Go thou and seek the house of prayer! Feed with all nature's charms mine eyes The primrose bank will there dispense And the full tear that down my cheek will steal, Go thou and seek the house of prayer! And meet religion there, She needs not the high arch'd dome to pray, Wide o'er the heathy hill or cowslip dale; Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove, Or with the streamlet wind along the vale. Sweet are these scenes to her; and when the night Pours in the north her silver streams of light, She woos reflection in the silent gloom, And ponders on the world to come. I DARE NOT SCORN. By ROBERT NICOLL. I MAY not scorn the meanest thing The vile oppressor who hath made The widow'd mother mourn, Though worthless, soulless he may stand, I cannot, dare not, scorn. The darkest night that shrouds the sky The blackest heart hath signs to tell I pity all that evil are- But the Supreme hath fashion'd all BRIDAL BALLAD. By EDGAR A. Poɛ. THE ring is on my hand, And the wreath is on my brow; And my lord he loves me well; But, when first he breathed his vow, I felt my bosom swell— For the words rang as a knell, And the voice seem'd his who fell In the battle down the dell, But he spoke to reassure me, And thus the words were spoken, That proves me happy now! Would God I could awaken! THE DEATH OF BALDER. A fine passage in Professor ARNOLD's epic entitled Balder. WHEN the gods heard, they straight arose, and took A VIRTUOUS WOMAN. PROVERBS xii. 4. THOU askest what hath changed my heart, Hath made my spirit holy. Her eye-as soft and blue as even When day and night are calmly meeting - The accents fall from Tamar's lip, Like dewdrops from the rose-leaf dripping, When honey-bees all crowd to sip, And cannot cease their sipping. The shadowy blush that tints her cheek, May well the spotless fount bespeak Her song comes o'er my thrilling breast, Then ask not what hath changed my heart, Hath made my spirit holy. THE ALMA. The following lines appeared in The Times newspaper, under the signature R. C. T. THOUGH till now ungraced in story, scant although thy waters be, Alma, roll those waters proudly, roll them proudly to the sea. Yesterday unnamed, unhonoured, but to wandering Tartar known, Now thou art a voice for ever to the world's four corners blown. In two nations' annals written, thou art now a deathless name, And a star for ever shining in their firmament of fame. Many a great and ancient river, crowned with city, tower, and shrine, Little streamlet, knows no magic, has no potency like thine; Cannot shed the light thou sheddest around many a living head, Cannot lend the light thou lendest to the memories of the dead; Yea, nor all unsoothed their sorrow, who can, proudly mourning, say— When the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself away "He has passed from us, the loved one: but he sleeps with them that died By the Alma, at the winning of that terrible hill side." Yes, and in the days far onward, when we all are cold as those Who beneath thy vines and willows on their hero beds repose, Thou, on England's banner blazoned, with the famous fields of old, Shalt where other fields are winning, wave above the brave and bold: And our sons unborn shall nerve them for some great deed to be done By that twentieth of September, when the Alma's heights were won. Oh! thou river, dear for ever to the gallant, to the free, Alma, roll thy waters proudly, roll them proudly to the sea. FOR MUSIC. By BARRY CORNWALL. Now whilst he dreams, O Muses, wind him round! Come, Odours of the rose and violet,-bear So may the lost be found, So may his thoughts by tender Love be crowned, And with its beams adorn, The Future, till he breathes diviner air, In some soft Heaven of joy, beyond the range of Care! |