Content, if to thy lot the world should bring Enduring suffering; Unhappy, if permitted but to share Part of my griefs-wouldst both our burdens bear. My joy, my solace, and my pride I found thee still: Whatever change our fortunes might betide Worthier I was life's blessing to receive All that I had of good in others' sight, The lute unstrung-the meals in silence ate The widow'd bed-the chamber desolate, The tear at parting, and the greeting kiss, Endearments fond, and solaced hours, and all Oh! mayst thou, if permitted, from above Encompass me with ever-during love, As thou didst here: Still be my guardian spirit, lest I be Unworthy thee; Still, as on earth, thy grace celestial give, So guide my life as thou wouldst have me live. J. F. MURRAY, "LIVE AND LET LIVE.” METHINKS we should have this engraven, Where Interest swoops like a raven Shame to those who, secure in their thriving, There's room in the world for more pleasure, And spreadeth Love's pall o'er his breast. For Religion ne'er preaches more truly ELIZA COOK, 1818— MY JEAN. Or a' the airts the wind can blaw, I dearly like the west, For there the bonnie lassie lives, The lassie I loe best : Where wild woods grow, and rivers row, Wi' mony a hill between; I see her in the dewy flowers, There's not a bonnie flower that springs Oh, blaw, ye westlin' winds, blaw saft Wi' gentle gale, frae muir and dale, That's aye sae neat and clean; Ae blink o' her would banish care, What sighs and vows, amang the knowes, Hae past atween us twa! How fain to meet, how wae to part, That day she gaed awa'! The powers aboon can only ken, That nane can be sae dear to me As my sweet lovely Jean. ROBERT BURNS, 1759-1796. THE FRIEND OF THE HAMLET. THOU lov'st the city's glittering throng; And thou were destined there to shine; For all the magic charms of song And eloquence and wit are thine; And Science, in thy studious hour, Has of her secret stores display'd; And He who bless'd thee with the power, Has placed thee where it most can aid. But me, whose unreflecting skill Flows half-instinctive from the heart, Dear is my simple hamlet,—dear, At morn and noon, its busy crowd,— When Labour laughs, and Virtue near Smiles to the song that rises loud; And when the moonlight pastime glows, And feel that there are charms on earth! |