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Has fortune frowned ? Her frowns were vain !

For hearts like ours she could not chill.
Have friends proved false ? Their love might wane!

But ours grew fonder, firmer still.
Twin barques on this world's changing wave,

Steadfast in calms—in tempests tried-
In concert still our fate we'll brave,

Together cleave life's fitful tide,
Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams—ten years ago !
Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watched our first-born blossom die ?
Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled,

Then wept till feelings' fount was dry. Was it not sweet, in that dark hour,

To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs,
Our bud had left its earthly bower

And burst to bloom in Paradise ?
What to the thought that soothed that woe
Were heartless joys—ten years ago ?
Yes, it is sweet, when heaven is bright,

To share its sunny beams with thee!
But sweeter far, ’mid clouds and blight,

To have thee near to weep with me.
Then dry those tears : though something changed

From what we were in earlier youth,
Time that hath friends and hopes estranged,

Hath left us love in all its truth-
Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys—ten years ago!

Alaric A. Watts.


THE music ceased, the last quadrille was o'er,

And one by one the waning beauties fled;
The garlands vanished from the frescoed floor,

The nodding fiddler hung his weary head.



And I-a melancholy single man

Retired to morn my solitary fate.
I slept awhile ; but o'er my slumbers ran

The sylph-like image of my blooming Kate.
I dreamt of mutual love, and Hymen's joys,

Of happy moments and connubial blisses ; And then I thought of little girls and boys,

The mother's glances, and the infant's kisses.
I saw them all in sweet perspective, sitting

In winter's eve around a blazing fire ;
The children playing and the mother knitting,

Or fondly gazing on the happy sire.
The scene was changed. In came the baker's bill:

I stared to see the hideous consummation Of pies and puddings that it took to fill

The stomachs of the rising generation. There was no end to eating : legs of mutton

Were vanquished daily by this little host; To see them, you'd have thought each tiny glutton

Had laid a wager who could eat the most. The massy pudding smoked upon the platter,

The ponderous sirloin raised its head in vain; The little urchins kicked up such a clatter,

That scarce a remnant e'er appeared again.
Then came the school bill : board and education

So much per annum ; but the extras mounted
To nearly twice the primal stipulation,

every little bagatelle was counted ! To mending tuck; a new Homeri Ilias ;

A pane of glass ; repairing coat and breeches ; A slate and pencil ; binding old Virgilius ;

Drawing a tooth, an open draught, and leeches. And now I languished for the single state,

The social glass, the horse and chaise on Sunday ; The jaunt to Windsor with my sweetheart Kate,

And cursed again the weekly bills of Monday.



Here Kate began to scold; I stampt and swore,

The kittens squeak, the children loudly scream;
And thus awaking with the wild uproar,
I thanked my stars that it was but a dream.



Supposed to be addressed by the Rev. Dr. Carey, the learned and Illustrious Baptist missionary at Serampore, to the first plant of this kind, which sprang up unexpectedly in his garden out of some English Earth in which other seeds had been conveyed to him from this country.

THRICE welcome ! little English flower !

My mother country's white and red,
In rose or lily, till this hour,

Never to me such beauty spread !
Transplanted from thine island-bed,

A treasure in a grain of earth,
Strange as a spirit from the dead,

Thine embryo sprang to birth.
Thrice welcome, little English flower!

Whose tribes beneath our natal skies
Shut close their leaves while vapours lower;

But when the sun's gay beams arise,
With unabashed but modest eyes

Follow his motion to the west,
Nor cease to gaze till daylight dies,

Then fold themselves to rest.

Thrice welcome, little English flower!

To this resplendent hem sphere,
Where Flora's giant offspring tower
In gorgeous

liveries all the year:
Thou, only thou, art little here,

Like worth unfriended or unknown,
Yet to my British heart more dear

Than all the torrid zone.



Thrice veicome, little English flower!

Of early scenes beloved by me, While happy in my father's bower,

Thou shalt the blithe memorial be. The fairy sports of infancy,

Youth's golden age, and manhood's prime,
Home, country, kindred, friends-with thee,

Are mine in this far clime.
Thrice welcome, little English flower!

I'll rear thee with a trembling hand:
O for the April sun and shower,

The sweet May dews of that fair land Where daisies, thick as starlight, stand

In every walk, that here may shoot
Tby scions, and thy buds expand,

A hundred from one root.
Thrice welcome, little English flower !

To me the pledge of hope unseen!
When sorrow would my soul o'erpower

For joys that were, or might have been, I'll call to mind, how, fresh and green,

I saw thee waking from the dust;
Then turn to heaven with brow serene,
And place in God


James Montgomery.


BEHAVE yoursel before folk,

Behave yoursel before folk,
And dinna be sae rude to me,

As kiss me sae before folk.
It wouldna' give me meikle pain,
Gin we were seen and heard by nane,
To tak a kiss, or grant you ane ;

But gudesake! no before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk-
Whate'er you do when out.o' view,

Be cautious aye before folk !



Consider, lad, how folks will crack,
And what a great affair they'll mak'.
O'naething but a simple smack,

That's gi'en or ta'en before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel' before folk-
Nor gi’e the tongue o' old and young

Occasion to come o'er folk.
I'm sure wi' you I've been as free
As ony modest lass should be:
But yet it doesna' do to see

Sic freedom used before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel before folk.
T'll ne'er submit again to it-
So mind you that before folk.
Ye tell me that my face is fair;
It may be sae—I dinna care-
But ne'er again gar't blush so sair

hae done before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel before folk;
Nor heat my cheeks wi’ your mad freaks,

But be douce before folk.
Ye tell me that my lips are sweet;
Sic tales, I doubt, are a' deceit;
At ony rate, it's hardly meet

To prie their sweets before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel before folk :

that the case, there's time and place,

But surely no' before folk.
But gin ye really do insist
That I should suffer to be kissed,
Gae get a licence frae the priest,

An mak’ me yours before folk.
Behave yoursel' before folk,

Behave yoursel before folk;
And when we're ane, baith flesh and bane,
may tak' ten--before folk.

A. Rodgers.


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