And o'er the champain flies; which when | Some bank or quickset finds; to which his th' assembly find, haunch opposed, Each follows as his horse were footed with He turns upon his foes, that soon have him the wind. inclosed. they lay, But, being then imbost, the noble stately The churlish-throated hounds then holding deer him at bay, When he hath gotten ground (the kennel And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin cast arrear) Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth refreshing soil; deadly wounds. That serving not, then proves if he his scent The hunter coming in to help his wearied can foil, hounds, And makes amongst the herds and flocks of He desperately assails, until, opprest by shag-wooled sheep, force, Them frighting from the guard of those who He who the mourner is to his own dying had their keep, corse But whenas all his shifts his safety still Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears denies, Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fal lows tries; Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand T'assail him with his goad; so, with his hook in hand, The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hallo, HO art thou, glorious form, flashing by me, So beautiful, so godlike? Wilt thou fly me? When with tempestuous speed the hounds Why o'er thy face and bosom fall thy tresses and huntsmen follow, streaming? gleaming? never: Until the noble deer, through toil bereaved And why the airy pinions on thy white feet of strength, His long and sinewy legs then failing him at My name is Opportunity. Pause or rest I length, The villages attempts, enraged, not giving Mortals rarely know me till I'm gone for ever. To seize me passing on to few is granted; To anything he meets now at his sad Therefore one foot upon a wheel is planted, decay. Therefore the light wings bound on them, to way The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunt ers near, This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, make me So quick in flight that none shall overtake me. "Thoughts come again, convictions perpetuate themselves, opportunities pass by irrecoverably."-GOETHE. Down fall my tresses, face and bosom veil- | And your heart can recall—and mine often ing, That none may know me till to know be un availing ; Then mockingly I fling aside the veil and please me With their vain hope, and vainer haste, to seize me. And who is this dark form that follows thee with weeping, Ever as a shadow on thy bright track keeping? Her name's Repentance. When I fleet quickly by them, She stoppeth, weeping, vainly weeping, nigh them. goes back With a sigh and a tear to the hours— When we gazed on her form as she followed the track Of the butterfly's wing through the flowers; When in her young joy she would smile with delight On its plumage of mingling dyes, Till she let it go free, and looked after its flight To see if it entered the skies? But she wandered away from the home of her youth One spring ere the roses were blown, But thou, poor mortal, precious moments For she fancied the world was a temple of truth, And she measured all hearts by her own; She fed on a vision and lived on a dream, And she followed it over the wave, And she sought where the moon has a milder gleam For a home, and they gave her a grave. There was one whom she loved, though she breathed it to none, For love of her soul was a part, And he said he loved her, but he left her alone With the worm of despair in her heart; And oh, with what anguish we counted, each day, The roses that died on her cheek, Yet her eye was as mild and as blue to the last, Though shadows stole over its beam, And her smiles are remembered, since long they are past, Like the smiles we have seen in a dream; "LAUGH, LIKE ME, AT EVERYTHING." THE HERE'S nothing here on earth deserves And it may be that fancy had woven a And thinking but destroys the nerves, spell, But I think, though her tones were as clear, When we could do so well without it; If folks would let the world go round, And pay their tithes and eat their dinners, They were somewhat more soft, and their Such doleful looks would not be found murmurings fell Like a dirge on the listening ear. And while sorrow threw round her a holier grace, Though she always was gentle and kind, Yet I think that the softness which stole o'er her face Had a softening power o'er the mind. But it might be her looks and her tones were more dear And we valued them more in decay, As we treasure that last fading flower of the year, For we felt she was passing away. She never complained, but she loved to the last, And the tear in her beautiful eye To frighten us poor laughing sinners. One plagues himself about the sun, And puzzles on, through every weather, And when he'll leave us altogether; Whether he shine at six or seven? At last they'll plague him out of heaven. Another spins from out his brains Fine cobwebs to amuse his neighbors, And gets, for all his toils and pains, Reviewed and laughed at for his labors; Often told that her thoughts were gone back Fame is his star, and fame is sweet, I had a charmer, too, and sighed And raved all day and night about her: She caught a cold, poor thing! and died, And I am just as fat without her. Never sigh when you can sing, But laugh, like me, at everything. For tears are vastly pretty things, But make one very thin and taper, And sighs are music's sweetest strings, But sound most beautiful on paper; Thought is the sage's brightest star : Her gems alone are worth his finding; But, as I'm not particular, And nurse thy waning light in faith I came not, and I cry to save I'd tell thee where my youth hath been, Please God, I'll keep on "never minding." Of perils past, of glories seen; Never sigh when you can sing, Oh, in this troubled world of ours Is half a pain and half a pleasure; G. M. FITZGERALD. MY MOTHER'S GRAVE. OH, rise and sit in soft attire, Wait but to know my soul's desire; I'd call thee back to days of strife To wrap my soul around thy life: Ask thou this heart for monument, And mine shall be a large content. A crown of brightest stars to thee! How did thy spirit wait for me, I'd speak of all my youth hath done And ask of things to choose and shun, And smile at all thy needless fears, But bow before thy solemn tears. Come, walk with me and see fair earth, Men wonder till I pass away: Oh, life and power that I might see |