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STANZAS FOR MUSIC.

BY J. H. WIFFEN, ESQ.

I.

ART thou desponding? I will wake a strain Sprightly as Pan's, when with his reedy lute He makes the mountain-pines bow to the plain, And charms the Oreads mute.

II.

Art thou delighted? I will take a tone

Of gentle woe, which makes delight more dear; Like that which Philomel, when buds are blown, Pours in Night's serious ear.

III.

Art thou solicitous? My song shall flow
Easy and voluble as waves that wind
Down the green dell, and leave where'er they go
A track of light behind.

IV.

Whate'er thy mood, but speak ;-thou shalt be armed
With airs to soothe, transport thee, or beguile;
For both my heart and harp to thee are charmed
By spell of thy sweet smile.

LOVE AND SPRING.

IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN,

BY THE ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.

"THY flowers," one day cried Love to Spring,
"Scarcely survive their blossoming:

Fleet one short month, frown one dark sky,
They in their very cradle die."

"The taunt too true," sweet Spring retorted,

As in her bower, all bloom, she sported,

"And will the joys thy reign discloses Flourish longer than my roses ?"

WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM.

LIKE childhood's years, without a stain,
The yet unwritten leaf appears;
Though future thoughts, expressed in vain,
May sully every page with tears.

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Yet sweet on such a page as this

"Twould be to note each fading pleasure, Each dream of joy, each thought of bliss, Of life, while life was yet a treasure.

And from the paths of ripening age;

When worn with grief,-oppressed with care,

Recur unto the treasured page,

And find our young hearts pictured there!

W. A.

THE OLD MANOR-HOUSE.

It is impossible for man to tell
What things in nature are impossible,
Or out of nature; or to prove to whom,
Or for what purposes, a ghost may come.
Crabbe.

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'Now, nurse, I won't go to bed, unless you promise to tell us a story; something about old castles, or about witches, or about ghosts,-or about any thing you like, nurse, so that it be a frightful story," said little George, in an earnest tone, untying his shoe, and addressing himself to Mrs. Margery.

"I never heard the like of you, George," whined out his brother Philip; "you are always for that sort of thing. No, no, nurse, never mind him;-let us have something funny, something to make us laugh. Mind, I won't go to bed any more than he, if you don't: he shan't always have his will. Do you hear that now:" and the spoiled urchin gave his head a most significant shake.

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'Nursey, nursey!" bawled out Jack, the youngest and last, but by no means least importunate personage of the triumvirate, "I will neither take off a stitch of my clothes, nor let you undress me, mind that; unless you do as

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George bids you, and tell us a nice, horrible little story about ghosts or robbers."

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Well, be good boys," answered the besieged Mrs. Margery, who was allowed to exercise a very limited degree of authority over the indulged and froward imps; "be good boys, and get into bed, and I will tell you one of my best stories."

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Now it must be a frightful one," ejaculated George and Jacky in one breath.

"Very well, it shall be so; and we shall have a droll one to-morrow evening, Philip,-will that do?"

"Yes, it will do; but see that you don't forget your promise, Mrs. Margery."

"Believe me, I shan't forget. Now you are all in bed. But, George, that is not your night-cap," added Margery, taking one of her own caps from his head, and handing him the right one. "Lie all down, like good boys."

"We are all ready now, cried Jacky; why don't you begin, nursey? Let it be a terrible one."

"Give me a moment,-give me a moment; let me snuff the candle, mend the fire, get my needle threaded, and my seam on my lap-"

"And then we shall be all asleep;-ha, ha, ha!-a very clever one!"

"A moment's patience then. Do you hear how the wind is whistling?—It would be an awful thing to be out travelling alone in this dark night!"

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