And call this hurrying fever, gener-And ous fire; the pale weaver, through his windows seen And sigh that one thing only has In Spitalfields, look'd thrice dis been lent To youth and age in common - dis content. IMMORTALITY, FOILED by our fellow-men, depress'd, outworn, We leave the brutal world to take its way, And, Patience! in another life, we say, The world shall be thrust down, and we up-borne. And will not, then, the immortal armies scorn The world's poor, routed leavings? or will they, Who fail'd under the heat of this life's day, pirited. Support the fervors of the heavenly Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st morn? indeed thy home. AUSTERITY OF POETRY, THAT son of Italy who tried to blow, Ere Dante came, the trump of sacred song, In his light youth amid a festal throug Sate with his bride to see a public show. Fair was the bride, and on her front did glow Youth like a star; and what to youth belong Gay raiment, sparkling gauds, elation strong. A prop gave way! crash fell a platform! lo, Mid struggling sufferers, hurt to death, she lay! Shuddering, they drew her garments off and found A robe of sackcloth next the smooth, white skin. Such, poets, is your bride, the Muse! young, gay, Radiant, adorn'd outside; a hidden ground Of thought and of austerity within. "And with joy the stars perform In their own tasks all their powers their shining, pouring, And the sea its long moon-silver'd These attain the mighty life you see." O air-born voice! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in mine own heart "Resolve to be thyself; and know, that he Who finds himself, loses his misery!” PHILIP JAMES BAILEY. THE TRUE MEASURE OF LIFE. WE live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breath; We should count time by heart-throbs when they beat And maid, whose cheek outblooms The ends of ravell'd skein to catch, Thus circled round with merry faces. Backward coil'd, and crouching low, With glaring eyeballs watch thy foe, But lets thee have thy wayward will, Perplexing oft her sober skill. . . MY LOVE IS ON HER WAY. Он, welcome bat and owlet gray, Thus winging low your airy way! And welcome moth and drowsy fly That to mine ear comes humming by! The housewife's spindle whirling | And welcome shadows dim and deep, round, Or thread, or straw, that on the ground Its shadow throws, by urchin sly Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still, air, Erected stiff, and gait awry, Like madam in her tantrums high: Though ne'er a madam of them all, Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall More varied trick and whim displays, To catch the admiring stranger's gaze.... But not alone by cottage fire The widest range of human lore, And stars that through the pale sky Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday, Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch | And may be so to-morrow.) JAMES BALLANTINE. ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW. CONFIDE ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, And bear ye a' life's changes, wi' a calm and tranquil mind, Though pressed and hemmed on every side, ha’e faith and ye'll win through, For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o'dew. Gin reft frae friends or crost in love, as whiles nae doubt ye've been, For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. In lang, lang days o' simmer, when the clear and cloudless sky The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew, Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel owre proud and hie, ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD. LIFE. LIFE! I know not what thou art, Life! we've been long together Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear Perhaps 't will cost a sigh, a tear; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; THE DEATH OF THE VIRTUOUS. SWEET is the scene when virtue dies! When sinks a righteous soul to rest, How mildly beam the closing eyes. How gently heaves th' expiring breast. So fades a summer cloud away So sinks the gale when storms are So gently shuts the eye of day, Triumphant smiles the victor brow, Fanned by some angel's purple wing; Say not Good Night, but in some Where is, O Grave! thy victory now! And where, insidious Death, thy brighter clime Bid me Good Morning. sting! |