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Before Creation peopled earth,

Its eye shall roll through chaos back;
And where the farthest heaven had birth,

The spirit trace its rising track.
And where the future mars or makes,

Its glance dilate o'er all to be,
While sun is quenched, or system breaks.

Fixed in its own eternity.

Above or love, hope, hate, or fear,

It lives all passionless and pure;
An age shall fleet like earthly year; I

Its years as moments shall endure.
Away, away, without a wing

O'er all, through all, its thoughts shall fly;
A nameless and eternal thing,

Forgetting what it was to die.

. Byron.

YOU REMEMBER, ELLEN.

You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
How meekly she blessed her humble lot,

When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,
And love was the light of their lowly cot.
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Together they toiled through winds and rains,

Till William at length, in sadness said, 'We must seek our fortune on other plains;'—

Then, sighing, she left her lowly shed.

They roamed a long and a weary way,

Nor much was 'the maiden's heart at ease, When now, at the close of one stormy day,

They see a prond castle among the trees. 'To night,' said the youth,' we'll shelter there,

The wind blows cold, the hour is late:' So he blew the horn with a chieftain's air,

And the porter bowed as they passed the* gate.

'Now welcome, lady!' exclaimed the youth,—

'This castle is thine, and these dark woods all!' She believed him wild, but his words were truth,

For Ellen is Lady of Rosna Hall I And dearly the Lord of Rosna loves

What William the stranger woo'd and wed; And the light of bliss, in these lonely groves,

Is pure as it shone in the lonely shed.

Moore. ON THE APPROACH OF DEATH.

Yes, 'twill be over soon.—This sickly dream

Of life will vanish from my feverish brain; And death my wearied spirit will redeem

From this wild region of unvaried pain. Yon brook will glide as softly as before,—

Yon landscape smile,—yon golden harvest grow; Yon sprightly lark on mountain wing will soar,

When Henry's name is heard no more below. I sigh when all my youthful friends caress;

They laugh in health, and future evils brave; Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,

While I am mouldering in my silent grave. ■ God of the just—Thou gavest the bitter cup;

I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.

H. K. White.

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The hour that terminates his span,
His folly and his woe!

Worlds should not bribe me back to tread

Again life's dreary waste;
To see again my day o'erspread

With all the gloomy past.

My home henceforth is in the skies,
Earth, seas, and sun adieu!

All heaven unfolded to my eyes,
I have no sight for you.

So speaks the Christian, firm possessed

Of faith's supporting rod;
Then breathes his soul into its rest,

The bosom of his God.

Coivper.

LORD BYRON.

Take one example; to our purpose quite,
A man of rank, and a capacious soul;
Who riches had, and fame beyond desire:

An heir of flattery, to titles bom, i ": : .

And reputation, and luxurious life.

Yet not content with ancestorial name;

Or to be known, because his fathers were;

He on this height hereditary stood,

And gazing higher, purposed in his heart

To take another step. Above him seemed

Alone the mount of song—the lofty seat

Of canonized bards; and thitherward, ::. .

By nature taught, and inward melody,

In prime of youth, he bent his eagle eye.

No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read:

What sage to hear, he heard; what scenes to see,

He saw. And first in school-boy days,

Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes,

And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks,

And meads, as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul

With grandeur filled, and melody, and love.

Then travel came, and took him where he wished.

He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp;

And mused alone on ancient mountain brows,

And mused on battle-fields, where valour fought

In other days; and mused on ruins gray

With years: and drank from old and fabulous wells;

And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked:

And mused on famous tombs, and on the wave

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