And, mid the cedar's darksome bough, illumes, These lines on Childhood are by MACKWORTH PRAED: Once on a time, when sunny May Upon a bank of blushing flowers; And smiling,-who could choose but love him? Than the blue heaven that beamed above him. Old Time, in most appalling wrath, That valley's green repose invaded; The birds were mute, the lilies faded; Then stepped a gloomy phantom up, Pale, cypress-crowned, Night's awful daughter, And proffered him a fearful cup, Full to the brim, of bitter water: Poor Childhood bade her tell her name; And when the beldame muttered "Sorrow," I'll taste it, if I must, to-morrow." Then Wisdom stole his bat and ball, And taught him, with most sage endeavour, Why bubbles rise, and acorns fall, And why no toy may last forever : She talked of all the wondrous laws A more delicious trance is given, Lit up by rays from Seraph eyes, And glimpses of remembered heaven! MOTHERWELL, the Scottish poet, sketched his beautiful outline of Jeanie Morrison when only fourteen years of age. His plaintive and picturesque poetry has attracted the admiration of many, and especially that of Prof. Wilson. List to one of his lyrics : Could love impart, by nicest art, To speechless rocks a tongue, Their theme would be, beloved, of thee, Thy beauty all their song. And clerk-like, then, with sweet amen, Would echo from each hollow Reply all day; while gentle fay, With merry whoop, would follow. Had roses sense, on no pretence Would they their buds unroll; For, could they speak, 'twas from thy cheek Had lilies eyes, with glad surprise, They'd own themselves outdone, When thy pure brow and neck of snow Could shining brooks, by amorous looks, Then, every sound that murmured round * * His lines on Summer are beautifully expressed : They come the merry Summer months of Beauty, Song, and Flowers; They come the gladsome months that bring thick leafiness to bowers; Up, up, my heart, and walk abroad; fling cark and care aside, Scan through its leaves the cloudless sky in rapt tranquillity. There is no cloud that sails along the ocean of yon sky, But hath its own winged mariners to give it melody; Thou seest their glittering fans outspread, all gleaming like red gold; And hark! with shrill pipe musical, their merry course they hold. God bless them all, those little ones, who, far above this earth, Can make a scoff of its mean joys, and vent a nobler mirth. The Gude-Wife, a touching little poem, by JAMES LINEN, of California, Mr. Bryant has pronounced not unworthy of Burns : I feel I'm growing auld, gude-wife-I feel I'm growing auld; I feel I'm growing auld, gude-wife-I feel I'm growing auld; I canna bear the dreary thocht that we maun sindered be; There's naething binds my poor auld heart to earth, gude-wife, but Sleep on, baby on the floor, tired of all thy playing— On your curls' fair roundness stand golden lights serenely; One cheek, pushed out by the hand, folds the dimple inly- Open-souled in noon-day sun, so you lie and slumber; * And God knows, who sees us twain, child at childish leisure, Very soon, too, by His grace, gently wrapt around me, And, in waking presently, brighter to beholder,— Do you move, and open wide your great eyes toward me?) This is from the pen of one of the most gifted personages of modern times, MRS. E. BARRETT BROWNING, whose writings have been as warmly welcomed in our country as in England. Her life was one of prolonged bodily suffering, but her rare genius triumphed over all bodily infirmity. It was from her couch of pain that she sent forth those vigorous and beautiful productions that have crowned her as "the world's greatest poetess." After her marriage with the poet Browning, Florence became their home; it was here she died. Among the many favourite poems of this eminent poetess, is that on Sleep: here are two or three of its beautiful stanzas: Of all the thoughts of God that are Along the Psalmist's music deep- |