She'll find my garden-tools upon the granary-floor;

Let her take 'em; they are hers; I shall never garden more;
But tell her, when I'm gone, to train the rose-bush that I set
About the parlour-window, and the box of mignonette.

Good night, sweet mother! call me before the day is born;
All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep at morn;
But I would see the sun rise upon the glad New Year:
So, if you're waking, call me, call me early, mother dear.

TENNYSON.

152. THE EAST.

[From THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.]

the land where the cypress and myrtle

KNOW ye where the done in clime,

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,

Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume,
Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gúl in her bloom;

Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit,
And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;

Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky,

In colour though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye;

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the sun

Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?

Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell,

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

LORD BYRON.

153. RESIGNATION.

THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain does blaw;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snaw:

While, tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars frae bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,
The joyless winter day,
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please;

Their fate resembles mine!

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil;

Here firm I rest, they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want (oh! do Thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.

BURNS.

154. THOUGHTS ON TIME.

[From NIGHT THOUGHTS.]

HE bell strikes one.

THE

We take no note of time

But from its loss: to give it then a tongue
As if an angel spoke,

Is wise in man.

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,

It is the knell of my departed hours.

Where are they? With the years beyond the flood.

It is the signal that demands despatch:

How much is to be done! My hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge
Look down-on what? A fathomless abyss—
A dread eternity! how surely mine!
And can eternity belong to me,

Poor pensioner on the bounties of an hour?

O time! than gold more sacred; more a load Than lead to fools; and fools reputed wise! What hour is granted man without account? What years are squandered, wisdom's debt unpaid! Haste, haste, he lies in wait, he's at the door, Insidious Death! should his strong hand arrest, No composition sets the pris'ner free; Eternity's inexorable chain

Fast binds; and vengeance claims the full arrear

Youth is not rich in time, it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing: pay No moment, but in purchase of its worth; And what its worth, ask death beds; they can tell.

Part with it as with life, reluctant; big
With holy hope of nobler time to come;
Time higher aimed, still nearer the great mark
Of men and angels, virtue more divine.

YOUNG.

155. ISLE OF BEAUTY.

SHADES of evening! close not o'er us!
Leave our lonely bark awhile!

Morn, alas! will not restore us

Yonder dim and distant isle.
Still my fancy can discover

Sunny spots where friends may dwell;
Darker shadows round us hover-

Isle of beauty, fare-thee-well!

'Tis the hour when happy faces
Smile around the taper's light;-
Who will fill our vacant places?
Who will sing our songs to-night?
Through the mist that floats above us,
Faintly sounds the vesper bell,
Like a voice from those who love us,
Breathing fondly, "Fare-thee-well!"
When the waves are round me breaking,
As I pace the deck alone,

And my eye in vain is seeking

Some green leaf to rest upon,-
What would I not give to wander
Where my old companions dwell?
Absence makes the heart grow fonder ;-
Isle of beauty! fare-thee-well!

T. H. BAYLEY

156. THE EAGLE AND CHILD.

THERE was an Eagle, that had long acquir'd
Absolute sway, the lord of a domain

Savage, sublime; nor from the hills alone
Gathering large tribute, but from every vale;
Making the ewe, whene'er he deign'd to stoop,
Bleat for the lamb. Great was the recompense
Assur'd to him who laid the tyrant low
And near his nest, in that eventful hour
Calmly and patiently, a hunter stood,
A hunter, as it chanc'd, of old renown,
And, as it chanc'd, a father.

In the south
A speck appear'd, enlarging; and ere long,
As on his journey to the golden sun,

Upward he came, ascending through the clouds,
That, like a dark and troubled sea, obscur'd
The world beneath." But what is in his grasp?
Ha! 'tis a child-and may it not be ours?
I dare not, cannot; and yet why forbear,
When, if it lives, a cruel death awaits it ?-
May He who wing'd the shaft when Tell stood forth,
And shot the apple from the youngling's head,
Grant me the strength, the courage!" As he spoke,
He aim'd, he fir'd: and at his feet they fell,
The Eagle and the child-the child unhurt-
Though, such the grasp, not ev'n in death relinquished.

ROGERS.