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He that gets patience and the blessing which
Preachers conclude with, hath not lost his pains.
He that by being at church escapes the ditch,
Which he might fall in by companions, gains.

He that loves God's abode, and to combine
With saints on earth, shall one day with them shine.
GEORGE HERBERT, The Church Porch.

March 13.

ON STELLA'S BIRTHDAY,

13th March 1718.

STELLA this day is thirty-four
(We shan't dispute a year or more);
However, Stella, be not troubled,
Altho' thy size and years are doubled
Since first I saw thee at sixteen,
The brightest virgin on the green;
So little is thy form declined,
Made up so largely in thy mind.
O would it please the gods to split
Thy beauty, size, and years, and wit !
No age could furnish out a pair
Of nymphs so graceful, wise, and fair,
With half the lustre of your eyes,

With half your wit, your years, and size.
And then before it grew too late,
How should I beg of gentle fate

(That either nymph might have her swain)
To split my worship too in twain !

SWIFT.

March 14.

THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away,

When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay;

'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast,

But the tender bloom of heart is gone ere youth itself be past.

Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness

Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess; The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain

The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again.

Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ;

It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its

own;

That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our

tears,

And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis when the ice appears.

Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast,

Through midnight hours, that yield no more their former hope of rest;

'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath.

Oh, could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene;

As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be,

So midst the wither'd waste of life those tears would

flow to me!

BYRON.

March 15.

LET me not to the marriage of the minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove :
O no; it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken ;
It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, altho' his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error, and upon me prov'd,
I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd.

SHAKESPEARE, Sonnet CXVI.

March 16.

ELEONORA.

As precious gums are not for lasting fire,
They but perfume the temple and expire;
So was she soon exhal'd, and vanished hence,
A short sweet odor, of a vast expence.
She vanish'd,-
—we can scarcely say she dy'd,
For but a Now did heaven and earth divide :
She pass'd serenely with a single breath,

This moment perfect health, the next was death.

As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue,
Or one dream pass'd, we slide into a new ;
So close they follow, such wild order keep,
We think ourselves awake, and are asleep :
So softly death succeeded life in her,

She did but dream of Heaven and she was there.
No pains she suffer'd, nor expir'd with noise,
Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice.

He took her as He found, but found her so,
As one in hourly readiness to go.

DRYDEN.

March 17.

THE STARLINGS.

EARLY in spring time, on raw and windy mornings, Beneath the freezing house-eaves, I heard the starlings sing—

“Ah, dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily?

Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun.”

Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing

"Ah, that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily;

Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done."

CHARLES KINGSLEY.

March 18.

BROTHER AND SISTER.

I.

I CANNOT choose but think upon the time When our two lives grew like two buds that kiss At lightest thrill from the bee's swinging chime, Because the one so near the other is.

He was the elder, and a little man
Of forty inches, bound to show no dread,
And I the girl that puppy-like now ran,
Now lagged behind my brother's larger tread.

I held him wise, and when he talked to me
Of snakes and birds, and which God loved the best,
I thought his knowledge marked the boundary
Where men grew blind, though angels know the rest.

If he said "Hush!" I tried to hold my breath,
Whenever he said "Come!" I stepped in faith.

V.

Thus rambling we were schooled in deepest lore,
And learned the meanings that give words a soul,
The fear, the love, the primal passionate store,
Whose sleeping impulses make manhood whole.

Those hours were seed to all my after good;
My infant gladness, through eye, ear, and touch,
Took easily as warmth a various food
To nourish the sweet skill of loving much.

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