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But lo! while life's dim taper still
Burn'd feebly in his breast,
A ministering angel came―
His hated Indian guest!

He shared his wheaten loaf with him,
of water shared,

His cup

And bore the sick man unto those

For whom his heart most cared. “I cursed thee not," the Indian said, "When thou wast stern to me, And I have had my vengeance now ; White man! farewell to thee!"

M'LELLAN.

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Mary Stuart's Farewell.

ADIEU! Sweet land of France, adieu!
All cherish'd joys gone by;

Scenes where my happy childhood grew,
To leave ye is to die.

Adopted country! whence I go

An exile o'er the sea,

Hear Mary's fond farewell, and, oh!

My France, remember me!
Winds rise; the ship is on her track:

Alas! my tears are vain :

There is no storm to bear me back

On thy dear shores again.

Adieu, sweet land of France, &c.

When in my people's sight I wore
The lily's royal flower,

Ah! their applause was offered more
To beauty than to power:
Now gloomy Albyn's throne in vain.
Awaits my slow advance;

I only would be queen, to reign
O'er the gay hearts of France.

Adieu, sweet land of France, &c.

Love, glory, genius-ah! too dear,-
Have dazzled all my prime;

My fates shall change to cold and drear
In Scotland's ruder clime;

My heart, my heart, with sudden woe,
Seeks a vague omen's shock!
Sure in some ghastly dream I saw
A scaffold and a block.

Adieu, sweet land of France, &c.

Oh, France! in all her woes and fears,
The Stuarts' daughter, she,

As now she greets thee through her tears,
Shall ever turn to thee;

Alas! too swift my bark hath flown
Beneath these stranger skies:

Night, as her hurried veil comes down,
Conceals thee from my eyes.

Adieu! sweet land of France, &c.

W. DOWE, (AFTER BERANGER.)

Much Coin Much Care.

HE who possesses much, has much to lose,
And that's a thing which tries the temper much;
More than a crying child, or scolding spouse.
He who invades the pocket, dares to touch
What few are willing other hands should use,
And therefore grasp it with an iron clutch;
And when against the will 'tis forced apart,
'Tis like phlebotomizing from the heart.

I-(that's the fancied bard who sings, not me)-
Am safe from all the agonies of loss,

From robber-debtor-borrowing friend-am free ;
And therefore such can never make me cross.
The wind might join in conflict with the sea,
I have no argosies for storms to toss :

Earthquakes. might wreck from Greenland to the line,

They would not bury house nor land of mine.

Money involves the world in tribulation,

Produces envy, hatred, theft, and strife,

Gives birth to half the laws that vex the nation; It makes friends quarrel, severs man and wife: Named every day and hour with execration, Man's first-last trouble, and prime pest of life: Nations and individuals war about it,

Because men fancy they can't do without it.

All things alarm the monied man--the wind
Raging at night appals his soul with fears;
He dreads, when morning comes, that he shall find
Barns or old houses blown about his ears:
If it be moonlight-then his anxious mind
Thinks of his tenants, reckons their arrears,
And deems that he shall find them gone next day,
And neither goods nor chattels left to pay.

A monarch's death,-the altering of a law,--
News from a friendly or a hostile state,-
The quarrels of two kings he never saw,-
Intelligence received too soon-too late,—-
A royal stomach's gout,-a legal flaw,-
These are sufficient to affect his fate!
Chances and changes, barr'd from all assurance,
Threaten his peace and pocket past endurance.

They who have much are always wanting more,
And seldom have a shilling they can spare;
Grasping at purchases to swell their store:
Present enjoyment never claims their care,
While I, who ne'er o'er sales by auction pore,
And, if I did, should have no business there,
Reckless enjoy my little, day by day,
And make myself as happy as I may.

ANON.

Don't Shut Your Boor.

DON'T shut your door,—don't shut your door: If Love should come and call:

'Twill be no use at all.

If Love command, you'd best obey,--
Resistance will but hurt you,—

And make,-for that's the safest way,-
Necessity a virtue ;

So don't resist his gentle sway,

Nor shut your door if he should call ;-
For that's no use at all.

I've seen him tame the wildest beast,
And strengthen too the weakest :
He loves him most who plagues him least;
His favourites are the meekest.

The privileged guests who grace his feast
Have ne'er opposed his gentle call;-
For that's no use at all.

He loves to tumble upside down
All classes, all connexions:
Of those who fear or wear a crown
He mingles the affections,

Till all by love is overthrown.
E'en moated gate or castle-wall

Will be no use at all.

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