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If a storm should come and awake the deep, What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love (ob how I love) to ride
On the fierce foaming bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the south-west blasts do blow.
I never was on the dull tame shore,
But I lov'd the great sea more and more,
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother's nest ;
And a mother she was and is to me;
For I was born on the open sea !

The waves were white, and red the morn,
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child !

I've lived since then, in calm and strife,
Full fifty summers a sailor's life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,
But never have sought, nor sighed for change;
And Death, whenever he comes to me,
Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

MEN OF ENGLAND.-Campbell. MEN of England! who inherit

Rights that cost your sires their blood ! Men whose undegenerate spirit

Has been proved on land and flood :By the foes ye've fought uncounted,

By the glorious deeds ye've done, Trophies captured-breaches mounted,

Navies conquer'd-kingdoms won !

Yet remember, England gathers

Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame, If the virtues of your fathers

Glow not in your hearts the same. What are monuments of bravery,

Where no public virtues bloom? What avail in lands of slavery

Trophied temples, arch, and tomb ? Pageants !-let the world revere us

For our people's rights and laws, And the breasts of civic heroes

Bared in Freedom's holy cause. Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory,

Sydney's matchless shade is yours, Martyrs in heroic story,

Worth a thousand Agincourts ! We're the sons of sires that baffled

Crown'd and mitred tyranny : They defied the field and scaffold

For their birthrights--so will we ! RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD.

F. T. Palgrave.
I LOVE the gracious littleness

Of Childhood's fancied reign :
The narrow chambers and the nooks

That all its world contain :
The fairy landscapes on the walls

And half-imagined faces :
The stairs from thoughtless steps fenced off,

The landing loved for races :-
By stranger feet the floors are trod

That still in thought I see :
But the golden days of Childhood

May not return to me.
I love the little room where first

On infant reason broke
The knowledge we had seen before

The place in which we woke :

Where first we link'd a happy eve

To an all-sunny morning,
Nor in that rigid chain of time

Read any note of warning.
Why are the years together forged

And bound by Fate's decree,
If the golden days of Childhood

May not return to me?
I love the broken plaything ghosts

That once were living joys :
Th’extemporized delight we snatch'd

From toys that were not toys :
The hands that nursed our infant limbs,

And bade us 'sleep in clover';
The lips we shall not kiss again

That kiss'd us oft and over :These relics of the past I prize,

Though faint and rare they be :
For the vanish'd days of Childhood

May not return to me.
I love the swing that shook between

The jaw-bones of the whale :
The hollow rocking garden-boat

Fit haunt for feast and tale :
The mat-roof'd cabin where we crouch'd

And scorn'd the storm together :
Th’initials flourish'd on the beech

To tell our loves for ever :
That half we wish'd and half we fear'd

Another's eyes might see :-
-Ah, that the days of Childhood

May ne'er return to me!
I love the lawn-the scene of high

Hellenic bulrush fights :
Where Homer's heroes, known through Pope,

Gave names to childly knights ;
Where after-life was shadow'd out

In feats of happy daring,
Till each went off the field with joy

The victor-trophies sharing :

To count the shatter'd darts that lay,

The dints that scarr'd the tree—Ah, that the days of Childhood

May ne'er return to me!
I love the palaces we built,

The fancied brick or stone :
The forts for happy snowball siege,

And conquest lightly won :-
The mimic puppet shows we framed

To act some Shakespeare story, Where Rome and Forres were set forth,

And Cæsar fell in glory :
Where all was false and all was true

The moment might decree.-
-Ah, that the days of Childhood

May ne'er return to me !
I love the foolish words—that love

Recorded as they fell :
The very faults that then we wept,

The follies prized too well :-
Alas for loss that Time has wrought :

For joys, from grief that borrow;
For sorrows that we cannot weep,

And sins that bring no sorrow! Where is that unremorseful woe,

That unreflecting glee?
Alas ! the days of Childhood

May ne'er return to me.
I love that timid soul that blush'd

Before an elder's look :
Yet from its equals in the game

No tyranny could brook :-
That spoke undaunted truth, no veils

Of Custom interposing :
Nor fear'd its weakness and its strength

To open hearts disclosing. I love the very strife that left

Our souls for love more free : For the truth. ul days of Childhood

May ne'er return to me.

-Alas for hands that then we clasp'd ;

For merry tripping feet ;
For daily thoughtless welcomings,

And partings but to meet !
The shout, the song, the leap, the race :

.The light of happy faces :
The voice, the eyes of vanish'd love ;

The youthful fond embraces.
-I hoard the thought of things that were,

And ne'er again shall be :
For the loving days of Childhood

May not return to me.
-But O blithe little ones--that dance,

And bid me join your play:
How can I share your blessedness?

How can I turn away?-
Yours are the gleam of azure eyes,

The light of happy faces :-
The hurried breath of eager joy,

The proffer'd pure embraces :
What can I then but take the gift,

The love you lavish free ?-
-In you the days of Childhood

May yet return to me.

LATE, LATE.--Tennyson. LATE, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. No light had we : for that we do repent ; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light : so late! and dark and chill the night! O let us in, that we may find the light ! Too late, too late : ye cannot enter now. Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? O let us in, tho' late, to kiss his feet! No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now.

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