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adoration. But I am now spent; and the last good gift of God is this -- that he has sent thee to learn this awful lesson of unfaithful pride, and to save the bones of his repentant servant from the desert beast.”
Before the sun had risen on the morrow, the youth had buried the prophet in his cave, and returned to his tribe with a story destined to carry down fear and wonder to countless generations.
BY THE REV. C. HOYLE.
Here stood the Celtic Britons ; from afar
A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE.
BY ALARIC A. WATTS.
1. I saw her in her morn of hope, in life's delicious spring, A radiant creature of the earth, just bursting on the wing; Elate and joyous as the lark when first it soars on high, Without a shadow in its path,-a cloud upon its sky!—
II. I see her yet—so fancy deems—her soft, unbraided hair, Gleaming, like sun-light upon snow, above her forehead
fair ;Her large dark eyes, of changing light, the winning smile
that played, In dimpling sweetness, round a mouth Expression's self
And light alike of heart and step, she bounded on her
way, Nor dreamed the flowers that round her bloomed would
ever know decay ;-
She had no winter in her note, but evermore would sing (What darker season had she proved ?) of spring-of
only spring !
Alas, alas, that hopes like hers, so gentle and so bright, The growth of many a happy year, one wayward hour
should blight ;Bow down her fair but fragile form, her brilliant brow
o'ercast, And make her beauty-like her bliss a shadow of the
Years came and went — we met again, — but what a.
change was there! The glassy calmness of the eye, that whispered of des
pair ;The fitful flushing of the cheek,—the lips compressed
and thin, The clench of the attenuate hands,-proclaimed the strife
Yet, for each ravaged charm of earth some pitying power
had given Beauty, of more than mortal birth,-a spell that breathed
And as she bent, resigned and meek, beneath the chas
tening blow, With all a martyr's fervid faith her features seemed
No wild reproach — no bitter word—in that sad hour,
was spoken, For hopes deceived, for love betrayed, and plighted
pledges broken ;-) Like Him who for his murderers prayed,—she wept, but
did not chide, And her last orisons arose for him for whom she died!
Thus, thus-too oft the traitor man repays fond woman's
truth; Thus blighting, in his wild caprice, the blossoms of her
youth: And sad it is, in griefs like these, o'er visions loved and
lost, That the truest and the tenderest heart must always
A SUMMER SCENE.
BY ROBERT MORRIS, ESQ.
Let us go forth, pale student, nature hath