6

The Evergreen.

17

STANZAS.

H! backward-looking son of time,
The new is old, the old is new-
The cycle of a change sublime

Still sweeping through,

As idly as in that old day

Thou mournest, did thy sires repine,
So in his time thy child, grown grey,

Shall sigh for thine.

Yet not the less for them or thou
The eternal step of progress beats
To that great anthem, calm and slow,
Which God repeats!

Take heart!-the Master builds again,
A charmed life old goodness hath:
The tares may perish-but the grain
Is not for death.

God works in all things; all obey

His first propulsion from the night.
Ho! wake and watch, the world is grey

With morning light.

WHITTIER.

A COTTAGE GARDEN.

COTTAGE garden; most for use designed,
Yet not of beauty destitute. The vine
Mantles the little casement; yet the brier
Drops fragrant dew among the July flowers;
And pansies rayed, and freaked and mottled pinks,
Grow among balm, and rosemary, and rue;
There honeysuckles flaunt, and roses blow
Almost uncultured; some with dark green leaves
Contrast their flowers of pure unsullied white;
Others like velvet robes of regal state,

Of richest crimson; while in thorny moss
Enshrined and cradled, the most lovely wear
The hues of youthful beauty's glowing cheek.

CHARLOTTE SMITH.

KNOT-GRASS.

By the lone quiet grove.
In the wild hedge-row the knot-grass is seen;

Down in the rural lane,

Or on the verdant plain,

Everywhere humble, and everywhere green.

YOUTH AND AGE.

LOWERS are lovely; Love is flower-like;
Friendship is a sheltering tree;

O the joys that came down shower-like,
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty,

Ere I was old!

Ere I was old !-ah, woful ere!

Which tells me Youth's no longer here!
O Youth! for years so many and sweet,
'Tis known, that thou and I were one,
I'll think it but a fond conceit-

It cannot be that thou art gone!

Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll'd;
And thou wert aye a masker bold!
What strange disguise hast now put on,
To make believe that thou art gone?
I see these locks in silvery slips,

This drooping gait, this alter'd size;
But springtide blossoms on thy lips,

And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought; so think I will That youth and I are house-mates still.

COLERIDGE.

¡H, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old;

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In his cell so lone and cold.

The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, To pleasure his dainty whim;

And the mould'ring dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the ivy green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he :

How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
To his friend, the huge oak-tree!
And slily he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
And he joyously twines and hugs around
The rich mould of dead men's graves.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the ivy green.