Then at fit seasons you may clothe your hook With a sweet bait dressed by a faithless cook; The greedy pike darts to 't with eager haste, And, being struck, in vain he flies at last; He rages, storms and flounces through the stream, But all, alas! his life cannot redeem. At other times you may pursue the chase At last, outwearied by the stronger hound, And with sad piteous screams laments her fate. See how the hawk doth take his towering flight And in his course outflies our very sight, Bears down the fluttering fowl with all his might. See how the wary gunner casts about, Watching the fittest posture when to shoot: Quick as the fatal lightning blasts the oak, He gives the springing fowl a sudden stroke ; He pours upon 't a shower of mortal lead, And ere the noise is heard the fowl is dead. Sometimes he spreads his hidden subtile snare, Of which the entangled fowl was not aware; Through pathless wastes he doth pursue his sport, Where naught but moor-fowl and wild beasts. In face and gesture. In her pangs she died resort. When the noon sun directly darts his beams Upon your giddy heads with fiery gleams, Then you may bathe yourself in cooling streams, That gave him birth, and ever since the child Had been his father's solace and his care. Every sport The father shared and heightened. But at length The rigorous law had grasped him and con- To the great gods he breathed a prayer, then demned To fetters and to darkness. strove To calm himself and lose in sleep a while The captive's lot His body burned with feverish heat; his Grew hot at length and thick, but in his Burst forth the lightnings glanced; the air straw The boy was sleeping, and the father hoped wake From his sound rest the unfearing child, nor tell A moment as in sunshine, then was dark; The dangers of their state. On his low Dying away upon the dazzled eye couch The fettered soldier sunk and with deep awe eyes In darkening, quivering tints as stunning Dies throbbing, ringing in the ear. Silence The soldier's frame was filled, and many a thought The deep-driven staple, yells and shrieks with rage. Of strange foreboding hurried through his But see! the ground is opening; a blue light Mounts, gently waving, noiseless. Thin and mind As underneath he felt the fevered earth Jarring and lifting and the massive walls Heard harshly grate and strain; yet knew he not, While evils undefined and yet to come Glanced through his thoughts, what deep and cureless wound Fate had already given. Where, man of woe, cold It seems, and like a rainbow tint, not flame; And over his serene face a dark line The father saw, Where, wretched father, is thy boy? Thou And all his fury fled; a dead calm fell Came bursting from his ears and from his The ground lifts like a sea: he knows it not; Once he has touched his garment; how his | All's for the best! Be man but confiding, Providence tenderly governs the rest, eye Lightens with love and hope and anxious And the frail bark of his creature is guiding fear! Wisely and warily, all for the best. Ha! see! he has him now; he clasps him round, Kisses his face, puts back the curling locks That shaded his fine brow, looks in his eyes, Grasps in his own those little dimpled hands, Then folds him to his breast, as he was wont To lie when sleeping, and, resigned, awaits Undreaded death. And death came soon, and swift And pangless. The huge pile sunk down at once Into the opening earth. Walls, arches, roof, And deep foundation-stones, all mingling fell. A EDWIN ATHERSTONE. ALL'S FOR THE BEST. All's for the best! Then fling away terrors; Meet all your fears and your foes in the van, And in the midst of your dangers or errors Trust like a child, while you strive like a man. All's for the best! Unbiased, unbounded, Providence reigns from the east to the west, And, by both wisdom and mercy surrounded, Hope and be happy that all's for the best. MARTIN F. TUPPER. MY FATHER. AS die the embers on the hearth, And o'er the floor the shadows fall, LL'S for the best! Be sanguine and And creeps the chirping cricket forth, cheerful: Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise; Nothing but folly goes faithless and fearful; Courage for ever is happy and wise. All's for the best, if man would but know it; Providence wishes us all to be blest; There is no dream of the pundit or poet; Heaven is gracious, and all's for the best. And ticks the deathwatch in the wall, I see a form in yonder chair That grows beneath the waning light: There are the wan, sad features-there The pallid brow and locks of white. My father, when they laid thee down, All's for the best! Set this in your stan- I know not why-I could not weep: dard, Soldier of sadness or pilgrim of love Who to the shores of despair may have wan dered, The soothing drops refused to roll; And oh, that grief is wild and deep Which settles tearless on the soul. A way-wearied swallow or heart-stricken But when I saw thy vacant chair, dove. Thine idle hat upon the wall, |