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, It had gather'd all the cold, And whirl'd it like sleet on the wanderer's cheek; From the unleaf'd boughs and pastures bare; Down through a frost-leaved, forest-crypt, Sometimes the roof no fretwork knew For the gladness of heaven to shine through, and here No mortal builder's most rare device A COMMON THOUGHT. By BARRY CORNWALL. ALL faces melt in smiles and tears, Spring, all beauty, aye laughs loud; And when the next soft season nears, Merry spring for childish face; Summer for young manhood bold; Autumn for a graver race; Winter for the old! After that, what seasons run? Alas! not one! Then all the changing passions fade; Then life's uncounted sands are run, 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 thoughtless throng. 79 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 earth. 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 lovedeeds 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 O. W, HOLMES's semi-serious semi-humourous poems, a style peculiarly his own. I MUST leave thee, lady sweet! Months shall waste before we meet; When the first sad sun shall set, All the first unquiet week Thou shalt wear a smileless cheek; 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, |