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Fair arms on which the emerald shone,
And silver robe and ruby zone;
And feet that seemed but made to tread
Imprintless on the lily's head ;
Laughs like glad music, as their all
Of life had been a festival.
And Christine marvelled that such mirth
Could find a welcome upon earth.
She had been nursed ’mid forest trees,
And vineyards, birds, and flowers and bees;
And little had she learnt the task
To turn the false lip to a mask
Of sunshine and of smiles, to hide
The heart of bitterness and pride,
Like those gay coloured plants that wreath
Their blossoms on the snake beneath.

And suddenly the gorgeous room
Was filled with music, light, and bloom ;
As the thrice fragrant air was filled
With waters from sweet leaves distilled;
As lighted up the perfumed flame
Of woods that from Arabia came :
And a rich sweep of music blent
From every mingled instrument;
And smile, and sigh, and bended brow,
Greeted the dame who entered now.

'Twas RAYMOND's love: her braided hair
Was bright, for gems and gold were there.
CHRIstine had sometimes feared to guess
Her rival's wealth of loveliness.
But now-oh, thus had RAYMOND sold
His heart, his once fond heart, for gold !
Oh! all but this she could have borne-
But not to feel for RAYMOND scorn.
She left the gallery; next day
A pilgrim at an altar lay.--
The chapel hung with silk and flower,
Meet for LORD RAYMOND's bridal hour.-
A boy so wan, so delicate,
No marvel at his early fate !-
A chain of gold lay on the shrine,
And underneath a faultering line:
« An offering for the happiness
Of him whom my love could not bless."
All felt it was a woman's prayer
It was CHRISTINE had perished there!

L. E. L

THE DEATH OF THE FIRST-BORN.

BY ALARIC A. WATTS.

Fare thee well, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee well, thou best and dearest !

Burns.

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my

eyes, When first I clasped thee to my heart, and heard thy

feeble cries; For I thought of all that I had borne as I bent me

down to kiss Thy cherry lips and sunny brow, my first-born bud

of bliss!

I turned to many a withered hope,-to years of grief

and pain,And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flashed o'er

my boding brain ;I thought of friends, grown worse than cold, of per

secuting foes, And I asked of Heaven if ills like these must mar thy

youth's repose !

III. I gazed upon thy quiet face-half blinded by my

tearsTill gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening

on my fears,Sweet rays of hope that fairer shone 'mid the clouds

of gloom that bound them, As stars dart down their loveliest light when mid

night skies are 'round them.

IV.

My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is

o'er, And a father's anxious fears for thee can fever me no

more ; And for the hopes-the sun-bright hopes--that blos

somed at thy birth, They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherished

things of earth!

'Tis true that thou wert young, my child, but though

brief thy span below, To me it was a little age of agony and woe, ;':;' For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began

to fade, And my heart had scarce thy welcome breathed ere my hopes were wrapt in shade.

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VI.
Oh the child, in its hours of health and bloom, that is

dear as thou wert then,
Grows far more prized—more foudly loved—in sick-

ness and in pain ; And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every

hope was lost, Ten times more precious to my soul-for all that

thou hadst cost !

VII.

Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee,

day by day, Pale like the second bow of Heaven, as gently waste

away; And, sick with dark foreboding fears we dared not

breathe aloud, . Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief to wait death's

coming cloud.

VIII.
It came at length ;-o'er thy bright blue eye the film

was gathering fast,
And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow, the deepest

and the last ;In thicker gushes strove thy breath,—we raised thy drooping bead,

(the dead ! A moment more the final pang-and thou wert of

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