HOME. For hopes that are colorless now and dead Down at our feet in the dust that we tread! And we marvel that ever we lighted our way With hues so painted and false as they; For al the deceits we have seen depart, 77 For the scorn which fills and hardens the heart, For the knowledge so harshly acquired at last, The past-now what shall we give the past? Oh, give it smiles! MISS LANDON. HOME. "HOME! There's magic in that little word; ANON. 78 THE FUTURE. WHAT DO THE FUTURES SPEAK OF? IN ANSWER TO A QUESTION IN THE GREEK THEY speak of never withering shades, And bowers of opening joy; They whisper strange enchanting things And sure this tuneful voice exceeds They speak of pleasure to the gay, In every language, every tongue, Cassandra's fate reversed is theirs; She true, no faith could gain,— MRS. BARBAuld. A BIRTH-DAY. 79 A BIRTH-DAY. "A BIRTH-DAY!"—what a joyful sound Then life was sweet: the world, unknown, A fairy landscape bright and gay; Each voice, too, seemed like Friendship's tone, Or Love's more fascinating lay; And Time-a playmate of my own, To sport with by the way. What is a Birth-day now? A sound To shake e'en manhood's sterner heart; And Hope has lost her healing art, While from the world's enchanted ground Its brighter hues depart. Pain's barbed shafts mock Friendship's shield, Hope, Fancy, Friendship, Love must yield 80 REMINISCENCE. I speak, 't is true, of passing things, To thoughts of more enduring worth, BERNARD BARTON. REMINISCENCE. "My birth-day "-what a different sound When first our scanty years are told, How hard that chain will press at last. Who said," were he ordained to run • Fontenelle. Si je recommencais ma carriere, je ferai tout ce que j'ai fait. REMINISCENCE. He would do all that he had done."- Lavished unwisely, carelessly; Of wandering after Love too far, That crossed my pathway, for his star.All this it tells; and could I trace The imperfect picture o'er again, With power to add, retouch, efface The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay! How quickly all should melt away All-but that Freedom of the mind, 81 Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving ark, Where Love's true light at last I've found, Cheering within, when all grows dark And comfortless and stormy round! T. MOORE. |