And how when any life goes out Facts which great soldiers often doubt, Oh, song hath power o'er Nature's springs, As the next bright breeze displayed them ; But he felt the while that the meanest things Are dear to Him that made them! The sun went down behind the hill, With a harp upon his shoulder. And soon, on a graceful steed and tame, A sleek Arabian mare, The lady Juliana came Riding to take the air, With many a lord at whose proud name The Minstrel touched his lute again; He sang of Beauty's dazzling eyes, And her praise is a richer prize He told how the valiant scoff at fear The Lady soon had heard enough; While smooth Sir Guy described the stuff The Lady smiled one radiant smile, I have heard a Poet say, Who can listen more than a little while His mother's voice was fierce and shrill "Out on thine unrewarded skill, Let the strings be broken an they will, Peace, peace! the Pilgrim as he went But the blessing that his wan lips sent And turn his hand from wrong. Belike the child had little thought Of the moral the Minstrel drew; But the dream of a deed of kindness wroughtBrings it not peace to you? And does not a lesson of virtue taught Teach him that teaches too? And if the Lady sighed no sigh For the Minstrel or his hymn, Yet when he shall lie 'neath the moonlit sky, Or lip the goblet's brim, What a star in the mist of memory That smile will be to him! OLD WINE. IT was my father's wine,-alas! I think I have as warm a heart, In this we toasted William Pitt, In this "The King "-"The Church "-" The Laws " Have had their three times three ; Sound wine befits as sound a cause; Old wine, old wine for me. In this, when France in those long wars We used to drink our troops and tars, Now, things are changed, though Britain's fame May out of fashion be, At least my wine remains the same! My neighbours, Robinson and Lamb, I don't pretend to interfere; But none of that cheap poison here! Some dozens lose, I must allow, If these are all my cellar's sins, Old wine, old wine for me. THE TALENTED MAN. A LETTER FROM A LADY IN LONDON TO A LADY AT LAUSANNE. DEAR Alice! you'll laugh when you know it, Last week, at the Duchess's ball, I danced with the clever new poet,- Miss Jonquil was perfectly frantic; I wish you had seen Lady Anne ! It really was very romantic, He is such a talented man! He came up from Brazenose College, Of science and logic he chatters, As fine and as fast as he can; Though I am no judge of such matters, His stories and jests are delightful ;- May do pretty well at Lausanne; He sneers, how my Alice would scold him !— |