132

HAPPINESS.

TRUE Happiness had no localities,
No tones provincial, no peculiar garb.

Where Duty went, she went, with Justice went,
And went with Meekness, Charity, and Love.
Where'er a tear was dried, a wounded heart
Bound up, a bruised spirit with the dew
Of sympathy anointed, or a pang
Of honest suffering soothed, or injury
Repeated oft, as oft by love forgiven;
Where'er an evil passion was subdued,
Or Virtue's feeble embers fanned; where'er
A sin was heartily abjured and left;
Where'er a pious act was done, or breathed
A pious prayer, or wished a pious wish;
There was a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light, a most religious fane,
Where Happiness, descending, sat and smiled.

ROBERT POLLOK, 1799-1827.

A MOTHER AND HER CHILD.

HER by her smile how soon the stranger knows!
How soon by his the glad discovery shows!
As to her looks she lifts the lovely boy,
What answering lips of sympathy and joy!
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word,
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard;
And ever, ever to her lap he flies,

When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue),
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart ;
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove,
And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love!
But soon a nobler task demands her care:
Apart she joins his little hands in prayer,

Telling of Him who sees in secret there!

133

MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS AT SEA.

And now the volume on her knee has caught
His wandering eye-now many a written thought
Never to die, with many a lisping sweet,

His moving, murmuring lips endeavour to repeat.
SAMUEL ROGERS, 1762-1855.

MIDNIGHT THOUGHTS AT SEA.
BORNE upon the ocean's foam,
Far from native land and home,
Midnight's curtain, dense with wrath,
Brooding o'er our venturous path,
While the mountain wave is rolling,
And the ship's bell faintly tolling:
Saviour! on the boisterous sea,
Bid us rest secure in Thee.

Blast and surge, conflicting hoarse,
Sweep us on with headlong force;
And the bark, which tempests surge,
Moans and trembles at their scourge:
Yet, should wildest tempests swell,
Be Thou near, and all is well.
Saviour! on the stormy sea,
Let us find repose in Thee.

Hearts there are with love that burn,
When to us afar they turn;
Eyes that show the rushing tear
If our uttered names they hear :
Saviour! o'er the faithless main
Bring us to those homes again,
As the trembler, touched by Thee,
Safely trod the treacherous sea.
Wrecks are darkly spread below,
Where with lonely keel we go;
Gentle brows and bosoms brave,
Those abysses richly pave;
If beneath the briny deep

We, with them, should coldly sleep,
Saviour! o'er the whelming sea,
Take our ransomed soul to Thee.

MRS. SIGOURNEY, 1791-1865

A PSALM OF LIFE.

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST.

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
"Life is but an empty dream!"
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,-act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o'erhead !
Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

LONGFELLOW.

LUCY GRAY.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide.

At daybreak on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood
A furlong from their door.

They wept, and turning homeward, cried,
"In heaven we all shall meet :

When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet.

Half breathless from the steep hill's edge,
They tracked the footmarks small;
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the long stone wall;

And then an open field they crossed:
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost;
And to the bridge they came.
They followed from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;

And farther there were none !

Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child-

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

WORDSWORTH, 1770-1850.

B

25

THE FAITHFUL BIRD.

THE greenhouse is my summer seat,
My shrubs displaced from that retreat,
Enjoyed the open air;

Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.

They sang as blithe as finches sing
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list.
Strangers to liberty! 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never missed.

But nature works in every breast,
Instinct is never quite suppressed,
And Dick felt some desires;
Which, after many an effort vain,
Instructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.

The open windows seemed t' invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confined;
And Dick, although his way was clear,
Was much too generous and sincere
To leave his friend behind.

For, settling on his grated roof,

He chirped and kissed him, giving proof
That he desired no more;

Nor would forsake his cage at last,
Till, gently seized, I shut him fast
A prisoner as before.