THE IVY GREEN.

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` To pleasure his dainty whim;

And the mould'ring dust that years have ma 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.

The Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decay'd,

And nations scatter'd been,

But the stout old ivy shall never fade,

From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant in its lonely days
Shall fatten upon the past,

For the stateliest building man can raise
Is the ivy's food at last.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant

the ivy green.

C. DICKENS.

A PERSIAN TEACHING FROM NATURE.

FORGIVE thy foes;-nor that alone,
Their evil deeds with good repay,
Fill those with joy who leave thee none,
And kiss the hand upraised to slay.

So does the fragrant sandal bow

In meek forgiveness to its doom;

And o'er the axe, at every blow,

Sheds in abundance rich perfume.

21

ANSWER ME, BURNING STARS OF NIGHT.

NSWER me, burning stars of night,
Where is the spirit gone,

That past the reach of human sight,
As a swift breeze, hath flown?

And the stars answered me;

"We roll

In light and power on high;
But of the never dying soul

Ask that which cannot die."

Ye clouds, that gorgeously repose
Around the setting sun,

A swer: Have ye a home for those,
Whose earthly race is run?

The bright clouds answered: "We depart,

We vanish from the sky;

Ask what is deathless in thy heart

For that which cannot die."

Speak then, thou voice of God within-
Thou of the deep low tone!

Answer me through life's restless din !
Where is the spirit gone?

HEMA S.

233

The Evergreen.

HEAVEN.

OH! heaven is nearer than mortals think,
When they look with a trembling dread,
At the misty future, that stretches on
From the quiet house of the dead.

'Tis no lone isle in a boundless main,
No brilliant but distant shore,
Where the lovely ones, who are called away,
Must go to return no more.

No! heaven is near us; the mighty veil

Of mortality blinds the eye,

That we cannot see the angel bands
On the shores of eternity.

AUTUMN FLOWERS.

THE marsh is bleak and lonely; scarce a flower
Gleams in the waving grass. The rosy thrift
Has paler grown since summer bless'd the scene,
And the sea lavender, whose lilac blooms
Drew from the saline soil a richer hue

Than when they grew on yonder towering cliff,
Quivers in flowerless greenness to the wind.
No sound is heard, save when the sea-bird screams

Its lonely presage of the coming storm;
And the sole blossom which can glad the eye

Is yon pale starwort nodding to the wind.

IS an autumnal eve-the low winds sighing To wet leaves, rustling as they hasten by; The eddying gusts to tossing boughs replying; And ebon darkness filling all the sky; The moon, pale mistress, pall'd in solemn vapour; The rack swift wandering through the void above; As I, a mourner by my lonely taper,

Send back to faded hours the plaint of love.

Blossoms of peace, once in my pathway springing,
Where have your brightness and your splendour gone?
And thou-whose voice to me came sweet as singing,
What region holds thee in the vast unknown?
What star, far brighter than the rest, contains thee,
Beloved, departed-empress of my
heart!

What bond of full beatitude enchains thee

In realms unveil'd by pen or prophet's art?

Ah! loved and lost! in these autumnal hours,
When fairy colours deck the painted tree,