ANTICIPATIONS OF THE COUNTRY. This beautiful poem is by MARY ANNE BROWNE, afterwards Mrs. JAMES GRAY, whose wondrous genius was blighted by a premature death. THE summer sunshine falls O'er the hot vistas of the crowded town, With beauty and with glory not their own; A canopy of peace above the strife Of human hearts, that fight And struggle on the battle-plain of life. Summers have pass'd away Since I a dweller midst this scene became, Hath sent a thirsty longing through my frame A longing to be far In the green woodlands, in the pastures fair, My heart hath yearn'd to be a dweller there. It comes, it comes at last! All I have panted for is near me now; A cool untroubled breeze shall fan my brow; The faint continuous bum That hath been round me till 'twas scarcely heard, No more shall near me come, To mar the melodies of bee or bird. No more the sultry street Shall echo to my quick uneasy tread; Gladly I turn my feet To where the turf in daisied pride is spread. No more the whirling wheel, The tramping horses, and the people's shout- The pleasant quiet circling me about. VOL. V. F 73 Blessed to go away To where the wild flower blooms and wood-bird sings, The purple vetch its wreathing garland flings. I shall dismiss the cares that bind me now- The heart at ease, the calm unclouded brow. Cease, thou too sanguine heart, Remember grief may reach thee even there. Of joys thou fondly hopest shall be thine, That sin and sorrow round thy coils will twine. And think not happiness But dwelleth with the bird, the flower, the bee; Even these pure lovely things can set thee free. For 'tis a blessed privilege to dwell Where little the alloy Of art hath cast its cold restraining spell. Yet for the common lot Of bright hope dimm'd, of woe thou yet may'st share, Even in that lonely spot, Bend thou the knee, and lift the heart in prayer! Thus should the thankful soul Pour forth its tribute to the Lord above"Thou dost all hearts control, Fill mine, oh Father! with abounding love. "Thy hand hath guided me, Hath brought me from the wilderness of men ; That I may dwell with nature's peace again. Be it my greatest joy to feel thy power Moulding the hills and fashioning every flower. By every happy bird. That pours its liquid song in gladness forth, To sing of all thy glory and thy worth! Seen in the azure sky, serene and bright, Leading my spirit to the source of light. "The dew when day is done Should teach me how thy Spirit's dew can bless; Remind me of the Sun of Righteousness. By every wayside flower, By every fountain rippling in its glee, By every day and hour, Draw me, oh Father! nearer still to thee." A TESTIMONY. This very clever poem was contributed to a periodical called The Germ, commenced by a party of young Authors and Artists, whose names are now famous. The writer is ELLEN ALLEYN. I SAID of laughter: It is vain ;- Man walks in a vain shadow; he The things that were shall be again. But turn back to their secret source: The winds, too, turn upon their course. Our treasures, moth and rust corrupt; Or thieves break through and steal or they One man made merry as he supp'd, We build our houses on the sand All things are vanity, I said: dies: The rich man dies; and the poor The worm feeds sweetly on the dead. Whatso thou lackest, keep this trust:-All in the end shall have but dust. The one inheritance, which best And worst alike shall find and share. And there the weary are at rest; Man flourishes as a green leaf, And as a leaf doth pass away; Or, as a shade that cannot stay, And leaves no track, his course is brief: Yet doth man hope and fear and plan Till he is dead :-oh foolish man! Our eyes cannot be satisfied With seeing; nor our ears be fill'd With hearing: yet we plant and build, And buy, and make our borders wide: We gather wealth, we gather care, But know not who shall be our heir. Why should we hasten to arise So early, and so late take rest? Our labour is not good; our best Hopes fade; our heart is stay'd on lies: Verily, we sow wind; and we Shall reap the whirlwind, verily. He who hath little shall not lack; They are renew'd, and come and go. The earth is fatten'd with our dead; Therefore the maidens cease to sing, Of high and low, of great and small, A king dwelt in Jerusalem: He was the wisest man on earth; He had all riches from his birth, And pleasures till he tired of them: Then, having tested all things, he Witness'd that all are vanity. A LYRIC. From a Tragedy called Death's Jest Book. Ir thou wilt ease thine heart Of love and all its smart, Then sleep, dear, sleep; And not a sorrow Hang any tear on your eyelashes; Lie still and deep, Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes The rim o' the sun to-morrow, In eastern sky. |