There's nothing bright, above, below,
From flowers that bloom to stars that glow
But in its light my soul can see
Some feature of the Deity.

There's nothing dark, below, above,
But in its gloom I trace thy love,
And meekly wait that moment when
Thy touch shall turn all bright again.

CHARADE. — By Praed.

COME from my First, ay, come !
For the battle-hour is nigh:

And the screaming trump and thundering drum
Are calling thee to die!

Fight, as thy father fought!

Fall, as thy father fell!

Thy task is taught, thy shroud is wrought ;-
So-onward-and farewell.

Toll ye my Second, toll!

Fling wide the flambeau's light,

And sing the hymn for a parted soul

Beneath the silent night.

With the wreath upon his head,

And the cross upon his breast,

Let the prayer be said, and the tear be shed;

So

take him to his rest!

Ay, call him by his name!
Nor fitter hand may crave

To light the flame of a soldier's fame

On the turf of a soldier's grave!

ANSWER. Campbell.

WINTER.- Burns.

THE wintry west extends his blast,
And hail and rain do blow;

Or the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snow;

While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,

And roars from bank to brae; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day.

The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,
The joyless winter day,

Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May;

The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul,

My griefs it seems to join;

The leafless trees my fancy please,

Their fate resembles mine.

Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme

These woes of mine fulfil;

Here, firm, I rest,

they must be best,

Because they are Thy will!

Then all I want, (O, do Thou grant

This one request of mine!)

Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.

LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY.- Watts.

It was a brave attempt! adventurous he
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea,
And, leaving his dear native shores behind,
Trusted his life to the licentious wind.

I see the surging brine; the tempest raves;
He on the pine-plank rides across the waves,
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves;
He steers the wingéd boat, and shifts the sails,
Conquers the flood, and manages the gales.

Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land,
Fearless, when the great Master gives command.
Death is the storm; she smiles to hear it roar,
And bids the tempest waft her from the shore;
Then with a skilful helm she sweeps the seas,
And manages the raging storm with ease;

(Her faith can govern death;) she spreads her wings
Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings,
And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things.
As the shores lessen, so her joys arise,

The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies;
Now vast eternity fills all her sight,

She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight,
The seas forever calm, the skies forever bright.

ON A LEAF FROM THE TOMB OF VIRGIL. - Mrs. Hemans.

AND was thy home, pale, withered thing,
Beneath the rich blue southern sky?

Wert thou a nursling of the spring,

The winds and suns of glorious Italy?

Those suns, in golden light, e'en now
Look o'er the poet's lovely grave;
Those winds are breathing soft, but thou,

Answering their whisper, there no more shalt wave.

The flowers o'er Posilippo's* brow

May cluster in their purple bloom,

But on the o'ershadowing ilex-bough

Thy breezy place is void, by Virgil's tomb.

Thy place is void, — O, none on earth,

This crowded earth, may so remain, Save that which souls of loftiest birth

Leave when they part, their brighter home to gain!

Another leaf ere now hath sprung

On the green stem which once was thine;

When shall another strain be sung

Like his whose dust hath made that spot a shrine?

You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear,

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the blithe New Year;

*A mountain skirting the shores of the Bay of Naples, on one of the most beautiful heights of which stands the tomb of Virgil.

Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black, black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Caroline;

But none so fair as little Alice, in all the land, they

say,

So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If ye do not call me loud when the day begins to

break;

For I must gather knots of flowers and buds, and garlands gay;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think ye I should see But Robin, leaning on the bridge, beneath the hazletree?

He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yesterday,

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in

white,

And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash o'

light.