And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping, SOUTHEY. GOOD HEART AND WILLING HAND. IN storm or shine, two friends of mine And when they visit poor men's homes, 'Tis willing Hand! 'tis cheerful Heart! Around the hearth come joy and mirth, Where'er their faces glow. Come shine-'tis bright! come dark-'tis light So heavily fall the hammer-stroke ! Merrily sound the song! Who falls may stand, if good Right Hand Who weeps may sing, if kindly Heart Has lodged in his breast. The humblest board has dainties poured, The crust they eat is honey-sweet, The water good as wine. They fill the purse with honest gold, Without these twain, the poor complain Of evils hard to bear; But with them Poverty grows rich, And finds a loaf to spare! Their looks are fire-their words inspire- C. MACKAY. GLENARA. OH! heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; In silence they reached over mountain and moor, "And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her shroud," Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud; "And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem : Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!" Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen; Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,- "I dreamed of my lady, I dreamed of her grief; In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert revealed where his lady was found: From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne ;Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! CAMPBELL. SONG OF THE WINTER TREE. WHAT a happy life was mine, Like golden threads about my summer suit! Let enough of light between, Just to dry the dew that lingered at my root. What troops of friends I had, When my form was richly clad, When I was fair 'mid fairest things of earth! And I heard no rougher sound Than childhood's laugh in bold and leaping mirth. The old man sat him down To note my emerald crown, And rest beneath my branches thick and bright; Kept swinging all the day, And the song-birds chattered to me through the night. The dreaming poet laid His soft harp in my shade And sung my beauty, chorused by the bee; The village maiden came, To read her own dear name Carved on my bark, and bless the broad green tree. The merry music breathed While the bounding dancers wreathed As they trod the chequered sward, Told the green tree was a worshipped thing by them. Oh, what troops of friends I had, What kind ones answered to my rustling call! In the glowing summer days, And the beautiful green tree was loved by all. And the gray cloud dimmed the sky- Like the skeleton's bleached bones, I stand at morning's dawn, The sunset comes and finds me still alone: Birds, poet, dancers, children-all are gone. The hearts that turned this way Forsake me now, as though I ceased to be: I hear no minstrel's lays The very nest falls from the leafless tree. But the kind and merry train Will be sure to come again, With love and smiles as ready as of yore; I must only wait to wear My robe so rich and fair And they, will throng as they have thronged before. Oh! ye who dwell in pride, Only lose your summer green leaves, and ye'll see And forget ye as they do the winter tree. ELIZA COOK. THE MARCH OF TIME. IN the palace, in the cottage, Never tiring, never resting, Secrets lost in dark oblivion, Dreams and echoes of the past, ANON. VICTORIA'S TEARS. O MAIDEN! heir of kings! All other from his face! And thou upon thy mother's breast No longer lean adown, But take the glory for the rest, And rule the land that loves thee best!" |