FROM "THE NEEDLESS ALARM.”

THE man to solitude accustom❜d long
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue :
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees

Have speech for him, and understood with ease :
After long drought, when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
But, with precision nicer still, the mind

He scans of every locomotive kind;

Birds of all feather, beasts of every name,

That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame; The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears Have all articulation in his ears :

He spells them true by intuition's light,

And needs no glossary to set him right.

5

ΙΟ

15

COWPER.

A PSALM OF LIFE.

TELL me not in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest !

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And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,”
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

ΙΟ

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

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Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act-act in the living Present,
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us
Foot-prints on the sands of time ;—

Foot-prints, that perhaps another,

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A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

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Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

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H. W. LONGFELLOW.

DYING FOR FREEDOM.

THEY never fail who die

In a great cause! The block may soak their gore ;
Their heads may sodden in the sun; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls ;-
But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years 5
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,

They but augment the deep and sweeping thoughts
Which overpower all others, and conduct

The world at last, to freedom!

LORD BYRON.

M

THE DYING KID.

A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye,

To think yon playful kid must die;
From crystal spring, and flowery mead,
Must, in his prime of life, recede!

Erewhile, in sportive circles round

She saw him wheel, and frisk, and bound!
From rock to rock pursue his way,

And on the fearful margin play.

Pleased on his various freaks to dwell,
She saw him climb my rustic cell;

Thence eye my lawns with verdure bright,
And seem'd all ravish'd at the sight.

She tells with what delight he stood,
To trace his features in the flood:
Then skipp'd aloof with quaint amaze,
And then drew near again to gaze.

She tells me how with eager speed
He flew to hear my vocal reed;
And how, with critic face profound,
And steadfast ear devour'd the sound.

His every frolic, light as air,
Deserves the gentle Delia's care ;
And tears bedew her tender eye,
To think the playful kid must die.

5

ΙΟ

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20

SHENSTONE.

THE WANDERING MAID.

It was by a baron's castle gay

A wand'ring maid did rove;

For many a mile had she taken her way,
In search of her true love:

For many a mile, both day and night,
Despairing did she rove;

Nor blest the light that cheer'd her sight,
For she had lost her love.

She sat her down by the moat so wide,
And her tears began to flow;

She sat her down, and sad she sigh'd,

O'ercome with toil and woe:
“But although I shed full many a tear,
And although I sit and sigh,

Yet ever I'll love thee, youth so dear,
And for thee will I die."

And now o'er the high drawbridge came near
A minstrel blithe and gay;

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And why," he cried, "sweet maiden, here
Dost thou despairing lay?

For the welkin round is black with rain,
And the water's all so cold,

E'en hardy cattle, that graze the plain,
Betake them to a hold."

"Alas!" she cried, "I've lost my love,

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And I've sought him far and near: Sweet minstrel, hast thou seen him rove, The youth whom I love so dear?"

"Fair maid, thy love how should I know From other youths I see?"

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"Oh, by his locks so fair that flow,

And his mien so bright of blee.

"His face is fraught with beauty's smile,

The rose and lilies there;

His voice like music can beguile

The wrinkled brow of care:

Alas! it was that face that smiled,

That brought my heart to woe;

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That music voice that me beguiled,
And made my tears to flow.

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"Near these high towers, so fair to view,

I'm told the youth hath been; Then tell me, minstrel, tell me true,

Hast thou my true love seen?"

"No, maid, thy love I have not seen,

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By day nor yet by night;

Alas! how hard that heart, I ween,
That could such beauty slight !

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But, lovely maid, do not thus rove,
And break thy heart with woe;

But go with me and be my love,

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"No, minstrel, though full sad I rue

That he from me is gone,

Yet still to him I'll aye be true,

And true to him alone;

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And o'er the lone country, day and night,

"Oh, maid, heed not that minstrel's guile,

But me take for thy love;

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And then to the wars, for gold and spoil,

Right merrily we will rove."

"No, warrior, no; though sad I rove, And my love from me is gone,

Yet still I'll seek that faithless love,
And love but him alone:

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And ever I'll wander day and night,

While cold, cold blows the wind,