LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

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On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,

More plentiful than hope

She is my mother, for she gave me birth;
She is my tender nurse, she gives me food

She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home

Singing she mounts, her airy wings are stretched

T'wards heaven, as if from heaven her notes she fetched

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,

Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep

While the heaven-born Child

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies

But see, the Virgin blest

Hath laid her Babe to rest

Through Eden took their solitary way
Came vested all in white, pure as her mind..
Portrait of MILTON. (From the Yanser Portrait)
Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good!
A silver stream shall roll his waters near
With his young warlike hands on both he seized

True poets are a saint-like race.

The country churls, according to their kind,
(Who grudge their dues, and love to be behind)

Yet of his little he had some to spare,
To feed the famished and to clothe the bare
Wide was his parish; not contracted close
In streets, but here and there a straggling house
Gambolled on heaths and danced on every green.
In vengeance roused, the soldier fills his hand
With sword and fire, and ravages the land
Prayers in bitterness of soul preferred..
Charity

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind.
The grounds which on the right aspire,
In dimness from the view retire

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

Page

The lake is smooth and clear beneath

Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?

Lo, the poor Indian!

Erect new wonders, and the old repair

Stella reading..

That's naething like leavin' my love on the shore

I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame
Before the ripened field the reapers stand.
How good the God of harvest is to you

The docile tribe
Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift
Their reindeer form their riches..

'Twas when the seas were roaring

Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean

He drank long health and virtue to his friend
Now the bright-haired sun

Sits in yon western tent

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene.....

There dwells in lowly shed and mean attire..
That roofless tower

The stars shine out; the forest bends

Beside some water's rushy brink

With me the Muse shall sit and think

We frolic while 'tis May

Thy braes were bonny, Yarrow stream!
When first on them I met my lover

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our own family and fire

Of rest was Noah's dove bereft

While they our wisest hours engage,

They'll joy our youth, support our age

Like a kind angel, whisper peace,

And smooth the bed of death

Each takes the phrase in his own private view
With Prudence it is ten, with Florio two

The sheltered cot

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground
The village preacher's modest mansion rose
At church with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorned the venerable place

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride?

Our moments pass sae smooth away,
That numbers on us look and gaze

Like a lion turns the warrior

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin' grey, and a' that?

Ae fond kiss, and then we sever..

But who the melodies of morn can tell?.

A vale appeared below, a deep, retired abode

W. SMALL

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There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud

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For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me...

W'e buried him darkly, at dead of night

"This heart's sleeping-is not dead"

Fill the air with wild-fowl

I never felt the kiss of love,

Nor maiden's hand in mine

The splendour falls on castle walls

'Neath his gaze her pale cheek flushes

Fold thy little hands in prayer
By thy list'ning mother's knee

All night the moonbeams pale

Steal round and round me

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow
From strife that in a far-off future lies

Do not call each glorious change decay

"Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, "Speed" echoed the wall to us galloping through

Named softly as the household name

Of one whom GOD hath taken !

Give me the Saxon girls;

Who will may have the Grecks

JOHN TENNIEL.

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