"I have no sweetheart," said the lad;
"But absent years from one another,
Great was the longing that I had
To see my

mother."

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,
"You've both my favour justly won,
A noble mother must have bred

He

So brave a son."

gave the tar a piece of gold,
And, with a flag of truce, commanded
He should be shipped to England Old,
And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift
To find a dinner, plain and hearty,
But never changed the coin and gift
Of Buonaparte.

Campbell.

SONG OF THE STRAWBERRY GIRL.

Ir is summer! it is summer! how beautiful it looks;

There is sunshine on the old grey hills, and sunshine on the brooks;

A singing-bird on every bough, soft perfumes on the

air,

A happy smile on each young lip, and gladness everywhere!

Oh! is it not a pleasant thing to wander through the woods,

To look upon the painted flowers, and watch the opening buds;

Or seated in the deep cool shade, at some tall ashtree's root,

To fill my little basket with the sweet and scented fruit?

They tell me that my father's poor-that is no grief

to me

When such a blue and brilliant sky my upturned eye

can see;

They tell me, too, that richer girls can sport with toy and gem;

It

may be so-and yet, methinks, I do not envy

them.

When forth I go upon my way, a thousand toys are

mine,

The clusters of dark violets, the wreaths of the wild

vine;

My jewels are the primrose pale, the bind-weed, and the rose;

And show me any courtly gem more beautiful than those.

And then the fruit! the glowing fruit, how sweet the scent it breathes!

I love to see its crimson cheek rest on the bright green leaves !

Summer's own gift of luxury, in which the poor may share,

The wild-wood fruit my eager eye is seeking everywhere.

Oh! summer is a pleasant time, with all its sounds and sights;

Its dewy mornings, balmy eves, and tranquil calm delights;

I sigh when first I see the leaves fall yellow on the plain,

And all the winter long I sing "Sweet summer come again!"

THE GLOW-WORM.

FROM THE LATIN OF VINCENT BOURNE.

BENEATH the hedge, or near the stream,
A worm is known to stray,
That shows by night a lucid beam,
Which disappears by day.

Disputes have been, and still prevail,
From whence its rays proceed;
Some give that honour to his tail,
And others to his head.

But this is sure,—the hand of Night,
That kindles up the skies,
Gives him a modicum of light,
Proportioned to his size.

Perhaps indulgent nature meant,
By such a lamp bestowed,
To bid the traveller, as he went,
Be careful where he trod;

Nor crush a worm whose useful light
Might serve, however small,
To show a stumbling-stone by night,
And save him from a fall.

Whate'er she meant, this truth divine
Is legible and plain,

'Tis power Almighty bids him shine,
Nor bids him shine in vain.

Cowper.

THE SANDS OF DEE.

“O, MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee;

The western wind was wild and dark with foam,
And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,
And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see,

The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.

"O! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-
A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,
Among the stakes on Dee."

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea:

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,

Across the sands of Dee.

Kingsley.

THE MOTHER AND BABE IN THE SNOW.1

THE cold winds swept the mountain height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
And 'mid the cheerless hours of night

A mother wandered with her child;
As through the drifting snow she pressed,
The babe was sleeping on her breast.
And colder still the winds did blow,
And darker hours of night came on,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow-

Her limbs were chilled, her strength was gone, "Oh God! she cried, in accents wild,

"If I must perish-save my child!"

She stripped her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And round the child she wrapped the vest,
And smiled to think her babe was warm ;
One kiss she gave, one tear she shed,
Then sank upon the snowy bed.

At dawn, a traveller, passing by,

Saw her beneath the fleecy veil ; The frost of death was in her eye,

Her cheek was cold, and hard, and pale;
He moved the robe from off the child-
The babe looked up and sweetly smiled.

Thus answered was the mother's prayer,
Thus saved, the object of her care.

The circumstances alluded to in these lines (which are taken from an American newspaper) occurred a few years ago in Vermont, United States.