Buyeth and selleth,

Industrious through the week.

If wealth he getteth,

The poor his bounty find;

He ne'er forgetteth,

For what wealth is designed.

If poor remaining,

His text, "God will provide,"

Still uncomplaining,

If his wants are supplied.

On God relying,

In filial peace and love,

His spirit sighing,

To reach his home above.

There blessed and blessing,

He'll stand amongst the blessed,

Who round him pressing

Shall welcome to his rest.

April, 1860.

M

VICTOR EMMANUEL AT FLORENCE,

APRIL, 1860.

On a fair day early in spring,

Banners were waving over the king,
Victor Emmanuel, Italy's king;

Shouts of triumph in the air did ring.

“Viva Emmanuel," rose the cry,

Up, up above, to the purple sky;

The king looked round with a glance of pride,
With shouts of triumph the crowd replied.

Well might they shout, Oh could they be dumb?
The day they'd longed for at last was come,
Their tyrant banished, a patriot king,
Before them stood on that morn in spring.

Amidst the banners which floated there
What meant those three which did mourning wear,
All covered with crape, like funeral pall,
Which wraps the dust in the castle hall?

The king uncovered as up he gazed
At the black banners above him raised,
He knew at a glance the meaning true,
And a long deep breath the monarch drew.

Naples, Rome, Venice, Adria's Queen,
And bride, as fair as ever was seen;
Delivered from bondage, all save three,

Bondsmen their brothers whilst they are free.

The time is coming, Oh patient be,
The flags shall wave of the other three,
Shall flutter and flout the purple sky
The glorious banners of Italy.

April 25, 1860.

A LAKE SKETCH FROM CURWEN'S ISLAND.

On the surface of the lake,

The green isle its image leaveth,
Save when winds that image break,
Or a current upward heaveth.

Or if boat should o'er it ride,
The reflected image ceases,
And the trembling broken tide,
Is like mirror rent in pieces.

As it floats, at every blow,
Of its oar the surface beating,

Far away the ripples flow,
Into Bowness' port retreating.

Or where Brathay to the lake
Its clear shining waters bringeth,
Which delicious music make,

Like a bird which sweetly singeth.

Till the wind or current cease,
Or the boat away is sailing,
When once more the calm of peace
On the surface is prevailing.

April 25, 1860.

Oh let not our love to idolatry run,

For aught thou hast given us under the sun,

But fed by the spring which Thy love hath supplied, With love unto thee run in parallel tide.

The love of a wife, or the love of a child,
Is lawful and right, if with that reconciled,
Which as children and subjects we owe unto Thee,
If otherwise it is but idolatry.

Love should have a much wider circle than home,
If that be its limit it may be its tomb,

There buried 'twill pine like the tree in the gloom,
Which robbed of the daylight produces no bloom.

The ocean no increase or spring-tide would know
But in one even level for ever would flow,
From a source far above it unless it were swayed,
And that impulse for ever its waters obeyed.

It is so with the heart, its spring tide's from above, Whence flow from their fountain the bright rays of

love,

Then swell its strong currents of feeling and rise
Like the spring-tide of ocean above to the skies.
April 30, 1860.

A RIDE TO CONISTON VIA FERRY.

Down to the ferry on the lake,

There with the horn the echoes to wake,
Hailing the boat on the opposite shore,
To the ferry across to carry us o'er.