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That, though I find not much to bless, Enjoy the breeze,- I rock with them,
Nor food for exaltation,

We' are merry brothers all.
I know that I am tempted less,
And that is consolation,

I do remember well, when first

I saw the great blue sea, “ The beautiful! the noble blood !

It was no stranger-face, that burst I shrink as they pass by,

In terror upon me; Such power for evil or for good

My heart began, from the first glance, Is flashing from each eye;

His solemn pulse to follow,
They are indeed the stewards of Heaven, I danced with every billow's dance,
High-headed and strong-handed:

And shouted to their hollo.
From those, to whom so much is given,
How much may be demanded !

“ The Lamb that at it's mother's side

Reclines, a tremulous thing, “ 'Tis true, I am hard buffeted,

The Robin in cold winter-tide, Though few can be my foes,

The Linnet in the Spring,
Harsh words fall heavy on my head, All seem to be of kin to me,
And unresisted blows;

And love my slender hand,
But then I think, had I been born, For we are bound, by God's decree,
Hot spirit-sturdy frame-

In one defensive band.
And passion prompt to follow scorn,-
I might have done the'

“ And children, who the worldly mind

And ways have not put on, To me men are for what they are, Are ever glad in me to find They wear no masks with me;

A blithe companion : I never sicken'd at the jar

And when for play they leave their homes, Of ill-tuned Aattery;

Left to their own sweet glee, I never mourned affections lent

They hear my step, and cry, “He comes, In folly or in blindness ;

Our little friend,-'tis he.'
The kindness that on me is spent
Is pure, unasking, kindness.

“ Have you been out some starry night,

And found it joy to bend “ And most of all, I never felt

Your eyes to one particular light, The agonizing sense

Till it became a friend ? Of seeing love from passion melt

And then, so loved that gliste’ning spot, Into indifference;

That, whether it were far
The fearful shame, that day by day Or more or less, it mattered not,
Burns onward, still to burn,

It still was your own star.
To' bave thrown your precious heart away,
And met this black return.

“ Thus, and thus only, can you know,

How I, even scorned I, “ I almost fancy that the more

Can live in love, tho' set so low, I am cast out from men,

And' my ladie-love so high ; Nature has made me of her store

Thus learn, that on this varied ball, A worthier denizen;

Whate'er can breathe and move, As if it pleased her to caress

The meanest, lornest, thing of all-
A plant grown up so wild,

Still owns its right to love.
As if the being parentless
Made me the more her child.

“ With no fair round of household cares

Will my lone hearth be blest, “ Athwart my face when blushes pass Nor can the snow of my old hairs To be so poor and weak,

Fall on a loving breast; I fall unto the dewy grass,

No darling pledge of spousal faith And cool my fevered cheek ;

Shall I be found possessing, And hear a music strangely made,

To whom a blessing with my breath
That you have never heard,

Would be a double blessing:
A sprite in every rustling blade,
That sings like any bird.

“ But yet my love with sweets is rife,

With happiness it teems, “My dreams are dreams of pleasantness, It beautifies my waking life, But yet I always run,

And waits upon my dreams; As to a father's morning kiss,

A shape that floats upon the night,
When rises the round sun;

Like foam upon the sea,
I see the flowers on stalk and stem, A voice of Seraphim,-a light
Light shrubs, and poplars tall,

Of present Deity!

I hide me in the dark arcade,

pure and so profound_has sunk and When she walks forth alone,

is sinking into how many thoughtful I feast upon her hair's rich braid - souls-how many loving hearts ! Her half-unclasped zone :

And now for lunch. Virgin honey I watch the flittings of her dress,

-we protest-clear as amber-but The bending boughs between,

embalming no bees, for 'twas sliced off I trace her footstep's faery press

without injury to the wings of a single On' the scarcely ruffled green.

worker. The first of the season we

have seen-a composite of the essence “ Oh deep delight! the frail guitar

of heather and of clover-in which Trembles beneath her hand,

the flavour of the clover must prevailShe sings a song she brought from far,

for the mountains are not yet empurI cannot understand;

pled. Such honey, such butter, and Her voice is always as from heaven, But yet I seem to hear

such oat cake make a delicious biteIts music best, when thus 'tis given

and how the taste improves on the All music to my ear.

palate, qualified with a smack of the

Glenlivet! Most considerate of hea“ She' has turned her tender eyes around ven's creatures! Genevieve has left And seen me crouching there,

on the salver a silver thimble-but a And smiles, just as that last full sound little too wide for her delicatest foreIs fainting on the air ;

finger-and ever and anon from it we And now, I can go forth so proud,

shall quaff'the mountain-dew as Oberon And raise my head so tall .

may be supposed to lay his lips to the My heart within me beats so loud, fox-glove bell, impatient for “his And musical withal :

morning.” Ignoramuses gulp Glen

livet from quechs--the Cognoscenti " And there is summer all the while,

sipit from thimbles-thus-thus-thus Mid-winter though it be,

“ health-happiness—and a husband How should the universe not smile,

to Victoria, our gracious Queen!" When she has smiled on me?

And now we shall be communicaFor though that smile can nothing more

tive, and whisper into your ear a secret Than merest pity prove,

about Christopher in his Cave. TwenYet pity, it was sung of yore,

ty years ago the Lord of the Castle Is not so far from love.

died—the Lady did not long survive “ From what a crowd of lovers' woes,

him--and till within a few summers My weakness is exempt !

it stood silent as their tomb. The How far more fortunate than those

sons and daughters were absent long Who mark me for contempt!

and distant far from their hereditary No fear of rival happiness

home, and the heart of the Highlands My fervent glory smothers,

sighed for the return of the brave and The zephyr fans me none the less

the beautiful. From Eastern climes That it is bland to others.

the Chief returned at last - in the

prime of manhood-rich and honoured “ Thus without share in coin or land,

for he had the gift of tongues, and But well content to hold

genius, and a commanding intellect, The wealth of Nature in my hand,

and his wisdom imposed peace on the One fail of virgin gold .

native princes. The younger brother My Love above me like a sun

had entered into the naval serviceMy own bright thoughts my wings

fought at Algiers-and on voyage of Thro' life I trust to flutter on,

discovery circumnavigated the globe. As gay as aught that sings.

Here for a while he has cast anchor“ One hour I own I dread-to die

ready at any hour to slip his cableAlone and unbefriended

and go to sea. The youngest is in No soothing voice, no tearful eye

orders-and has come to the Castle

for a month “ from the beautiful fields But that must soon be ended ; And then I shall receive my part

of England," and brought his bride. Of everlasting treasure,

And thou- the beloved of thy Father's In that just world where each man's heart friend, and of thy Mother's-love. Will be his only measure.”

liest of Christian ladies_what name

so blessed as thine among the mounWorthy of ARCHÆUS himself- tains_in hall, in hut, in shieling whose“ Sexton's DAUGHTER"--SO "mine own dear GENEVIEVE !"

Thou art betrothed,-and even now nor can it be needful that any should thy stately lover is by thy side. the sublime uses of poetry, and the But in its happiness thy heart is solemn responsibilities of the poet." kind to the old man who kissed thine We have read much of the volume, eyes the day thy father was buried, and glanced it all through, not withand told thee that Heaven would hush out certain regrets almost amounting thy sobs and dry thy tears. She it to blame, but far more with love and was who furnished for the Hermit this admiration. In “The Seraphim” there his Cave-and led liim into its twi. is poetry and piety-genius and devolight-and sat by him in this niche fortion ; but the awful Idea of the Poem an hour and more, with her band in the Crucifixion-is not sustained his—and left him here to his medita- and we almost wish it unwritten. tions-gliding away, and turning ere The gifted writer says_“I thought she reached the woods, to wave him that, had Æschylus lived after the so many short and cheerful farewells! incarnation and crucifixion of our

· And where are her brothers and their Lord Jesus Christ, he might have friends ? On the Great Loch-or by the turned, if not in moral and intellectual, River-or in the Forest. The late yet in poetic faith, from the solitude Floods have brought up the salmon of Caucasus to the deeper desertness from the sea-and we heard from our of that crowded Jerusalem where none turret, soon after midnight, the red had any pity ; from the "faded white deer belling among the cliffs.

flower' of the Titanic brow, to the 'Twas feared the family would fall withered grass' of a Heart trampled into decay—and they were widely on by its own beloved; from the gloscattered after their parents' deaths. rying of him who gloried that he But the brother of the late chieftain could not die, to the sublimer meek. was a faithful steward and the for- ness of the Taster of death for every tunes of the house were more than re- man; from the taunt stung into being stored. The Prince is in his palace. by the torment, to His more awful siLast night how beautiful the array in lence, when the agony stood dumb that illumined hall! There sat Gene before the love! And I thought how, vieve at her harn_harmonious far from the height of this great argu. beyond the clarshech--and sung, while ment,' the scenery of the Prometheus all was hush, lays of many lands, each would have dwarfed itself even in the to its own native music--but none eyes of its poet-how the fissures of so spake her tearful or kindling eyes his rocks and the innumerous smiles -S0 dear to the singer's soul as the of his ocean would have closed and wild Gaelic airs breathed down by waned into blankness,-and his demitradition from the olden time that god stood confest, so human a concepfirst heard them in the wilderness, as tion as to fall below the aspiration of from the voice of one exulting for a his own humanity. He would have triumph, or of a weeper seeking by its turned from such to the rent rocks and own music to solace her grief!

darkened sun-rent and darkened by What other pretty book is this? a sympathy thrilling through nature, “ The Seraphim, and other Poems, by but leaving man's heart untouched Elizabeth Barnett, author of a Trans- to the multitudes, whose victim was lation of Prometheus Bound.” High their Saviour--to the Victim, whose adventure for a Lady - implying a sustaining thought beneath an unexknowledge of Hebrew-or if not-of ampled agony, was not the Titanic Greek. No common mind displays I can revenge, but the celestial “I itself in this Preface pregnant with can forgive!" lofty thoughts. Yet is her heart The poems that follow are on subjects humble withal-and she wins her way within the compass of her powersinto ours by these words -" I assume there is beauty in them all—and some of no power of art, except that power of them,we think, are altogether beautiful. love towards it, which has remained from the “ Poet's Vow," “ The Rowith me from my childhood until now. maunt of Margaret," “Isobel's Child,” In the power of such a love, and in compositions of considerable length, the event of my life being prolonged, might be selected passages of deep I would fain hope to write hereafter pathos-especially from the last, in better verses ; but I never can feel which the workings of a mother's more intensely than at this momento love through all the phases of fear,

and hope, and despair, and heavenly For lapse of water, swell of breeze,
consolation, are given with extraordi. Or nut-fruit falling from the trees !
pary power, while there is an original-
ity in the whole cast and conception

6. The stir without the glow of passionof the strain that beyond all dispute The triumph of the martproves the possession of genius. But The gold and silver's dreary clashing they are all disfigured by much imper

With man's metallic heartfect and some bad writing—and the

The wheeled pomp, the pauper treadfair author is too often seen struggling

These only sounds are heard instead. in vain to give due expression to the

“ Yet still, as on my human hand feelings that beset her, and entangled in a web of words. “I would fain

Their fearless heads they lean,

And almost seem to understand hope to write hereafter better verses”

What human musings mean-and we do not fear that her hopes

(With such a plaintive gaze their eyne will not be fulfilled-for she “ hath

Are fastened upwardly to mine :) that within which passeth show," but will, we predict, some day shine forth “ Their chant is soft as on the nest, with conspicuous splendour.

Beneath the sunny sky: Some of the shorter compositions For love that stirred it in their breast, are almost all we could desire-and Remains undyingly, let us murmur some of them to our. And 'neath the city's shade, can keep selves in our Cave.

The well of music clear and deep.

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many a gentle girl and mothers will " I called it my wilderness,
ask their daughters to recite them, For no one entered there but I.
that they may watch the workings of the sheep looked in, the grass t'espy,
nature in the eyes loving innocence And passed ne'ertheless.
and even fathers looking on and listen-

“ The trees were interwoven wild,

And spread their boughs enough about “ May from their eyelids wipe the tear

To keep both sheep and shepherd out, That sacred pity had engendered."

But not a happy child. Surely Poetesses (is there such a word ?) are very happy, in spite of all “ Adventurous joy it was for me! the « natural 'sorrows, griefs, and I crept beneath the boughs, and found pains," to which their exquisitely


A circle smooth of mossy ground

Beneath a poplar tree.
sensitive being must be perpetually
alive. Tighe suffered woman's worst

“ Old garden rose-trees hedged it in-wounded affections ; nor was He

Bedropt with roses waxen-white, mans without a like affliction—but she

Well satisfied with dew and light, who died first had a cheerful genius,

And careless to be seen. and fancy led her heart into lands of enchantment, where her human life " Long years ago it might befall, was lulled in repose, and its woes When all the garden flowers were trim, must have often and long been for- The grave old gardener prided him gotten in the midst of visionary bliss. On these the most of all; That other Sweetest Singer had children round her knees, and sufficient “ And Lady stately overmuch, happiness it must have been for her, Who moved with a silken noise, in that long desertion, to see

Blushed near them, dreaming of the voice “ How like a new existence to her heart That likened her to such ! Uprose those living flowers beneath her

“ And these to make a diadem, now flourishing, when she is gone,

She may have often plucked and twined; in the light of Heaven. Lætitia Lan

Half smiling as it came to mind,

That few would look at them. don—a name not to be merged—is a joyous spirit not unacquainted with

" Oh ! little thought that Lady proud, grief–her genius was invigorated by

A child would watch her fair white rose, duty-now it is guarded by love-and

la When buried lay her whiter brows, in good time-may gentler suns shine And silk was changed for shroud! again on her laurelled head-returning to us from the “far countrie," "Nor thought that gardener, full of scorns that may even now be inspiring into For men unlearn'd and simple phrase, her startled imagination the beauty of A child would bring it all its praise, “a New Song."

By creeping through the thorns : And our Elizabeth-she too is happy—though in her happiness she loveth “ To me upon my low moss seat, to veil with a melancholy haze the Though never a dream the roses sent brightness of her childhood-and of her Of science or love's compliment, maidenhood—but the clouds we raise I ween they smelt as sweet. we can ourselves dispel_and far away yet beyond the horizon are those that “ Nor ever a grief was mine, to see may gather round the decline of her The trace of human step departed—

Because the garden was deserted,

The blyther place for me!




“ I mind me in the days departed, How often underneath the sun, With childish bounds I used to run

To a garden long deserted.

“ Friends, blame me not ! a narrow ken Hath childhood 'twixt the sun and sward ! We draw the moral afterward

We feel the gladness then!

“ The beds and walks were vanished quite; “ And gladdest hours for me did glide
And wheresoe'er had fallen the spade, In silence at the rose-tree wall :
The greenest grasses Nature led,

A thrush made gladness musical
To sanctify her right.

Upon the other side,

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