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262

MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

THE SAME CONTINUED.

floor;

Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nursery And where the gardener, Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt, "Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fair, 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'st 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 humour 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 honours 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 vesture's 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,)

MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.

263

Could those few pleasant days 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,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

THE SAME CONTINUED.

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 “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 distrest— Me, howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tost, 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 rise-
The son of parents passed into the skies.

264

THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP.

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,
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.

Couper.

THE DISSOLUTION OF FRIENDSHIP.

Alas! they had been friends in youth:
But whispering tongues can poison truth;
And constancy lives in realms above:

And life is thorny, and youth is vain :
And to be wroth with one we love,

Doth work like madness in the brain.
And thus it chanced, as I divine,
With Roland and Sir Leoline.
Each spake words of high disdain

And insult to his heart's best brother :
They parted—ne'er to meet again!

But never either found another
To free the hollow heart from paining;
They stood aloof, the scars remaining,
Like cliffs which had been rent asunder:

A dreary sea now flows between.
But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder,

Shall wholly do away, I ween,
The marks of that which once hath been.

Coleridge.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELD.

SWEET nurslings of the vernal skies,

Bathed in soft airs, and fed with dew,
What more than magic in you lies,

To fill the heart's fond view !
In childhood's sports, companions gay,
In sorrow, on life's downward way,
How soothing! in our last decay

Memorials prompt and true.
Relics ye are of Eden's bowers,

As pure, as fragrant, and as fair,
As when ye crowned the sunshine hours

Of happy wanderers there.
Fallen all beside—the world of life,
How is it stained with fear and strife!
In reason's world what storms are rife,

What passions range and glare !
Ye fearless in your nests abide-

Nor may we scorn, too proudly wise, Your silent lessons, undescried

By all but lowly eyes : For ye

could draw the admiring gaze Of Him who worlds and hearts surveys; Your order wild, your fragrant maze,

He taught us how to prize.

Alas! of thousand bosoms kind
That daily court you

and

caress, How few the happy secret find Of your

calm loveliness! “Live for to-day; to-morrow's light To-morrow's cares shall bring to sight, Go sleep like closing flowers at night, And Heaven thy morn will bless.”

Keble. 258

THE SANDS OF DEE.

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;
So didst thou travel in life's common way,
In cheerful godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on herself did lay.

Wordsworth.

THE SANDS OF DEE.

“Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,
: And call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee;":
The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam,

And all alone went she.
The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,
As far as eye could see;
The blinding mist came down and hid the land-

And never home came she.
"Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-

A tress o' golden hair,

O’drowned maiden's hair,
Above the nets at sea ?
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair,

Among the stakes on Dee."
They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,
To her grave beside the sea :
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home,
Across the sands o' Dee.

Kingsley.

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