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ELLEN GRAY.

“ No envious wish my fellows to excel,

Nor sordid money-getting cares be mine ;
No low ambition in high state to dwell,

Nor meanly grand among the poor to shine:
But, sweet benevolence, regale me well

With those cheap pleasures and light cares of thine,
And meek-eyed piety, be always near,
With calm content, and gratitude sincere.
“ Rescued from cities, and forensic strife,

And walking well with God in nature's eye,
Blest with fair children, and a faithful wife,

Love at my board, and friendship dwelling nigh,
Oh thus to wear away my useful life,

And, when I'm called in rapturous hope to die,
Thus to rob heav'n of all the good I can,

And challenge earth to show a happier man!" But the best set of stanzas in the " • And for a home, -would I had none! volume are those entitled Ellen Gray. The home I have, a wicked one, The subject is distressing, and has They will not let me in, been treated so often—perhaps too Till I can fee my jailor's hands often—as to be now exhausted-or if With the vile tribute she demands, not so, nothing new can be expected

The wages of my sin: on it, except either from original ge- . " I see your goodness on me frown; nius, or from a spirit made creative Yet hear the veriest wretch on town, by profoundest sympathy and sorrow While yet in life she may for the last extremities of human Tell the sad story of her grief, misery.

Though heav'n alone can bring relief

To guilty Ellen Gray.

My mother died when I was born : “ A starless night, and bitter cold;

And I was flung, a babe forlorn,
The low dun clouds all wildly rollid

Upon the workhouse floor :
Scudding before the blast,

My father,-would I knew him not!
And cheerlessly the frozen sleet
Adown the melancholy street

A squalid thief, a reckless sot,

- I dare not tell you more. Swept onward thick and fast ;

** And I was bound an infant-slave, “When crouched at an unfriendly door, With no one near to love, or save Faint, sick, and miserably poor,

From cruel sordid men,
A silend woman sate;

A friendless, famish'd child,
She might be young, and had been fair, Morn, noon,and night I toild and toild, -
But from her eye look'd out despair, Yet was I happy then ;
All dim and desolate.

•* • My heart was pure, my cheek was fair. “Was I to pass her coldly by,

Ah, would to God a cancer there Leaving her there to pine and die, Had eaten out its way!

The live-long freezing night? For soon my tasker, dreaded man, The secret answer of my heart

With treacherous wiles and arts began Told me I had not done my part

To mark me for his prey.
In flinging her a mite.

* And month by month he vainly stroke She look'd her thanks,—then droop'd To light the flame of lawless love her head;

In my most loathing breast ; • Have you no friend, no home?' I said. Oh, how I feard and hated him,

.Get up, poor creature, come, So basely kind, so smoothly grim, You seem

ppy, faint, and weak, My terror and my pest! How can I serve or save you, -speak, Or whither help you home?'

" Thenceforward droop'd my stricken " • Alas, kind sir, poor Ellen Gray

head; Has had no friend this many a day, I liv'd....I died, a life of dread,

And, but that you seem kind, Lest they should guess my shame ; She has not found the face of late But weeks and months would pass away, That look'd on her in aught but hate, And all too soon the bitter day And still despairs to find :

Of wrath and ruin came ;

• • I could not hide my alter'd form ;
Then on my head the fearful storm

Of gibe and insult burst :
Men only mocked me for my fate,
But women's scorn and women's hate

Me, their poor sister, curst.

" • And little can the untempted dream,
While gliding smoothly on life's stream

They keep the letter-laws,
What they would be, if, tost like me
Hopeless upon life's barren sea,

They knew how hunger gnaws.
" • I was half-starved, I tried in vain
To get me work my bread to gain ;

Before me flew my shame ;
Cold Charity put up her purse,
And none looked on me but to curse

The child of evil fame.

* • O woman, had thy kindless face
But gentler look'd on my disgrace,

And heal'd the wounds it gave!
I was a drowning sinking wretch,
Whom no one lov'd enough to stretch

A finger out to save.

" • They tore my baby from my heart
And lock'd it in some hole apart

Where I could hear its cry,
Such was the horrid poor-house law ;-
Its little throes I never saw,

Although I heard it die !

" • Alas. why need I count by links
The heavy length’ning chain that sinks

My heart, my soul, my all ?
I still was fair, though hope was dead,
And so I sold myself for bread,

And lived upon my fall :

"Still the stone hearts that ruled theplace Let me not kiss my darling's face,

My little darling dead ; 0 I was mad with rage and hate, And yet all sullenly I sate,

And not a word I said.

* • I would not stay, I could noi bear
To breathe the same infected air

That kill'd my precious child :
I watched my time, and fled away
The livelong night, the livelong day,

With fear and anguish wild :

“ • Now was I reckless, bold, and bad,
My love was hate,– I grew half-mad

With thinking on my wrongs ;
Discase, and pain, and giant-sin
Rent body and soul, and rag'd within !

Such meed to guilt belongs.
". And what I was,-still such am I ;
Afraid to live, unfit to die,-

And yet I hoped I might
Meet

my best friend and lover---Death, In the fierce frowns and frozen breath

Of this December night.
"My tale is told : my heart grows cold ;
I cannot stir, yet, kind good sir,

I know that you will stay:
And God is kinder e'en than you,
Can he not look with pity too
On wretched Ellen Gray ?'

"Till down upon a river's bank,
Twenty leagues off, fainting I sank,

And only long'd to die ;
I had no hope, no home, no friend,
No God !- I sought but for an end

To life and misery.

" • Ah, lightly heed tho righteous few " Her eye was fixed ; she said no more, How little to themselves is due.

But propp'd against the cold street-door But all things given to them ;

She leaned her fainting head ; Yet the unwise because untaught, One moment she look'd up and smild, The wandering sheep, because unsought, Full of new hope, as Mercy's child, They heartlessly condem :

And the poor girl was dead." We do not think the idea very happy of “ Contrasted Sonnets"-—such as, Nature-Art; The Happy Home-The Wretched Home; Theory—Practice ; Ritches-Poverty; Philanthropic-Misanthropic; Country-Town; and so on-and tis an ancient, nay, a stale idea, though Mr Tupper evidently thinks it fresh and new, and luxuriates in it as if it were all his own. Sometimes he chooses to shew that he is ambidexter--and how much may be said on both sides—leaving the reader's mind in a state of indifference to what may really be the truth of the matter-or disposed to believe that he knows more about it than the Sonnetteer. The best are Prose and Poetry and they are very good-so is “ Ancient,” but Modern is very bad-and therefore we quote the three

PROSE.

" That the fine edge of intellect is dulled,
And mortal ken with cloudy films obscure,

And the numb'd heart so deep in stupor lulled
VOL XLIV.

72

That virtue's self is weak its love to lure,

But pride and lust keep all the gates secure,
This is thy fall, O man ; and therefore those
Whose aims are earthly, like pedestrian prose,

The selfish, useful, money-making plan,
Cold language of the desk, or quibbling bar,

Where in hard matter sinks ideal man ;
Still, worldly teacher, be it from me far

Thy darkness to confound with yon bright band
Poetic all, though not so named by men,
Who have swayed royally the mighty pen,
And now as kings in prose on fame's clear summit siand."

1

POETRY.

" To touch the heart, and make its pulses thrill,

To raise and purify the grovelling soul,
To warm with generous heat the selfish will,

To conquer passion with a mild controul,
And the whole man with no blor thoughts fill,

These are thine aims, 0 pure unearthly power,
These are thine influences; and therefore those
Whose wings are clogged with evil are thy focs;

And therefore these, who have thee for their dower,
The widowed spirits with no portion here,

Eat angels' food, the manna thou dost shower :
For thine are pleasures, deep and tried and true,

Whether to read, or write, or think, or hear,
By the gross million spurn’d, and sped on by the few."

ANCIENT.

“My sympathies are all with times of old,

I cannot live with things of yesterday,

Upstart, and flippant, foolish, weak, and gay,
But spirits cast in a severer mould,
Of solid worth like elemental gold :

I love to wander o'er the shadowy past,
Dreaming of dynasties long swept away,

And seem to find myself almost the last

Of a lime-honoured race, decaying fast ;
For I can dote upon the rare antique,

Conjuring up what story it might tell,
The bronze, or bead, or coin, or quaint relique ;

And in a desert could delight to dwell
Among vast ruins,— Tadmor's stately halls,
Old Egypt's giant fanes, or Babel's mouldering walls."

Mr Tupper has received much praise bation of the public. Perhaps our from critics whose judgment is gene- rough notes may help him to discover rally entitled to great respect–in the where his strength lies; and, with his Atlas—if we mistake not—in the right feelings, and amiable sensibilSpectator—and in the Sun.

If our ties, and fine enthusiasm, and healthy censure be undeserved—let our copious powers when exercised on familias i quotations justify themselves, and be and domestic themes, so dear for our condemnation. Our praise may ever to the human heart, there seems seem cold and scanty ; but so far no reason why, in good time, be from despising Mr Tupper's talents, may not be among our

our especta we have good hopes of him, and do favourites, and one of the Swan not fear but that he will produce many of Thames"-which we believe, ar far better things than the best of as big and as bright as those of the those we have selected for the appro. Tweed.

Alas! for poor Nicol! Dead and gone-but not to be forgotten—for aye to be emembered among the flowers of the forest, early wede away!

THE HA' BIBLE.

“Chief of the Household Gods

Which hallow Scotland's lowly cottage-homes !
While looking on thy signs

That speak, though dumb, deep thought upon me comes-
With glad yet solemn dreams my heart is stirr'd,
Like Childhood's when it hears the carol of a bird !

" The Mountains old and hoar

The chainless Winds—the Streams so pure and free-
The God-enamel'd Flowers,

The waving Forest—the eternal Sea-
The Eagle floating o’er the Mountain's brow-
Are Teachers all ; but 0! they are not such as Thou !

O! I could worship thee!

Thou art a gift a God of love might give ;
For Love and Hope and Joy

In thy Almighty-written pages live!
The Slave who reads shall never crouch again;
For, mind-inspired by thee, he burst his feeble chains !

“God! unto Thee I kneel,

And thank Thee! Thou unto my native land-
Yea to the outspread Earth-

Hast stretch'd in love Thy Everlasting hand,
And Thou hast given Earth, and Sea, and Air-
Yea all that heart can ask of Good and Pure and Fair !

“ And, Father, Thou hast spread

Before Men's eyes this Charter of the Free,
That all Thy Book might read,

And Justice love, and Truth and Liberty.
The Gift was unto Men—the Giver God!
Thou Slave! it stamps thee Man-go spurn thy weary load!

« Thou doubly-precious Book !

Unto thy light what doth not Scotland owe?
Thou teachest Age to die,

And Youth in truth unsullied up to grow!
In lowly homes a Comforter art thou-
A Sunbeam sent from God—an everlasting bow!

“O'er thy broad ample page

How many dim and aged eyes have pored ?
How many hearts o'er thee

In silence deep and holy have adored ?
How many Mothers, by their infants' bed,
Thy holy, blessed, pure, child-loving words have read!

“And o'er thee soft young hands

Have oft in truthful plighted Love been join'd,
And thou to wedded hearts

Hast been a bond-an altar of the mind!
Above all kingly power or kingly law !-
May Scotland reverence aye-the Bible of the Ha?!"

We have no heart to write about him his memory—they breathe of the holy and his genius and his virtues now; fragrance that u smells sweet and but these lines which Scotland “will blossoms in the dust.” And how not willingly let die,” will embalm beautiful are these !

My son,

A DAY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. A bonnie bumin' bush o' brume

Waved o'er me in my dream. "Come sit by your father's knee,

I laid me there in slumberous jos My son,

Upo' the giant kuee On the seat by your faiher's door, Of yonder peak, that seem'd to bend And the thoughts of your youthful heart, In watching over me.

Like a stream of Gladness pour; "'I dream'd a bonnie bonnie dream, For, afar ’mong the lonely hills,

As sleepin' there I lay:-
My son,

I thochi I brightly roun' me saw
Since the morning thou hast been; The fairy people si ray.
Now tell me thy bright day-dreams, I dreamt they back again had come
My son, -

To live in glen an' woldYea, all thou hast thought and seen?" Tosport in dells neath harve:t-tunes

As in the days o' old. "• When more abune yon eastern hill

Had raised its glimmerin' e'e, "I saw them dance upon the breeze, I hied me to tbe heather hills,

An' hide within the flowerWhar' gorcocks crawin' fee; Sing bonnie an' unearthly sangs, An'e'er the laverock sought the list, An'skim the lakelets o'er! Frae out the dewy dens,

That hour the beings o' the past,I wanderin' was by mountain streams O' ages lost an' gone In lane an’hoary glens.

Came back to earth, an' grot an’glen

War' peopled every one! "• Auld frownin' rocks on either hand,

Uprear'd their heads to Heaven, "'The vision filed, an' I awoke :Like temple-pillars which the fooi The sun was sinkin' doon;

O'Time had crush'u an' riven; The mountain-birds frae hazles brown An' voices frae ilk mossy stane

Had sung their gloamin' tape: Upo' my ear did flow,

The dew was fallin' on the leai, They spake o' Nature's secrets a' The breezes on the flower; The iales o' long ago.

An' Nature's heart was beating calm,

It was the evening hour. "" The daisy, frae the burnie's side, Was lookin' up to GOD

"'An', father, whan the more arose, The crag that crown'd the towering Upo' a mountain-height peak

I stude an’ saw the brow of earth Seem'd kneeling on the sod:

Bound wi'its siller light. A sound was in ilk dowie glen, Nae sound cam' on the watching ear Au'on ilk naked rock

Upo' that silent hill; On mountain-peak-in valley lone My e’en war' fill'd with tears, the boor An' haly words it spoke.

Sae holy was an' still! "The pameless flowers that budded “There was a lowly mound o' green up

Beside me risin' there, Each beauteous desart child

A pillow whar'a bairn might kneel, The heather's scarlet blossoms spread An'say its twilight prayer. O'er many a lanely wild :

The niunelight kiss'd the gladsome The lambkins, sporting in the glens flowers The mountains old and bare

That o'er that mound did ware; Seem'd wor shipping; and there with Then I remember'd that I stnde them

Aside the Martyrs' grave! I breathed my morning prayer.

“I knelt upo' that hallow'd earth, Alang o'er monie a mountain-tap While Memory pictured o'er Alang through monie a glen The changing scenes

the changing Wi’Nature haudin' fellowship,

thoughts, I journey'd far frae men.

That day had held in store; Whiles suddenly a lonely tarn

An’then my breast wi'gladness swell'd, Wad burst upon my eye,

An' God in love did bless,An' whiles frae out the solitudes

He gave me, 'mong auld 'Scotland's Wad come the breezes' cry.

hills,

A day o' happiness !" o. At noon, I made my grassy couch

Beside a haunted stream,

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