中

THE WINTER WATERFALL.

ADDRESSED TO A CHILD.

WAS earlier than the earliest day That gives a spring-tide warning, That I and Francis took our way Together in the morning.

We climb'd the hill; and all around

Was nothing to be seen

But ice and snow upon the ground,

And not a bit of green.

We listen'd for a note of thrush,

Who sometimes will be singing Alone upon a naked bush,

Where not a bud is springing.

We listen'd for the robin's note,
That cheerful note and clear;
He too was still, that happy throat
Which warbles all the year.

But down the valley there was rushing
The flood of troubled Wye,

Far off enough to make a gushing

Like soothing lullaby.

Now sounds of dashing stream were heard:

We look'd, and o'er the wall

Espied (well might the air be stirr'd !)

A lovely waterfall.

For heaps of ice and snow-drift

Had felt the change of weather,

And, melting rapidly, had made

A torrent both together.

"Hurrah!" we cried; "the jovial Spring,

With all his train of joys,

Will soon be here, and blessing bring

To little girls and boys!"

CASABIANCA.*

HE boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;

The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,

As born to rule the storm;

A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on-he would not go,
Without his father's word;

That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud-"Say, father, say,

If yet my task is done?"

He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,

"If I may yet be gone! And"--but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair;

And looked from that lone post of death,

In still, but brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.

*

They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder-sound—
The boy-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around

With fragments strewed the sea—

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part—
But the noblest thing which perish'd there
Was that young faithful heart!

Young Casabianca, a boy about thirteen years old, son to the Admiral of the Orient, remained at his post, in the battle of the Nile, after the ship had taken fire, and all the guns had been abandoned; and perished in the explosion of the vessel, when the flames had reached the powder.

The Snowdrop

W

HILE winter's prison is unburst,

And fetter'd in their garden-bed,
Spring's children hide, the Snowdrop first
Lifts from below her bright white head,
As thrusting forth those spears of green,
She hangs her gentle bells between.

Each shower is ice, sleet-driving winds
Course round her nest-leaves damp and

sear,

Making wild work : yet nothing minds

This kind and hardy messenger; For first she comes, and still tells she Of good things very soon to be.

"Glad news, glad news!" she cries;

"make room

For violet sweet and crocus gay;
Come, aconite and primrose; come,
Mezereon and hepatica;
Come, brave and cheer the snow and ice,

Spread the new-year's first paradise.”

They come, they come; lo, every day
Her sister-florets round her rise,
Echoing her call, ere yet away,

This happy errand done, she hies,
To leave the world she found all
gloom,

In vernal beauty and perfume.

CORSTON: A RETROSPECT

A

S on I journey through the vale of years,
By hopes enliven'd, or depress'd by fears,
Allow me, Memory, in thy treasured store
To view the days that will return no more.
And, yes! before thine intellectual ray
The clouds of mental darkness melt away,
As when at earliest day's awakening dawn
The hovering mists obscure the dewy lawn,
O'er all the landscape spread their influence chill,
Hang o'er the vale and wood, and hide the hill;
Anon, slow rising comes the orb of day,
Slow fade the shadowy mists, and roll away,
The prospect opens on the traveller's sight,
And hills, and vales, and woods reflect the living
light.

O thou, the mistress of my future days,
Accept thy minstrel's retrospective lays;
To whom the minstrel and the lyre belong,
Accept, my Edith, Memory's pensive song.
Of long past days I sing, ere yet I knew
Or thought, or grief, or happiness and you;
Ere yet my infant heart had learnt to prove
The cares of life, the hopes and fears of love.

Corston, twelve years, in various fortunes fled,
Have pass'd with restless progress o'er my head,
Since in thy vale, beneath the master's rule,
I dwelt an inmate of the village-school.
Yet still will Memory's busy eye retrace
Each little vestige of the well-known place;
Each wonted haunt and scene of youthful joy,
Where merriment has cheer'd the careless boy :
Well pleas'd will Fancy still the spot survey
Where once he triumph'd in the childish play;
Without one care where every morn he rose,
Where every evening sank to calm repose.

Large was the house, though fallen by varying

fate

From its old grandeur and manorial state.