Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber We'll dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling, Farewell—farewell—until Pity's sweet fountain Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave; They'll weep for the Chieftain who died on that mountain, They'll weep for the Maiden who sleeps in this wave. BEAUTY, WIT, AND GOLD. N her bower a widow dwelt, IN At her feet three suitors knelt ; Each adored the widow much, First appeared the handsome man, Could such beauty fail to win? Then stepped forth the man of gold, Cash he counted, coin he told; Wealth the burden of his tale, Then the man of wit anu sense Wit has won the widow's heart! REASON, FOLLY, AND BEAUTY. REASON, and Folly, and Beauty, they say, Went on a party of pleasure one day. Folly played Around the maid, The bells of his cap rung merrily out; To his sermon-book- Oh! which was the pleasanter no one need doubt, Beauty, who likes to be thought very sage, "Look here, sweet maid!"— The sight of his cap brought her back to horself, While Reason read His leaves of lead, With no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! -no one to mind him, poor sensible elf! Then Reason grew jealous of Folly's gay cap; Had he that on, he her heart might entrap"There it is," Quoth Folly, "old quiz !” (Folly was always good-natured, 'tis said,) "Under the sun There's no such fun, As Reason with my cap and bells on his head, But Reason the head-dress so awkwardly wore, That Beauty now liked him still less than before; While Folly took Old Reason's book, And twisted the leaves in a cap of such ton, (Though not aloud) She liked him still better in that than his own, Yes,—liked him still better in that than his own. THOSE EVENING BELLS. THOSE evening bells! those evening bells! Of youth, and home, and that sweet time Those joyous hours are passed away; And so 'twill be when I am gone- A CANADIAN BOAT-SONG. AINTLY as tolls the evening chime, FAIN Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? There is not a breath the blue wave to curl ! Utawa's tide! this trembling moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Lord Byron. EXTRACTS FROM CHILDE HAROLD." ANCIENT GREECE. ANCIENT of days! august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone-glimmering thro' the dream of things that were: First in the race that led to Glory's goal, They won, and passed away-is this the whole? A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! The warrior's weapon, and the sophist's stole, Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. Son of the morning, rise! approach you here! Come, but molest not yon defenceless urn: Look on this spot-a nation's sepulchre ! Poor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven Is't not enough, unhappy thing! to know Thou art? Is this a boon so kindly given, That being, thou wouldst be again, and go, |