That garden of roses I ne'er can forget; But oft when alone in the spring of the year, I think "Is the nightingale singing there yet? Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendamere? No! the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, But some blossoms were gather'd while freshly they shone; And a dew was distill'd from the flowrets, that gave An essence that breathes of it many a year; UP The voice of praise at early morn; Nor will He turn his ear aside What though our burden be not light,- Blest are the moments, doubly blest, Look up to heaven! th' industrious sun Help with thy grace, through life's short day, And glorify for us the west, When we shall sink to final rest. WORDSWORTH, 79. THE DEATH OF MARMION. WITH fruitless labour, Clara bound, And strove to staunch, the gushing wound: The monk, with unavailing cares, Exhausted all the Church's prayers: Ever he said, that close and near A lady's voice was in his ear, And that the priest he could not hear, For that she ever sung, "In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, "Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!" So the notes rung; "Avoid thee, fiend! with cruel hand A light on Marmion's visage spread, "Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" Were the last words of Marmion. SIR WALTER SCOTT. 80. A FATHER READING THE BIBLE. TWA WAS early day, and sunlight stream'd That hush'd, but not forsaken, seem'd, Pure fell the beam, and meekly bright, And touch'd the page with tenderest light, Some word of life e'en then had met Some ancient promise, breathing yet Some martyr's prayer, wherein the glow And silent stood his children by, Of thoughts o'ersweeping death. MRS. HEMANS. 81. THE HOLLY TREE. READER! hast thou ever stood to see The eye, that contemplates it well, perceives Order'd by an intelligence so wise As might confound the atheist's sophistries. Below a circling fence, its leaves are seen No grazing cattle, through their prickly round, But as they grow where nothing is to fear, I love to view these things with curious eyes, And in this wisdom of the holly tree Wherewith, perchance, to make a pleasant rhyme, One which may profit in the after-time. Thus, though abroad, perchance, I might appear To those who on my leisure would intrude Gentle at home amid my friends I'd be, And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, All vain asperities I day by day Would wear away; |