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TRUE COURAGE.

THE brave man is not he who feels no fear,
For that were stupid and irrational;

But he whose noble soul its fear subdues,
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from.
As for your youth, whom blood and blows delight,
Away with them! there is not in their crew
One valiant spirit.

BAILLIE

DEFERENCE.

WOULD you both please and be instructed too,
Watch well the rage of shining, to subdue;
Hear every man upon his favourite theme,
And ever be more knowing than you seem.
The lowest genius will afford some light,
Or give a hint that had escaped your sight.
STILLINGFLEET.

NIL DESPERANDUM.

WHAT though the mast be now blown overboard,
The cable broke, the holding anchor lost,
And half our sailors swallow'd in the flood;
Yet lives our pilot still. Is 't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tearful eyes, add water to the sea,

And give more strength to that which hath too much,
Whiles, in his moan, the ship slips on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have saved?
Ah, what a shame! what a fault were this!

SHAKSPEARE

MOUNTAIN PLEASURES,

THRICE happy he! who on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain, forest crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines;
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever spouting streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without
Unsatisfied and sick, tosses at noon.

Emblem instructive of the virtuous man,
Who keeps his temper'd mind serene and pure,
And every passion aptly harmonized,

Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.

THOMSON.

A GRACEFUL DANCER.

CHASTE were his steps, each kept within due bound,
And elegance was sprinkled o'er his figure;
Like swift Camilla, he scarce skimm'd the ground,
And rather held in than put forth his vigour.
And then he had an ear for music's sound,
Which might defy a crotchet critic's rigour.
Such classic pas-sans flaws-set off our hero,
He glanced like a personified Bolero.

BYRON.

THE WILD BOY.

He sat upon the wave-wash'd shore,
With madness in his eye;

The surge's dash-the breaker's roar,
Pass'd unregarded by;

He noted not the billows' roll,
He heeded not their strife-
For terror had usurp'd his soul,
And stopp'd the streams of life.

They spoke him kindly-but he gazed,
And offer'd no reply-

They gave him food-he look'd amazed,
And threw the morsel by.
He was as one o'er whom a spell
Of darkness hath been cast;
His spirit seem'd to dwell alone
With dangers that were past.

The city of his home and heart,
So grand-so gaily bright,
Now touch'd by fate's unerring dart,
Had vanish'd from his sight.
The earthquake's paralyzing shake
Had rent it from its hold-
And nothing but a putrid lake
Its tale of terror told.

His kindred there, a numerous band,
Had watch'd his youthful bloom-
In the broad ruin of the land,

All-all had met their doom!
But the last night, a mother's voice
Breath'd over him in prayer-
She perish'd-he was left no choice
But mute and blank despair.

He sat alone, of all the crowd
That lately throng'd around-
The ocean winds were piping loud,
He did not heed their sound;
They ask'd him of that city's fate,
But reason's reign was o'er-
He pointed to her ruin'd state,
Then fled-and spoke no more.

C. W. THOMSON.

LOVE.

WHEN the tree of life is budding first,
Ere yet its leaves are green,

Ere yet, by shower and sunbeam nursed,
Its infant life has been,

The wild bee's slightest touch may wring
The buds from off the tree,

As the gentle dip of the swallow's wing
Breaks the bubbles on the sea.

But when its open leaves have found
A home in the free air,

Pluck them, and there remains a wound
That ever rankles there.
The blight of hope and happiness

Is felt when fond ones part,
And the bitter tear that follows is
The life-blood of the heart.

When the flame of love is kindled first,
"Tis the fire-fly's light at even,
"Tis dim as the wandering stars that burst
In the blue of the summer heaven.
A breath can bid it burn no more,
Or if, at times, its beams

Come on the memory, they pass o'er
Like shadows in our dreams.

But when the flame has blazed into
A being and a power,

And smiled in scorn upon the dew

That fell in its first warm hour,

'Tis the flame that curls round the martyr's head,

Whose task is to destroy;

"T is the lamp on the altars of the dead,

Whose light is not of joy!

Then crush, even in their hour of birth,
The infant buds of Love,

And tread his growing fire to earth,
Ere 't is dark in clouds above;
Cherish no more a cypress tree
To shade thy future years,

Nor nurse a heart-flame that may be
Quench'd only with thy tears.

HALLECK.

TO THE ICE MOUNTAIN.

GRAVE of waters gone to rest!
Jewel, dazzling all the main!
Father of the silver crest!

Wandering on the trackless plain,
Sleeping 'mid the wavy roar,
Sailing 'mid the angry storm,
Ploughing ocean's oozy floor,
Piling to the clouds thy form!

Wandering monument of rain,
Prison'd by the sullen north!
But to melt thy hated chain,

Is it that thou comest forth?
Wend thee to the sunny south,
To the glassy summer sea,
And the breathings of her mouth
Shall unchain and gladden thee!

Roamer in the hidden path,

'Neath the green and clouded wave! Trampling, in thy reckless wrath,

On the lost, but cherish'd brave;
Parting love's death-link'd embrace-
Crushing beauty's skeleton-

Tell us what the hidden race

With our mourned lost have done.

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