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At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought,
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light;
And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like the rainbow through the shower.
Oh! then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye ;
And proud resolve and purpose meek
Speak of thee more than words can speak.
I think the wedded wife of mine
The best of all that's not divine.

Thomas Haynes Bayley, the most successful song-writer, next to Moore, of his time, addressed, amidst the misfortunes of his chequered life, these touching verses to his wife :Oh! hadst thou never shared my fate More dark that fate would

prove; My heart were truly desolate

Without thy soothing love.
But thou hast suffer'd for my sake,

Whilst this relief I found,
Like fearless lips that strive to take

The poison from a wound.
My fond affection thou hast seen,

Then judge of my regret
To think more happy thou hadst been

If we had never met !
And has that thought been shared by thee?

Ah, no! that smiling cheek
Proves more unchanging love for me

Than labour'd words could speak.

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But there are true hearts which the sight

Of sorrow summons forth;
Though known in days of past delight,

We knew not half their worth.
How unlike some who have profess'd

So much in Friendship's name,
Yet calmly pause to think how best

They may evade her claim.
But, ah! from them to thee I turn:

They'd make me loathe mankind;
Far better lessons I


learn From thy more holy mind. The love that gives a charm to home

I feel they cannot take ; We'll

pray for happier years to come For one another's sake.

The glowing affection of a true husband as well as a true poet animates Thomas Hood's

Good morrow to the golden morning!

Good morrow to the world's delight !
I've come to bless thy life's beginning,

Since it makes my own so bright.
I have brought no roses, sweetest;

I could find no flowers, dear;
It was when all sweets were over
Thou wert born to bless the

But I've brought thee jewels, dearest,

In thy bonny locks to shine ;
And if love shows in their glances,

They have learn'd that look of mine.

me, love,

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These are by the same poet:


eyes that were so bright, love,
Have now a dimmer shine;
But all they've lost in light, love,

Was what they gave to mine.
But still those orbs reflect, love,

The beams of former hours,
That ripen'd all my joys, my love,
And tinted all


Those locks were brown to see, love,

That now are turn'd to grey ;
But the

years were spent with
That stole their hue

Thy locks no longer share, love,

The golden glow of noon;
But I've seen the world look fair, my love,

When silver'd by the moon.
That brow was smooth and fair, love,

That looks so shaded now;
But for me it bore the care, love,

That spoild a bonny brow.
And though no longer there, love,

The gloss it had of yore,
Still Memory looks and dotes, my love,

Where Hope admired before. A few specimens of royal anniversary poems of middle age will now engage our attention. I should be truly glad to be able to present some from the great court poet of England, Geoffrey Chaucer, in the splendid reign of the chivalric King Edward III. and his admirable queen Philippa, who in 1345, as on many other occasions, kept the birthday of her mighty lord (surrounded

by her numerous family, including the famous Black Prince), with tournaments and dances and minstrelsy, at her residence, where Chaucer describes a certain maple-tree

That is fair and green,
Before the chamber-windows of the queen,

At Woodstock.
But the great poet has left no special birthday verses
in honour of King Edward, or Philippa, or the Black

In an old folio copy of the “ Arcadia” preserved at Wilton have been found two beautiful and interesting relics—a lock of Queen Elizabeth's hair, and an original poem in the handwriting of Sir Philip Sidney. The hair was given by the fair hands of the queen to her young hero. The poet repaid the precious gift in the following lines :

Her inward worth all outward show transcends; Envy her merits with regret

commends; Like sparkling gems her virtues draw the light, And in her conduct she was always bright. When she imparts her thoughts her words have

force, And sense and wisdom flow in sweet discourse.

The date of this exchange of gifts was 1573, when the queen was forty and the knight twentynine. Elizabeth's hair is very fine, soft, and silky, with the undulation of water, its colour a fair auburn or golden brown, without the tinge of red her detractors have attributed to it; but the soft lines are flecked with light, and shine as though powdered with gold-dust. In every country under the sun such hair would be pronounced beautiful.

We may here mention the fatal wedding-gift of Mary, Queen of Scots, when she married Darnley. It was sent to Queen Elizabeth a ring with a diamond in the form of a heart. It was accompanied by some Latin verses, written by that scholar and poet of Scotland, Buchanan, and thus trans

lated :

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This gem behold, the emblem of my heart,
From which my cousin's image ne'er shall part;
Clear in its lustre, spotless does it shine :-
'Tis clear and spotless as this heart of mine.
What though the stone a greater hardness wears?--
Superior firmness still the figure bears.

Some of the poetry of Queen Elizabeth's magnificent anniversaries will be considered under “Birthdays of Later Life.”

Walpole says of those inimitable entertainments of James I. and Charles I. that have previously engaged our attention :-“Poetry, painting, music, and architecture were all called in to make them rational amusements: and I have no doubt but the celebrated festivals of Louis XIV. were copied from the shows exhibited at Whitehall, in its time the most polite court in Europe. Ben Jonson was the laureate; Inigo Jones the inventor of the decorations ; Laniere and Fera Vosco composed the symphonies; the king, the queen, and the young nobility danced in the interludes.”

On the twenty-second birthday of the queen of Charles I. Ben Jonson made the following poetic offering :


Up, public joy ! remember
This sixteenth of November

Some brave uncommon way ;

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