HOW CHEERY ARE THE MARINERS! Park Benjamin.

How cheery are the mariners

Those lovers of the sea!

Their hearts are like its yesty waves,

As bounding and as free.

They whistle when the storm-bird wheels
In circles round the mast;
And sing when deep in foam the ship
Ploughs onward to the blast.

What care the mariners for gales?
There's music in their roar,
When wide the berth along the lee,
And leagues of room before.
Let billows toss to mountain heights,
Or sink to chasms low,

The vessel stout will ride it out,

Nor reel beneath the blow.

With streamers down and canvass furled,
The gallant hull will float
Securely, as on inland lake,

A silken-tasselled boat;
And sound asleep some mariners,
And some with watchful eyes,
Will fearless be of dangers dark
That roll along the skies.

God keep those cheery mariners!
And temper all the gales

That sweep against the rocky coast,

To their storm-shattered sails;
And men on shore will bless the ship

That could so guided be,

Safe in the hollow of His hand,

To brave the mighty sea!

WEARINESS

Can snore upon the flint, when resty sloth

Finds the down pillow hard.

Shakspeare.

THE GOLDEN KEY-A PARABLE. G. Macdonald.

NIGHT'S drooping flags were slowly furled; The sun arose in joy;

The boy awoke, and all the world

Was waiting for the boy.

And out he ran.

Lo! everywhere

Was full of windy play;

The earth was bright and clear and fair,
All for his holiday.

The hill said 'Climb me ;' and the wood,
'Come to my bosom, child;

I'm full of gambols; they are good,
My children, and so wild!'

He went, he ran. Dark grew the skies,
And pale the shrinking sun.

'How soon,' he said, 'for clouds to rise
When day was but begun!'

The wind grew wild. A wilful power,
It swept o'er tree and town.

The boy exulted for an hour,

Then sat with head bowed down.

And as he sat the rain began,

And rained till all was still :

He looked, and saw a rainbow span
The vale from hill to hill.

He dried his tears. 'Ah! now,' he said,
'The storm brings good to me :
Yon shining hill--upon its head
I'll find the golden key.

But ere, through wood or over fence,
He could the summit scale,

The rainbow's foot was lifted thence,

And planted in the vale.

'But here it stood. Yes here,' he said,

Its very foot was set;

I saw this fir-tree through the red,
This through the violet.'

He sought and sought, while down the skies
Went, slowly went the sun.
At length he lifted hopeless eyes,
And day was nearly done.

Low radiant clouds of level red
Lay o'er a sun-filled tomb;
And all their rosy light was shed
On his forgotten home.

'So near me yet! Oh happy me,
No farther to have come!
One day I'll find the golden key,
But now away for home!'

He rose, he ran, as yet in play,
But rest was now before;

And as the last red streak grew gray
Opened his father's door.

His father stroked his drooping head,
And gone were all his harms;
His mother kissed him in his bed,
And heaven was in her arms.

He folded then his weary hands,

And so they let them be;

And ere the morn, in rainbow lands,

He found the golden key.

THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW.

Moore.

THIS world is all a fleeting show
For man's illusion given;
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
Deceitful shine, deceitful flow,—
There's nothing true but Heaven!

And false the light on glory's plume,
As fading hues of even ; .

And Love, and Hope, and Beauty's bloom,
Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb,-

There's nothing bright but Heaven!

Poor wanderers of a stormy day,

From wave to wave we're driven,
And fancy's flash and reason's ray
Serve but to light the troubled way,--
There's nothing calm but Heaven!

THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE.-Aytoun.

COME hither, Evan Cameron !

Come, stand beside my knee-
I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.

There's shouting on the mountain side,

There's war within the blast

Old faces look upon me,

Old forms go trooping past.

I hear the pibroch wailing

Amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night!

'Twas I that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,
What time the plaided clans came down
To battle with Montrose.

I've told thee how the Southrons fell
Beneath the broad claymore,

And how we smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlochy's shore.

I've told thee how we swept Dundee,
And tamed the Lindsay's pride;

But never have I told thee yet
How the Great Marquis died!

A traitor sold him to his foes;
O deed of deathless shame!
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet
With one of Assynt's name-
Be it upon the mountain's side,
Or yet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or backed by armed men-

Face him, as thou wouldst face the man
Who wronged thy sire's renown;
Remember of what blood thou art,
And strike the caitiff down!

They brought him to the Watergate,
Hard bound with hempen span,
As though they held a lion there,
And not a fenceless man.
They set him high upon a cart-
The hangman rode below-

They drew his hands behind his back,
And bared his noble brow.

Then, as a hound is slipped from leash,
They cheered the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout,
And bade him pass along.

It would have made a brave man's heart
Grow sad and sick that day,

To watch the keen malignant eyes
Bent down on that array.

There stood the Whig west-country lads

In balcony and bow,

There sat their gaunt and withered dames,

And their daughters all a-row;

And every open window

Was full as full might be

With black-robed Covenanting carles,

That goodly sport to see!

But when he came, though pale and wan,
He looked so great and high,
So noble was his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye ;-
The rabble rout forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shudder
Through all the people crept,

And some that came to scoff at him,
Now turned aside and wept.