VICTORIA'S TEARS.

The world hath its delights,
And its delusions too;

But home to calmer bliss invites,
More tranquil and more true.

The mountain flood is strong,
But fearful in its pride;

While gently rolls the stream along

The peaceful valley's side.

Life's charities, like light,

Spread smilingly afar;

But stars, approached, become more bright,
And home is life's own star.

The pilgrim's step in vain

Seeks Eden's sacred ground; But in home's holy joys again An Eden may be found.

A glance of heaven to see
To none on earth is given ;
And yet a happy family

Is but an earlier heaven.

-7. Bowring.

VICTORIA'S TEARS.

O MAIDEN! heir of kings!
A king has left his place,

The majesty of death has swept

All other from his face;

And thou, upon thy mother's breast,

No longer lean adown,

But take the glory for the rest,

And rule the land that loves thee best.
The maiden wept :

She wept to wear a crown.

17

They decked her courtly halls,
They reined her hundred steeds,
They shouted at her palace gates,
"A noble Queen succeeds!"

Her name has stirred the mountain's sleep,
Her praise has filled the town,

And mourners God had stricken deep
Looked hearkening up, and did not weep!
Alone she wept

Who wept to wear a crown.

She saw no purple shine,

For tears had dimmed her eyes;
She only knew her childhood's flowers
Were happier pageantries.

And while the heralds played their part
For million shouts to drown,

"God save the Queen!" from hill to mart,
She heard through all her beating heart,
And turned and wept :

She wept to wear a crown.

God save the weeping Queen!
Thou shalt be well beloved;
The tyrant's sceptre cannot move
As those pure tears have moved.
The nature in thine eye we see,
Which tyrants cannot own-
The love that guardeth liberties:
Strange blessing on the nation lies
Whose sovereign wept,

Yea, wept to wear its crown.

God bless thee, weeping queen,

With blessing more divine,

And fill with better love than earth's

That tender heart of thine;

That when the thrones of earth shall be
As low as graves brought down,
A piercéd hand may give to thee
The crown which angels wept to see.
Thou wilt not weep

To wear that heavenly crown.

-Mrs. Browning.

HUNTING SONG.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay!
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk and horse and hunting-spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,

Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,

Merrily, merrily, mingle they, "Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gav!
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming,
And foresters have busy been
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away,
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size.

BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.

We can show the marks he made
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay;
Tell them youth and mirth and glee
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman, who can balk?
Staunch as hound and fleet as hawk.
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

Sir W. Scott.

BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.

OH! deem not they are blest alone
Whose lives a peaceful tenour keep;
The Power who pities man has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again

The lids that overflow with tears; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years.

There is a day of sunny rest

For every dark and troubled night;
And grief may bide an evening guest,
But joy shall come with early light.

And thou who, o'er thy friend's low bier,
Sheddeth the bitter drops like rain,
Hope that a brighter, happier sphere
Will give him to thy arms again.

Nor let the good man's trust depart,
Though life its common gifts deny,
Though with a pierced and broken heart,
And spurned of men, he goes to die.