droops and mourns, bedew'd, as 'twere with tears, till he returns; and how she veils her flowers when he is gone, as if she scorned to be looked on by an inferior eye, or did contemn to wait upon a meaner light than him;— when this I meditate, methinks the flowers have spirits far more generous than ours; and give us fair examples, to despise the servile fawnings and idolatries wherewith we court these earthly things below, which merit not the service we bestow. But, O my God! though grovelling I appear upon the ground, and have a rooting here, which hales me downward, yet, in my desire, to that which is above me I aspire; and all my best affections I profess to Him that is the Sun of Righteousness. Oh! keep the morning of His incarnation—the burning noontide of His bitter passionthe night of His descending—and the height of His ascension-ever in my sight! that, imitating Him in what I may, I never follow an inferior way. 66. THE INDIAN WOMAN'S DEATH SONG.-Mrs. Hemans. Wafting a wild, proud strain, her song of death : "Roll swiftly to the Spirit's land, thou mighty stream and free! Father of ancient waters, roll! and bear our lives with thee! The weary bird that storms have tossed, would seek the sunshine's calm, Roll on my warrior's eye hath looked upon another's face- The voice that spoke or other days is hushed within his breast, And thou, my babe! though born, like me, to woman's weary lot, 67-PAST AND PRESENT.-Hood. I remember, I remember the house where I was born The little window where the sun came peeping in at morn; I remember, I remember where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh to swallows on the wing; I remember, I remember the fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops were close against the sky; To know I'm farther off from Heaven than when I was a boy! 68.-THE SOLDIER'S WIDOW TO HER SON.-Willis. 1 Woe for my vine-clad home! that it should ever be so dark to me, with its bright threshold and its whispering tree! that I should ever come, fearing the lonely echo of a tread, beneath the roof-tree of my glorious dead! * Lead on, my orphan Boy! the home is not so desolate to theeand the low shiver in the linden tree may bring to thee a joy; but oh! how dark is the bright home before thee, to her who with a joyous spirit bore thee! 3 Lead on! for thou art now my sole remaining helper. God hath spoken, and the strong heart I leaned upon is broken; and I have seen his brow-the forehead of my upright one, and just-trod, by the hoof of battle, in the dust. 4 He will not meet thee there who bless'd thee at the eventide, my son! and when the shadows of the night steal on, he will not call to prayer. The lips that melted, giving thee to God, are in the icy keeping of the sod! Ay, my own boy! thy sire is with the sleepers of the valley cast; and the proud glory of my life hath passed with his high glance of fire. Woe that the linden and the vine should bloom, and a just man be gathered to the tomb! Why-bear them proudly, Boy! it is the sword he girded to his thigh-it is the helm he wore in victory. And shall we have no joy?...For thy green vales, oh Switzerland, he died!—I will forget my sorrow-in my pride! 5 6 69.-PLEASURES OF HOPE.-Campbell. At summer's eve, when Heaven's aërial bow Can Wisdom lend, with all her boasted power, Ah no! she darkly sees the fate of man— Or, if she holds an image to the view, With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light, 70.-TRUTH DELIVERED FROM THE DUNGEON.-Whitney. But Time at length did loose his daughter dear, Who things long hid reveals and brings to light. Though Strife make fire, though Envy eat her heart, And break her bonds, and bring her foes to foil. 71.-MELROSE ABBEY AS IT WAS.-Scott. Slowly the Old Monk led the way, where, cloistered round, the garden lay; the pillared arches were over their head, and beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. Spreading herbs, and flowrets bright, glistened with the dew of night; nor herb nor flowret glistened there, but was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. By a steel-clenched postern door, they entered now the chancel tall; the darkened roof rose high aloof on pillars, lofty, and light, and small. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, shook to the cold night wind of heaven; and there the dying lamps did burn, near many a low and lonely urn. O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! . . . The moon on the east oriel shone, through slender shafts of shapely stone, by foliaged tracery combined: thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, 'twixt poplars straight, the osier wand in many a freakish knot had twined; then framed a spell, when the work was done, and changed the willow-wreaths to stone. The silver light, so pale and faint, showed many a prophet, and many a saint, whose image on the glass was dyed; full in the midst, his Cross of Red triumphant Michael brandishèd, and trampled the Apostate's pride. The moonbeam kissed the holy pane, and threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 72.-MELROSE ABBEY AS IT IS.-Scott. If thou wouldst view fair Melrose right, go visit it by the pale moonlight; for the gay beams of lightsome day gild but to flout the ruins gray. When the broken arches are black in night, and each shafted oriel glimmers white; when the cold light's uncertain shower streams on the ruined central tower; when buttress and buttress alternately seem framed of ebon and ivory; when silver edges the imagery, and the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; when distant Tweed is heard to rave, and the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave;...then go-but go alone the while—then view St. David's ruined pile; and, home returning, soothly swear, was never scene so sad and fair! 73.-HAPPINESS.-Heber. One morning in the month of May I wandered o'er the hill; Can God, I thought, the just, the great, these meaner creatures bless, Tell me, ye Woods, ye smiling Plains, ye blessed Birds around, I questioned Love, whose early ray so rosy bright appears, |