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THE FROZEN BROOK. This exquisite description is taken from a poem by JAMES R. Lowell, an American poet, entitled the The Vision of Sir Launfal.
Down swept the chill wind from the mountain peak,
From the snow five thousand summers old ;
It had gather'd all the cold,
Down through a frost-leaved, forest-crypt,
Bending to counterfeit a breeze ;
Lest the happy model should be lost,
A COMMON THOUGHT.
By BARRY CORNWALL.
Stirr'd up by many a passion strange,
Till death :- then ends all change.
Spring, all beauty, aye laughs loud;
Summers smile, and autumns rave;
And lies down in his grave;
Merry spring for childish face ;
Summer for young manhood bold;
Winter for the old !
Then all the changing passions fade;
Then all the seasons strange have pass'd ;
Which must for ever last :
HIS AND MINE.
By ROWLAND BROWN. Let her be his in the hours of pride, of pomp and revelry; Let her be his in courtly crowds of young frivolity; Amidst the blaze of the banquet lights, in the halls of dance
and song; I love her not for the admiring gaze of a gay and thought
less throng. VOL. y.
Let her be his when exultant scorn shall beam from her
eyes o' blue; Let her be his when her warm cheek glows with a strange
unnatural hue; Let her be his when thoughtless words from thoughtless
lips may fall; Let her be his when folly's lamps are alight in Vanity Hall.
Let her be his; aye let him caress with pride her jewell'd
hand; Let her be his when she proudly walks with what the
world calls grand; Let her be his when her heart grows faint, and aweary of
hollow mirth, When her spirit thirsts for a loftier scene and nobler joys of
Let her be his whilst the senseless crowd around her bow
the knee ; Let her be his (for I feel such scenes can awake no joy in
me), Let her be his for the transient hours such joys can charm
the heart; But let her be mine when the dreams of night for the
smiles of morn depart.
Let her be mine when mocking hands no fading garlands
wreathe; Let her be mine when the scatter'd throngs no flattering
incense breathe; Let her be mine when the thoughts of night are pass'd for
the deeds of day; Let her be mine when the lips take heed of the tale the
heart would say. Let her be mine in that holy place, to set love's signet
ring; Let her be mine in the blissful hour when the joy-bells
merrily ring; Let her be mine when her spirit feels it cannot happier be Than to rest in the home she has made in my heart, and to
live and to die with me.
Let her be mine in the silent hour when angels hover by; Let her be mine when none are near to hear the bosom's
sigh; Let her be mine when the light of heaven may rest on her
placid brow; Let her be mine when God alone can hear the whisper'd
VOW : Let her be mine through the battle of life with smiles love
deeds to crown ; Let her be mine in the trying time when false friends on
me frown ; Let her be mine in the hour of death to hear my last fond
prayer; And let her be mine in the worlds of light to love and to
bless me there.
THE PARTING WORD. One of 0. W. Holmes's semi-serious semi-humourous poems, a style peculiarly his own.
I must leave thee, lady sweet!
When the first sad sun shall set,
All the first unquiet week
In the first month's second half
While the first seven mornings last,
Now once more the flattering throng
First be careful of your fan,
Trust not such as talk in tropes,