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Go thou and seek the house of prayer !
Go thou and seek the house of prayer!
And meet religion there,
At liberty she loves to rove,
Or seek the shelter of the embowering grove,
I DARE NOT SCORN.
By ROBERT NICOLL.
That on the earth doth crawl,
The tyrant in his hall.
The vile oppressor who hath made
The widow'd mother mourn,
I cannot, dare not, scorn.
Of beauty bath a share :
That God still lingers there.
I pity all that evil are
I pity and I mourn;
And, oh! I dare not scorn.
By EDGAR A. POE.
And the wreath is on my brow;
And I am happy now.
But, when first he breathed his vow,
And who is happy now. But he spoke to reassure me,
And he kiss'd my pallid brow, While a reverie came o'er me, And to the churchyard bore me, And I sigh'd to him before me, Thinking him dead D'Elormie,
“Oh, I am happy now!”
And this the plighted vow,
That proves me happy now!
For I dream I know not how,
May not be happy now.
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.
By William Knox.
And where hath fled my youthful folly ?
Hath made my spirit holy.
Her eye-as soft and blue as even
When day and night are calmly meeting.
And purifies its beating.
The accents fall from Tamar's lip,
Like dewdrops from the rose-leaf dripping,
And cannot cease their sipping.
The shadowy blush that tints her cheek,
For ever coming, ever going,
That sets the stream a-flowing.
Her song comes o'er my thrilling breast,
E'en like the harpstring's holiest measures,
And everlasting pleasures.
Then ask not what hath changed my heart,
Or where hath fled my youthful folly ?
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
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, sayWhen the first strong burst of anguish shall have wept itself
“ 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.
By BARRY CORNWALL.
Send down thy silver words, O murmuring Rain !
Like dew, like night, upon his weary brain !