Obrazy na stronie

But health all seek, and joy,
And shun perverse annoy,
And race along green paths till close of day,
And laugh-alway!

Or else through half the year,

On rushy floor,
We lie by waters clear,

While sky-larks pour
Their songs into the sun!
And, when bright day is done,
We hide 'neath bells of flowers or nodding corn,
And dream-till morn!

HATEFUL SPRING. One of BERANGER's graceful and feeling lyrics, translated by Mr. O'BRIEN.

From my window I beheld her,

All the dreary winter through ;
Strangers both, we loved each otber,

Through mid air our kisses flew.
'Twixt the lime-trees' leafless branches

We would love-sick glances fling-
Now the leaves fall thick between us,

Why return, thou hateful Spring ?

No more I see her angel form,

Hidden by those en vious leaves,
Come forth to feed the shivering linnets,

When frost lay white upon the eaves.
My heart would watch as some dear signal,

The fluttering of each tiny wing;
That snow than thee was far more lovely-

Then why return, thou hateful Spring ?

Wert thou away, I still might see her,

Rising from her gentle sleep-
Fresh and rosy as the morning,

Smiling on some cloudy steep

Still might say, when eve was closing,

“My star's light now is vanishingHer lamp expires, she calmly slumbers !"

Ob! why return, thou hateful Spring P

Winter, winter, I implore thee,

With a longing heart to come;
Twine thy frost-wreaths round my window,

Fling thy hail-showers round my home.
But vernal breeze and tinted flowers

To my dull heart no joy can bring,
The weary days flit by in sadness

Then, why return, thou hateful Spring ?

STANZAS. Taken from an American Magazine. They well deserve preservation bere.

We have forgot what we have been,

And what we are we little know ;
We fancy new events begin,

But all has happen'd long ago.

Through many a verse life's poem flows,

But still, though seldom mark'd by men,
At times returns the constant close;

Still the old chorus comes again.

The childish grief-the boyish fear

The hope in manhood's breast that burns ;
The doubt-the transport and the tear-

Each mood, each impulse oft returns.

Before mine infant eyes had hail'd

The new-born glory of the day,
When the first wondrous morn unveil'd

The breathing world that round me lay:

The same strange darkness o'er my brain

Folded its close, mysterious wings,
The ignorance of joy or pain,

That each recurring midnight brings.

Full oft my feelings make me start,

Like foot-prints on a desert shore, As if the chambers of my heart

Had heard their shadowy step before.

So, looking into thy fond eyes,

Strange memories come to me, as though Somewhere-perchance in Paradise

I had adored thee long ago.


Taken from Household Words.

THERE is a truth that travel brings,

A truth of homely birth ;
We dwell' among familiar things,

And little know their worth.
The emigrant in distant lands,

The sailor on the sea,
For all that round us silent stands,

Have deeper hearts than we.

We dwell among familiar things

And daily, with dull sight,
We touch a thousand secret springs

Of sorrow and delight :
Delight and reverential bliss

To those who exiled far,
Stretch dreaming arms to clasp and kiss

Each little household star.

We dwell among familiar things

We know them by their use
And, by their many minist'rings,

Their value we deduce:
Forgetful each has had an eye,

And each can speak, though dumb;
And, of the ghostly days gone by

Strange witness might become.

We dwell among familiar things

But should it be our lot
To sever all the binding strings

That form the household knot;
To wander upon alien mould,

And cross the restless foam ;-
How clearly should we then behold

The Deities of Home!


We were two pretty babes, the youngest she,
The youngest and the loveliest far, I ween,
And Innocence her name. The time has been,
We two did love each other's company :
Time was we two had wept to have been apart,
But when by show of seeming good beguiled,
I left the garb and manners of a child,
And my first love for man's society,
Defiling with the world my virgin heart-
My lov'd companion dropp'd a tear and fled,
And hid in deepest shades her woful head.
Beloved! who shall tell me where thou art-
In what delicious Eden to be found--
That I may seek thee the wide world round.

A translation of a fine old Italian hymn, written in rhyme. It is
singularly spirited. We found it in an old number of an American
Literary Journal, now extinct.

KEEP, ob, keep me, Judge Eternal,
From those caverns, dark, infernal,
Where is weeping, where is wailing;
Where is shuddering, shivering, quailing;
Where, no longer judgment sleeping,
Sinners their reward are reaping;

Where tormenting conscience smiteth;
Where the worm for ever biteth:
Death from death are all desiring,
Death of hell knows no expiring.

Oh, that I may Sion enter,
Where all peaceful pleasures centre;
David's city on God's mountain,
Sprung from light's Eternal Fountain;
Jesus' Cross its gate; by Heaven
Truth, its key, to Peter given;
All its walls a living building;
King a happy people shielding.

There no night the day doth sever;
Spring perennial, peace for ever;
There each breeze sweet odours bringing,
Festal songs for ever singing.

There is no corruption reigning,
There no frailty, no complaining;
None are dwarfish, none deformed,
All to Christ are there conforméd.

Heavenly city, ne'er forsaken,
On a Rock by storms unshaken ;
Harbour safe in every danger:
From afar, a storm-tossed stranger,
How I greet thee, how desire thee,
How I pant for, how require thee!

What thy children's blest employment,
What their sources of enjoyment,-
What the bond their fond hearts tying,
What thy gems so beautifying;
Hyacinth's, chalcedon's glory,
Who but thine can tell the story.

In thy streets, where saints are meeting,
All in groups each other greeting,
There with Moses and Elijah
May I sing my Hallelujah!

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