagre bridegroom Death mann'd

comes on; Was by a cross of blood-red set apart, Clutching his dart, he strides his pale, That none might enter there, nor any thence

white horse;

His lank jaws chattering to her, who anon
Doth half turn back her head, and baulks

her course And now a voice is heard ; and lo! a light An instant to respond his accents hoarse :

Gleams up the vista of yon narrow street; And as some dying wretch outstretched they And as it nears the gazer's straining sight,

see, Sharp yet indefinite sounds his ear first

Yawning and yelling they must e'en per greet;

force Then, more distinct the clank of horses' | Jeer at him as they pass; and in high glee, feet

In strain like this pursue their ghastly colIs beard ; and the red torch's smoky blaze

loquy. Doth o'er full many a livid carcass fleet, Which prone and nodding on the death-cart

“ They've digged us now," quoth Death, Jays;

“ without the wall Yet nought that hideous load the driver stern

A huge dry gulf; within whose gaping affrays.


Careless of knell, or prayer, or wonted pall, Hark! to his hollow tones :-" Bring forth

The living stow the dead-last night I saw

The burier tumble with the buried o'er And forth they bring their dead ;-the

The dizzy brink : methinks, a yoodlier sight father brings

I scarce behold, when Earthquake, and

red War, His last sweet child, and on the pile 'tis laid Next withered age: the brother coldly Harness their savage limbs; and in their flings

might; His sister there-self-love hath snapped The fear-pale nations scare with carnage and the strings

affright." Of the fond heart; no kindly thoughts remain.

" Good mate!” so quoth the beldame, Again the driver's hand the dead-bell rings

many a shore And the car rumbles onward; and again Hath yielded me repast, but none like this; The triple-tithe of Death, it gathers home But late, I went to mark how full a store amain.

Was gather'd to our garner; and ywis

your dead!"

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