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MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,

That thou might know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties, ere I left my home,
The biscuit; or confectionery plum;

The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed

By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed;
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love that knew no fall.
Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks,
That humor interposed too often makes;
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honors to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,

Not scorned in Heaven, though little noticed here.
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours,
When playing with thy vestured tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,

I pricked them into paper with a pin

-And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,—
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?

I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.

But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved and thou so much,

MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

That I would ill requite thee to constrain

Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast -The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed,Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, 66 Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar," And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchored by thy side. But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distressedMe howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed, Sails ripped, seams opening wide, and compass lost; And day by day some current's thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. But, oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he! That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents passed into the skies. And now farewell-Time unrevoked has run His wonted course, yet what I wished is done. By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again; To have renewed the joys that once were mine,

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MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

Without the sin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

WILLIAM COWPER.

POLONIUS' ADVICE

[From Hamlet.]

YET here, Laertes? aboard, aboard, for shame!

The wind sits in the shoulder of your sail,

And you are stayed for. There, my blessing with you And these few precepts in thy memory

Look thou character. Give thy thoughts no tongue, Nor any unproportioned thought his act.

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar.

The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel: but, being in,

Bear't, that the opposed may beware of thee.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy:

For the apparel oft proclaims the man;

And they in France, of the best rank and station,
Are most select and generous, chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be:

For loan oft loses both itself and friend;
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.

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POLONIUS' ADVICE

This above all,-to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!

SHAKESPEARE.