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WISDOM AND FOLLY.
CONTENT. Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content, The quiet mind is richer than a crown : Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent,The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown. Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy when princes oft do miss. The homely house that harbours quiet rest, The cottage that affords no pride nor care, The mean, that grees with country music best, The sweet consort of Mirth's and Music's fare. Obscured life sits down a type of bliss; A mind content both crown and kingdom is.
Duty by habit is to pleasure turn'd:
Sir E. BRIDGES.
WAR. Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued ; In his right hand a naked sword he had, That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued ; And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued), Famine and fire be held, and there withal, He razed towns, and threw down towers and all. Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilolm flower'd In honour, glory, and rule above the rest), He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, Consumed, destroy'd, wasted and never ceased Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd ; His face forehew'd with wounds, and by his side There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide.
SPRING. Alas! delicious Spring, God sends thee down To breathe upon his cold and perish'd works, Beauteous revival : earth should welcome thee-Thee and the west wind, thy smooth paramour, With the soft laughter of her flowery meads, Her joys, her melodies : the prancing stag Flutters the shivering fern: the steed shakes out His mane, the dewy herbage, silver-webb’d, With frank step trampling : the wild goat looks down From his empurpling bed of heath, where break The waters deep and blue, with crystal gleams Of their quick-leaping people: the fresh lark Is in the morning sky: the nightingale. Tunes evensong to the dropping waterfall. Creation lives with loveliness-all melts And trembles into one wild harmony.
The mountain ash
ADAM'S FIRST FEELINGS.
A passage in Milton's Paradise Lost.
As new-wak'd from soundest sleep Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid In balmy sweat, which with his beams the sun Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed : Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turn'd, And gazed awhile on the ample sky, till raised By quick instinctive motion up I sprung, As thitherward endeavouring, and upright Stood on my feet; about me round I saw Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, And liquid lapse of murm’ring streams; by these Creatures that lived and moved, or walk'd, or flew, Birds on the branches warbling: all things smiled, With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflow'd, Myself I then perus'd, and limb by limb Survey'd, and sometimes went and sometimes ran With supple joints, as lively vigour led; But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not: to speak I tried, and forthwith spake; My tongue obey'd, and readily could name Whate'er I saw. Thou Sun, said I, fair light, And thou enlighten'd Earth, so fresh and gay, Ye hills, and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains, And ye that live and move, fair creatures tell, Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here ? Not of myself; by some great Maker then, In goodness and in power pre-eminent: Tell me, how may I know Him, how adore From whom I have, that thus I move and live, And feel that I am happier than I know? While thus I call’d, and stray'd, I knew not whither, From where I first drew air, and first beheld This happy ligbt, when answer none return'd, On a green shady bank profuse of flowers, Pensive I sat me down : there gentle sleep
First found me, and with soft oppression seized VOL. V.
My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought
THE BREEZE IN THE CHURCH. This beautiful little poein is from a volume recently published by Mrs. HINXMAN, entitled Poems.
'Twas a sunny day, and the morning psalm
We sang in the church together;
Of the calm and joyous weather.
Through every bosom stealing,
And waked each holy feeling.
Was the blue sky smiling o'er us,
The wild birds happy chorus.
With a sudden start awaking,
Its fragrant pinions shaking.
And down the chancel's centre,
And in holy places enter.
With a lightsome rustle flying,
On the altar-cushion lying.
It fann'd the old clerk's hoary hair,
And the children's bright young faces ; Then vanish'd, none knew how or where,
Leaving its pleasant traces.
It left sweet thoughts of summer hours
Spent on the quiet mountains ; And the church seem'd full of the scent of flowers,
And the trickling fall of fountains.
The image of scenes so still and fair
With our music sweetly blended, While it seemed their whisper'd hymn took share
In the praise that to heaven ascended.
We thought of Him who had pour'd the rills,
And thro' the green mountains led them, Whose hand, when He piled the enduring hills,
With a mantle of beauty spread them.
And a purer passion was borne above,
In a louder anthem swelling,
On those calm summits dwelling.
SONG OF THE WOOD NYMPHS.
By BARRY CORNWALL.
In forest deep!
Why thou dost weep!
By whispering stream! Here no one dares to die
For Love's sweet dream;