in the Pyrenees. I UNTIRINGLY upon yon peaks I gaze, Whose snow-clad summits pierce the calm blue sky, Sheltered the while from glowing noonday blaze 'Neath some grand rock, with cool stream dash ing by. 2 Yon virgin snow, on azure bed reposing, Tells us of heaven's own purity and truth, Each passing moment some new phase disclosing Of glorified and everlasting youth. 3 In what stern contrast frowns the bold bare mass Of dizzy steep! making us pigmies wonder How such catastrophe could come to pass When this old Earth was rudely rent asunder; While at its base swells many a verdant slope, And 'mid life's shocks maintain a front serene. 5 Here, hemmed in by huge rocky mountain piles, 6 Methinks no Paris milliner can vie With old Dame NATURE-in form, colour, taste, She beats them all! Let then Eve's daughters try Her skill, nor so much wealth on rubbish waste! A Souvenir of Venice. I "I stood at Venice "-[here I quote Lord Byron]— Upon an ancient bridge of goodly size, And viewed therefrom the structures that environ The Grand Canal, and fascinate the eyes In gondolas, reclining quite at ease; Their minds, meanwhile, striving to realise The amphibious lives of those lords of the seas, Whose relics still possess such wondrous power to please. 2 They must have been grand fellows in their way, G |