Methinks in thy fair flower is seen,
By those whose fancies roam,
An emblem of that leaf of green

The faithful dove brought home,
When o'er the world of waters dark
Were driven the inmates of the ark.

That leaf betokened freedom nigh
To mournful captives there;
Thy flower foretells a sunnier sky,
And chides the dark despair
By winter's chilling influence flung
O'er spirits sunk, and nerves unstrung.

And sweetly has kind Nature's hand
Assigned thy dwelling-place
Beneath a flower whose blooms expand
With fond congenial grace,
On many a desolated pile,

Brightening decay with beauty's smile.

Thine is the flower of ..ope, whose hue
Is bright with coming joy;

The wallflower's that of Faith, too true

For ruin to destroy ;—

And where, O! where should Hope up-spring

But under Faith's protecting wing?

BARTON.

THE CHILD OF EARTH.

AINTER her slow step falls from day to day,

Death's hand is heavy on her darkening brow, Yet doth she fondly cling to earth and say,

"I am content to die,-but Oh! not now!— Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring

Make the warm air such luxury to breathe; Not while the birds such lays of gladness sing; Not while bright flowers around my footsteps wreathe. Spare me, great God! lift up my drooping brow; I am content to die,-but, Oh! not now!"

The spring hath ripened into summer-time!
The season's viewless boundary is past;

The glorious sun hath reached his burning prime:
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the last?
"Let me not perish while, o'er land and lea,
With silent steps the lord of light moves on;
Not while the murmur of the mountain bee

Greets my dull ear with music in its tone!

Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my brow!
I am content to die,-but, Oh ! not now!"

Summer is gone: and autumn's soberer hues
Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn;
The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,

Shouts the halloo ! and winds his eager horn:-
"Spare me a while to wander forth and gaze
On the broad meadows and the quiet stream,
To watch in silence while the evening rays

Slant thro' the fading trees with ruddy gleam!
Cooler the breezes play around my brow;

I am content to die,-but, Oh! not now!"

The bleak wind whistles! snow-showers, far and near, Drift without echo to the whitening ground; Autumn hath passed away, and, cold and drear,

Winter stalks on, with frozen mantle bound! Yet still that prayer ascends :-" Oh! laughingly My little brothers round the warm hearth crowd, Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright and high, And the roof rings with voices light and loud: Spare me a while! raise up my drooping brow! I am content to die,-but, Oh! not now!"

The spring is come again-the joyful spring

Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread; The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing:

The child of earth is numbered with the dead.

The Child of Earth.

Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,
Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane;
The steps of friends thy slumbers may not break,
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again!

Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened brow;
Why didst thou linger?-thou art happier now.

C. E. S. NORTON.

TO THE CROCUS.

LOWLY, sprightly little flower!

Herald of a brighter bloom,

Bursting in a sunny hour
From thy winter tomb.

Hues you bring, bright, gay, and tender,
As if never to decay;

Fleeting in their varied splendour-
Soon, alas! it fades away.

Thus the hopes I long had cherished,
Thus the friends I long had known,
One by one, like you, have perished,
Blighted-I must fade alone.

PATTERSON.

THE IVY-SONG.

H! how could fancy crown with thee
In ancient days the god of wine,
And bid thee at the banquet be
Companion of the vine!

Ivy thy home is where each sound
Of revelry hath long been o'er,
Where song and beaker once went round,
But now are known no more.

Where long-fallen gods recline,
There the place is thine.

The Roman on his battle plains,
Where kings before his eagles bent,
With thee, amidst exulting strains,
Shadow'd the victor's tent;

Though shining there in deathless green,
Triumphally thy boughs might wave,

Better thou lovest the silent scene

Around the victor's grave.