On the same young, flowery tree All the seasons you may see; Notions in the bloom of light, Just disclosing to the sight; Here are thoughts of larger growth, Ripening into solid truth; Fruits refined, of noble taste; Seraphs feed on such repast. Here, in a green and shady grove, Streams of pleasure mix with love; There, beneath the smiling skies, Hills of contemplation rise; Now upon some shining top Angels light, and call me up; I rejoice to raise my feet, Both rejoice when there we meet. There are endless beauties more Earth hath no resemblance for; Nothing like them round the pole, Nothing can describe the soul; 'Tis a region half unknown, That has treasures of its own, More remote from public view Than the bowels of Peru; Broader 't is, and brighter far, Than the golden Indies are ; Ships that trace the watery stage Cannot coast it in an age! Harts, or horses, strong and fleet, Had they wings to help their feet, Could not run it half way o'er In ten thousand days or more. Yet the silly, wandering mind, Loth to be too much confined, Roves and takes her daily tours, Coasting round the narrow shores. Narrow shores of flesh and sense, THE MOSS ROSE. THE Angel of the flowers one day Still fairest found where all is fair, For the sweet shade thou hast given me, Ask what thou wilt, 't is granted thee." Then said the Rose, with deepened glow,"On me another grace bestow; وو The Angel paused in silent thought, A MONARCH'S DEATH-BED. Mrs. Hemans. A MONARCH on his death-bed lay, - And soft lamps, from their silvery ray, Had he then fallen as warriors fall, A buckler for his bier? Not so, nor cloven shields nor helms Had strewn the bloody sod, Where he, the helpless lord of realms, Yielded his soul to God. Were there not friends, with words of cheer, And priests, the crucifix to rear Before the fading eye?. A peasant-girl that royal head Upon her bosom laid; And, shrinking not for woman's dread, -- Alone she sat, from hill and wood Fast gushed the fount of noble blood, *Albert of Hapsburg, Emperor of Germany, who was assassinated by his nephew, was left to die by the way-side, and was supported in his last moments by a peasant-girl, who happened to be passing. With her long hair she vainly pressed The wounds, to stanch their tide,Unknown, on that meek, humble breast, Imperial Albert died. ON TIME. SAY, is there aught that can convey 'Tis a conqueror's straining steed; 'Tis a whirlwind rushing there; VIRTUE.-George Herbert. SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; Sweet rose whose hue, angry and brave, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, Thy music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. TO A SKYLARK. Wordsworth. ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! To the last point of vision and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! - that love-prompted strain |