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In the low and shivering thrill
Of the leaves that late hung still ;
In the dull and muffled tone
Of the sea-wave's distant moan;
In the deep tints of the sky,
There are signs of tempest nigh.
Ominous, with sullen sound,
Falls the closing dusk around.
Father ! through the storm and shade,
O'er the wild,
O! be thou the lone one's aid,
Save thy child !
Many a swift and sounding plume
Homewards, through the boding gloom,
O'er my way hath fitted fast,
Since the farewell sunbeam passed
From the chesnut's ruddy bark ;
And the pool's now low and dark,
Where the wakening night-winds sigh
Through the long reeds mournfully.
Homeward, homeward, all things haste,
God of might!
Shield the homeless midst the waste,
Be his light!
In his distant cradle-nest,
Now my babe is laid to rest ;
Beautiful his slumber seems,
With a glow of heavenly dreams ;
Beautiful o'er that bright sleep
Hang soft eyes of fondness deep,
Where his mother bends to pray,
For the loved and far away.
Father ! guard that household bower,
Hear that prayer !
Back, through thine all-guidiug power
Lead me there !
Darker, wilder, grows the night,-
Not a star sends quivering light
Through the massy arch of shade,
By the stern old forest made.
Thou ! to whose unslumbering eyes
All my pathway open lies,-
By thy Son, who knew distress
In the lonely wilderness,
Where no roof to that blest head
Father! through the time of dread,
Save, 0, save!
St. Philip Neri and the Wouth.
St. Philip Neri, as old readings say,
Met a young stranger in Rome's street one day ;
And, being very courteously inclin'd,
To give young folks a sober turn of mind,
He fell into discourse with him; and thus
The dialogue they held comes down to us.
St. Tell me what brings you, gentle youth, to
Y. To make myself a scholar, sir, I come.
Sr. And, when you are one, what do you intend ?
Y. To be a priest, I hope, sir, in the end.
Sr. Suppose it so—what have you next in view ?
Y. That I may get to be a canon too.
St. Well; and how then ?
Why then, for aught I know,
I may be made a bishop.
Be it so
What then ?
Why, cardinal's a high degree
And yet my lot it possibly may be.
St. Suppose it was—what then?
Why, who can say
But I've a chance of being pope one day?
St. Well, having worn the mitre, and red hat,
And triple crown, what follows after that ?
Y. Nay, there is nothing farther to be sure,
Upon this earth, that wishing can procure :
When I've enjoy'd a dignity so high,
As long as God shall please, then-I must die.
St. What! must you die ? fond youth ! and at the
But wish, and hope, and may be all the rest ?
Take my advice-whatever may betide,
For that which must be, first of all provide ;
Then think of that which may be ; and indeed,
When well prepar’d, who knows what may succeed ?
But you may be, as you are pleas'd to hope,
Priest, canon, bishop, cardinal, and pope.
0, young Lochinvar is come from the West, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broad-sword he weapon had
none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in
war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) “ O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, “ Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?”
" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;“ Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide“ And now I am come with this lost love of mine, * To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. " There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, “ That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-
“Now tread we a measure !” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace.
While her mother did fret and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and
plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, 6 'Twere better by
far " To have matched our fair cousin with young Loch