A FATHER'S LAMENT.

And I was busied with a fond employ,

Ranging the future on hope's fearless wings,

And gathering for them thence, how many pleasant things!

But a dark dream has swept across my brain,
A wild, a dismal dream that will not break;
A rush of fear, an agony of pain-
Pangs and suspense that inly make me quake.
My boy my boy! I saw thy sweet eyes take
A strange, unearthly lustre, and then fade;
And oh I deemed my heart must surely break
As, stooping, I thy pleasant looks surveyed,

And felt that thou must die, and they in dust be laid.

Oh! precious in thy life of happiness!
Daily and hourly valued more and more!
Yet, to the few brief days of thy distress
How faint all love my spirit knew before!
I turn and turn and ponder o'er and o'er,
Insatiate, all that sad and dreary time.

Thy words thrill through me;-in my fond heart's core
I hoard thy sighs, and tears shed for no crime,
And thy most patient love sent from a happier clime.

How dim and dismal is my home!-a sense
Of thee spreads through it, like a haunting ill:-
For thou-for ever-thou hast vanished thence!
This, this pursues me, pass where'er I will;
And all the traces thou hast left but fill
The hollow of thine absence with more pain.

I toil to keep thy living image still,

But fancy feebly doth her part maintain,

I see, yet see thee not, my child as I would fain.

In dreams for ever thy dear form I grasp;
In noonday reveries do I rove-then start,
And certainty, as with an iron clasp,

A FATHER'S LAMENT.

Shuts down once more to misery my heart.
The world from thee, as a shorn flower, doth part,
Ending its care and knowledge with-"farewell!"
But in my soul a shrinèd life thou art,

Ordained with memory and strong hope to dwell,
And with all pure desires to sanctify my cell.

Spring like a spirit is upon the earth

Forth gush the flowers and fresh leaves of the tree;
And I had planned, with wonder and with mirth,—
The bird, the nest, the blossom, and the bee,
To fill thy boyish bosom-till its glee
O'erflowed my own with transport! In far years

I felt thy hand in mine, by stream and lea
Wandering in gladness. But these blinding tears,
Why will they still gush forth, though richer hope appears?

Far other lands thy happy feet have trod;
Far other scenes thy tender soul has known;
The golden city of the Eternal God;

The rainbow splendours of the Eternal Throne.

Through the pearl-gate how lightly hast thou flown!

The streets of lucid gold-the chrysolite

Foundations have received thee.-Dearest one

That thought alone can break affliction's might— Feeling that thou art blest, again my heart is light.

Thanks to the Framer of life's mystery!
Thanks to th' Illuminator of the grave!
Vainly on Time's obscure and tossing sea
Hope did I seek and comfort did I crave;
But He who made neglecteth not to save.
My child-thou hast allied me to the blest;
I cannot fear what thou didst meekly brave;
I cannot cease to long with thee to rest-

And heaven is doubly heaven with thee, with thee possest!
William Howitt.

TO A FLOWER.

THE sun awakes thee with his rosy light,
And the sun cheers thee with his early rays;
He culls thy tender beauty from the night,

To share the strength and glory of his days.

He smiles upon thee from the misty hills

With fervent love looks on thee from deep skies, And what of dewy sweet his warmth distils, Receives, repaying thee with lovelier dyes.

Thou art not proud that he does look on thee;
As thou didst know his greatness thou art meek;
And seem a pledge of thine humility,

This dewy tear, and tint upon thy cheek.

Thou livest not unto thyself alone;

Thou takest, and thou givest, and art blest: Around to thankful life thy sweets are blown, And I seem thankless, wakeful, or at rest.

Oh, might I raise me from the darkness up,
From the soul's night as thou dost from the sod,
And fill my heart with dewy thoughts-a cup

Of incense purely offer'd unto God!

Richard Howitt.

COUPLETS.

THY treasures lodged so low, earth's damps will soon consume While time is, lift them up into a higher room.

Only the waters which in perfect stillness lie,
Give back an undistorted image of the sky.

Despise not little sins; the gallant ship may sink,
Though only drop by drop the watery tide it drink.

When thou art fain to trace a map of thine own heart,
As undiscovered land set down the largest part.

Envy detects the spots in the clear orb of light,

And Love the little stars in the gloomiest saddest night.

Resigned are some to go: might we such grace attain
That we should need our resignation to remain.

The same rains rain from heaven on all the forest trees,
Yet those bring forth sweet fruits, and poisonous berries these.

A thousand blessings, Lord, to us Thou dost impart :
We ask one blessing more, O Lord-a thankful heart.

All nature has a voice, and this the sunflower's word, "I look unto the light-look thou unto the Lord."

Oh wherefore in such haste in men's sight to appear?
The cedar yields no fruit until its fiftieth year.

Richard Chenevix Trench.

THE BANQUET.

FIVE hundred princely guests before

Haroun-Al-Raschid sate;

Five hundred princely guests or more
Admired his royal state;

For never had that glory been

So royally displayed,

Nor ever such a gorgeous scene
Had eye of man surveyed.

He, most times meek of heart, yet now
Of spirit too elate,
Exclaimed-"Before me Cæsars bow,

On me two empires wait.

"Yet all our glories something lack,

We do our triumphs wrong,

Until to us reflected back

In mirrors clear of song.

"Call him then, unto whom this power
Is given, this skill sublime-
Now win from us some gorgeous dower
With song that fits the time."

"My King, as I behold thee now,

May I behold thee still,

While prostrate worlds before thee bow,

And wait upon thy will!