for kinder flowers can take no birth

or growth from such unhappy earth.
Weep only o'er my dust, and say 'Here lies
to Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.'

T. STANLEY

507

508

THE SUNBEAM

HOU art no lingerer in monarch's hall

THOU

a joy thou art and a wealth to all!

a bearer of hope unto land and sea;
sunbeam, what gift hath the world like thee?

Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles; thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles; thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam, and gladdened the sailor, like words from home.

To the solemn depths of the forest shades

thou art streaming on through their green arcades;
and the quivering leaves that have caught thy glow
like fire-flies dance to the pools below.

I looked on the mountains-a vapour lay
folding their heights in its dark array:
thou brakest forth, and the mist became
a crown and a mantle of living flame.

AH

WILL WITH THE WISP

F. HEMANS

H, luckless swain, o'er all unblest indeed,
whom late bewildered in the dank dark fen
far from his flocks and smoking hamlet then!
to that sad spot where hums the sedgy weed:
on him enraged the fiend in angry mood,
shall never look with pity's kind concern,
but instant furious raise the whelming flood
o'er its drowned banks, forbidding all return!
Or, if he meditate his wish'd escape
to some dim hill that seems uprising near,
to his faint eye the grim and grisly shape
in all its terrors clad shall wild appear.

Meantime the watery surge shall round him rise, pour'd sudden forth from every swelling source!

what now remains but tears and hopeless sighs? His fear-shook limbs have lost their youthly force, and down the waves he floats, a pale and breathless corse!

W. COLLINS

509

THE INHABITANTS OF ST KILDA

UT O, o'er all forget not Kilda's race,

BUT

on whose bleak rocks, which brave the wasting tides, fair Nature's daughter Virtue yet abides.

Go! just, as they, their blameless manners trace!
then to my ear transmit some gentle song,
of those whose lives are yet sincere and plain,
their bounded walks the rugged cliffs along,
and all their prospect but the wintry main.

with sparing temperance, at the needful time,
they drain the scented spring; or, hunger-prest,
along the Atlantic rock undreading climb,
and of its eggs despoil the solan's nest.

Thus blest in primal innocence they live sufficed and happy with that frugal fare which tasteful toil and hourly danger give: hard is their shallow soil and bleak and bare; nor ever vernal bee was heard to murmur there!

W. COLLINS

510

LIFE

IFE, believe, is not a dream

LIFE

so dark as sages say;

oft a little morning rain

foretells a pleasant day.

Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,

but these are transient all;

if the showers will make the roses bloom,

O why lament its fall?

Rapidly, merrily,

life's sunny hours flit by,

gratefully, cheerily,

enjoy them as they fly.

512

What though Death at times steps in,
and calls our Best away:

What though sorrow seems to win

o'er hope a heavy sway:
Yet Hope again elastic springs,
unconquered, though she fell;
still buoyant are her golden wings,
still strong to bear us well.
Manfully, fearlessly,

the day of trial bear,

for gloriously, victoriously, can courage quell despair!

THE PRIDE OF YOUTH

PROUD Maisie is in the wood

walking so early;

sweet Robin sits on the bush

singing so rarely.

'Tell me, thou bonny bird,
when shall I marry me?'-
-'When six braw gentlemen
kirkward shall carry ye.'

'Who makes the bridal bed,
birdie, say truly?'

'The grey-headed sexton

that delves the grave duly.

'The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
shall light thee steady;

the owl from the steeple sing

welcome, proud lady.'

CURRER BELL

SIR W. SCOTT

ASSUMED GAIETY

THINK not that with roses crowned
inhuman near thy grave we tread;

or blushing roses scatter round

to mock the paleness of the dead.

513

514

What though we drain the fragrant bowl
in flowers adorned and silken vest,
O think not, brave departed soul,
we revel to disturb thy rest.

Feigned is the pleasure that appears,
and false the triumph of our eyes,
our draughts of joy are dashed with tears,
our songs imperfect and in sighs.
We inly mourn: o'er flowery plains
to roam in joyous trance is thine:
and pleasures unallied to pains,
unfading sweets, immortal wine.

BY

THE TOMB OF RACHEL

OY Rachel's tomb on Rama's plain
the weary pilgrim stays,

though there no shade relieves his pain,
no sparkling fountain plays:
but gentle thoughts of hope arise

his fainting soul awhile to bless;
where Israel's lowly mother lies
amidst the wilderness.

There where no tree its shelter gave
the patriarch raised a stone
to mark his Rachel's desert grave,
then journeyed on alone:

and Rama's waste is sacred now,

and hallowed is that cheerless gloom where cross alike and crescent bow beside fair Rachel's tomb.

WHE

FLORIO AND JULIA

HEN evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue,
and her deep shades irregularly threw;

their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove,
down by St Herbert's consecrated grove;
whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered rite
amused the fisher's solitary night;

and still the mitred window, richly wreathed,
a sacred calm thro' the brown foliage breathed.

The wild deer, starting thro' the silent glade,
with fearful gaze their various course surveyed :
high hung in air the hoary goat reclined,
his streaming beard the sport of every wind;
and, while the coot her jet wing loved to lave
rocked on the bosom of the sleepless wave,
the eagle rushed from Skiddaw's purple crest,
a cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.

515.

SEA-VOYAGE

ORNE upon the mighty ocean
deep we plough the watery main:

all its chimes of restless motion
empire o'er our spirits gain.

Now we see the sun's warm finger
tip the wave with living red:
now we see the pale moon linger,
ere she seek her morning bed.
Now we watch the foaming billow,
now the gentle ripples creep,
as on ocean's wavy pillow

winds have lulled themselves to sleep.

Ne'er shall they, who never wander

truant from their native lea,

cope with us who daily ponder
on thy treasures, mighty Sea.

S. ROGERS

516

THE SORROWS OF LIFE

UR days are covered o'er with grief,

OUR are o'er

veil all in gloom;

left desolate of real good,

within this cheerless solitude

no pleasures bloom.

Thy pilgrimage begins in tears,

and ends in bitter doubts and fears,

or dark despair;

midway so many toils appear,

that he who lingers longest here
knows most of care.