To plaintive murmurs chang'd, arriv'd within,
And with expressive looks his lifted paw
Presenting, aid implor'd from whom he saw;
The fugitive, through terror at a stand,
Dar'd not awhile afford his trembling hand;
But bolder grown at length, inherent found
A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound.

The cure was wrought; he wip'd the sanious flood,
And firm and free from pain the lion stood.
Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day
Regales his inmate with the parted prey.
Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepar'd,
Spread on the ground, and with a lion shar'd.
But thus to live—still lost, sequester'd still—
Scarce seem'd his lord's revenge an heavier ill.
Home, native home!-Oh might he but repair!
He must, he will, though death attends him there.
He goes, and doomed to perish on the sands
Of the full theatre, unpitied stands !
When lo! the self-same lion from his cage
Flies to devour him, famished into rage.
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey
The man, his healer, pauses on his way,
And, softened by remembrance into sweet
And kind composure, crouches at his feet!

Mute with astonishment the assembly gaze;
But why, ye Romans? Whence your mute amaze ?
All this is natural,-Nature bade him rend
An enemy; she bids him spare a friend.

TO A WOUNDED SINGING BIRD.

BARRY CORNWALL.

Poor singer hath the fowler's gun,

Or the sharp winter done thee harm?

We'll lay thee gently in the sun,

And breathe on thee and keep thee warm: Perhaps some human kindness still

May make amends for human ill.

We'll take thee in and nurse thee well,
And save thee from the winter wild,
Till summer fall on field and fell,

And thou shalt be our feathered child,
And tell us all the pain and wrong,
When thou canst speak again in song.

Fear not nor tremble, little bird,—
We'll use thee kindly now,
And sure there's in a friendly word

An accent even thou shouldst know;
For kindness which the heart doth teach
Disdaineth all peculiar speech:

'Tis common to the bird and brute,
To fallen man, to angel bright,
And sweeter 'tis than lonely lute
Heard in the air at night,—
Divine and universal tongue,
Whether by man or spirit sung!

But hark! is that a sound we hear

Come chirping from its throat,—— Faint-short-but weak and very clear,

And like a grateful note? Another ha-look where it lies,

It shivers gasps-is still-it dies!.

"Tis dead-'tis dead! and all our care
Is useless. Now in vain

The mother's wo doth pierce the air,
Calling her nestling bird again!
All's vain the singer's heart is cold,
Its eye is dim-its fortune told!

LOVED ONCE.

MISS E. B. BARRETT.

I classed, appraising once,
Earth's lamentable sounds; the welladay,
The jarring yea and nay,

The face of kisses on unanswering clay,

The sobbed farewell, the welcome mournfuller ;But all did leaven the air

With a less bitter leaven of sure despair,

Than these words-I loved ONCE.

And who saith, I loved ONCE?

Not angels, whose clear eyes, love, love, foresee,

Love through eternity!

Who by To Love, do apprehend To BE.

Not God, called Love, his noble crown-name,

casting

A light too broad for blasting!

The great God changing not from everlasting,
Saith never. I love ONCE!

Nor ever the 'loved ONCE,'

Dost THOU say, victim-Christ, misprized friend!
The cross and curse may rend;

But having loved, Thou lovest to the end!
It is man's saying-man's! Too weak to move
One sphered star above,

Man desecrates the eternal God-word Love
With his No More, and once.

How say ye, 6 we loved once,
Blasphemeres? Is your earth not cold enow,
Mourners, without that snow?

Ah, friends! and would ye wrong each other so?
And could ye say of some, whose love is known,
Whose prayers have met your own,

Whose tears have fallen for you, whose smiles have shone,

Such words, we loved them ONCE?

Say calm of me, sweet friends, when out of sight?

When hearts of better right

Stand in between me and your happy light?
And when as flowers kept too long in the shade,

Ye find my colors fade,

And all that is not love in me decayed!
Such words,--ye loved me ONCE ?

Could ye, we loved her once',

Say cold of me, when farther put away
In earth's sepulchral clay?

When mute the lips which deprecate to-day ?
Not so! not then-least then! when Life is shriven,
And Death's full joy is given,-

Of those who sit and love you up in Heaven,

6

Say not, we loved them once?

Say never, ye loved ONCE!

God is too near above, the grave, below,

And all our moments go

Too quickly past our souls, for saying so!
The mysteries of Life and Death avenge
Affection's light of range--

There comes no change to justify that change,
Whatever comes-Loved ONCE!

And yet that word of ONCE,

Is humanly acceptive! Kings have said,
Shaking a discrowned head,

'We ruled once,'-idiot tongues, 'We once bestead,' Cripples once danced i' the vines-and bards approved

Were once by scornings moved!

But Love strikes one hour-LOVE.

loved,

Who dream that they loved ONCE.

Those never

THE GRACES OF A GENUINE BARD.

BAILEY.

The bard must have a kind, courageous heart,

And natural chivalry to aid the weak,

He must believe the best of every thing;

Love all below, and worship all above.

All animals are living hieroglyphs,

The dashing dog and stealthy-stepping cat,

Hawk, bull, and all that breathe, mean something more