The powerful of the earth, the wise, the
good,

Fair forms and hoary seers of ages past—
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills,

Make thee to shudder and grow sick at Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the

heart,

Go forth under the open sky and list

To Nature's teachings, while from all aroundEarth and her waters and the depths of air

Comes a still voice: Yet a few days and thee

The all-beholding sun shall see no more

vales

Stretching in pensive quietness between ;
The venerable woods; rivers that move
In majesty and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and poured
round all

Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,Are but the solemn decorations all In all his course; nor yet in the cold Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, ground, The planets-all the infinite host of heavenWhere thy pale form was laid with many Are shining on the sad abodes of Death

tears,

Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall
claim

Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again;
And, lost each human trace, surrendering

up

Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix for ever with the elements,
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod which the rude

swain

Through the still lapse of ages. All that

tread

The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, traverse Barca's desert-sands
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon and hears no sound
Save his own dashings, yet the dead are
there;

And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them

down

So live that when thy summons comes to Scarcely waked as her sentinel

And over the pathway the brown fawn Oh, soothe him whose pleasures like thine

And naught but the nightingale's song in the I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for

For morn is approaching your charms to re

store,

THE FLOWER OF LOVE.

Perfumed with fresh fragrance and glittering THE Tulip called to the Eglantine :

with dew.

Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn:
Kind Nature the embryo blossom will

save;

Good neighbor, I hope you see

How the throngs that visit the garden come

To

pay their respects to me;
The florist admires my elegant robe

And praises its rainbow ray,

But when shall spring visit the mouldering Till it seems as if through his raptured eyes

urn?

Oh, when shall it dawn on the night of the

grave?

He was gazing his soul away."

66

It may be so," said the Eglantine:
In a humble nook I dwell,

Twas thus, by the glare of false science And what is passing among the great

I cannot know so well;

betrayedThat leads to bewilder and dazzles to But they speak of me as the flower of love, And that low-whispered name

blind

My thoughts wont to roam from shade on

ward to shade,

Destruction before me and sorrow behind.

'Oh pity, great Father of light,' then I cried,

Thy creature, who fain would not wander

from thee;

Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.'

"And darkness and doubt are now flying

away;

No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn .
So breaks on the traveller faint and astray
The bright and the balmy effulgence of

morn.

See Truth, Love and Mercy in triumph descending,

And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,

And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

JAMES BEATTIE.

In eyes that would not look on me;

I ne'er saw nectar on a lip

But where my own did hope to sip.
Has the maid who seeks my heart
Cheeks of rose untouched by art?
I will own the color true

When yielding blushes aid their hue.

Is her hand so soft and pure?
I must press it to be sure;
Nor can I be certain then
Till it, grateful, press again.
Must I, with attentive eye,
Watch her heaving bosom sigh?
I will do so when I see
That heaving bosom sigh for me.

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

Friends, shall we not bestow our charity? The chill increases doubly while we stand;