The little brilliant, ere it fell, Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye; Sweet drop of pure and pearly light! Who ever fliest to bring relief, The sage's and the poet's theme, That very law which moulds a tear, That law preserves the earth a sphere, SAMUEL ROGERS. THE JESTER'S SERMON. THE Jester shook his hood and bells, and leaped upon a chair; The pages laughed, the women screamed, and tossed their scented hair; The falcon whistled, staghounds bayed, the lapdog barked without, The scullion dropped the pitcher brown, the cook railed at the lout; The steward, counting out his gold, let pouch and money fall, And why? because the Jester rose to say grace in the hall! The page played with the heron's plume, the steward with his chain; The butler drummed upon the board, and laughed with might and main; The grooms beat on their metal cans, and roared till they were red,- But still the Jester shut his eyes and rolled his witty head, And when they grew a little still, read half a yard of text, And, waving hand, struck on the desk, then frowned like one perplexed. "Dear sinners all," the fool began, "man's life is but a jest, A dream, a shadow, bubble, air, a vapor at the best. In a thousand pounds of law I find not a single ounce of love; A blind man killed the parson's cow in shooting at the dove; The fool that eats till he is sick must fast till he is well; The wooer who can flatter most will bear away the belle. "Let no man halloo he is safe till he is through the wood; He who will not when he may, must tarry when he should; He who laughs at crooked men should need walk very straight; O, he who once has won a name may lie abed till eight; Make haste to purchase house and land, be very slow to wed; True coral needs no painter's brush, nor need be daubed with red. “The friar, preaching, cursed the thief (the pudding in his sleeve); To fish for sprats with golden hooks is foolish, by your leave; To travel well, an ass's ears, hog's mouth, and ostrich legs; He does not care a pin for thieves who limps about and begs; Be always first man at a feast and last man at a fray; The short way round, in spite of all, is still the longest way; When the hungry curate licks the knife, there's not much for the clerk; When the pilot, turning pale and sick, looks upthe storm grows dark." Then loud they laughed; the fat cook's tears ran down into the pan; The steward shook, that he was forced to drop the brimming can; And then again the women screamed, and every staghound bayed, And why? because the motley fool so wise a ser mon made. GEORGE WALTER THORNBURY. THE FOOL'S PRAYER. THE royal feast was done; the King The jester doffed his cap and bells, He bowed his head, and bent his knee "No pity, Lord, could change the heart Be merciful to me, a fool! "T is not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; "T is by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. "These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. "The ill-timed truth we might have kept Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung! The word we had not sense to say— "Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all; But for our blunders-oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. "Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool The room was hushed; in silence rose EDWARD ROWLAND SILL. AT MIDSUMMER. THE spacious Noon enfolds me with its peace- The sense of some compelling hush profound, Some spell by which the whole vast world is bound Till star-crowned Night smile downward its release. I sit and dream-midway of the long day- My whole world seems, indeed, to hold its |