The bitter frown of friends estranged; - I never will!-I'll think of thee SONG. BY MRS. CHARLES GORE. He said my brow was fair, 'tis true;· He said my step was light, I own; He said my cheek looked pale with thought; He said, that bright with hopes divine He said-but wherefore should I tell Literary Gazette. THE FIELD OF GILBOA. BY WILLIAM KNOX. THE Sun of the morning looked forth from his throne, And there lay the husband that lately was prest To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy; And there lay the son of the widowed and sad, On the delicate limb that had ceased not to quiver! And there came the daughter, the delicate child, To kiss the loved lips that were gasping and gory. And there came the consort that struggled in vain Oh! bloody Gilboa! a curse ever lie Where the king and his people were slaughtered together; May the dew and the rain leave thy herbage to die, Thy flocks to decay, and thy forests to wither! Constable's Magazine. BEHAVE YOURSEL' BEFORE FOLK. BY ALEXANDER RODGERS. BEHAVE yoursel' before folk, As kiss me sae before folk. Consider, lad, how folks will crack, That's gi'en or ta'en before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk, Nor heat my cheeks wi' your mad freaks, Ye tell me that my lips are sweet: At ony rate, it's hardly meet To prie their sweets before folk. Behave yoursel' before folk Gin that's the case, there's time and place, But surely no before folk! But gin ye really do insist That I should suffer to be kissed, Gae get a license frae the priest, And mak' me yours before folk! Behave yoursel' before folk And when we 're ane, baith flesh and bane, Ye may tak' ten-before folk! THE HEBREW MOTHER. BY MRS. HEMANS. THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's plain, Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think So passed they on, And softly parting clusters of jet curls At last the Fane was reached, Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm |