THE RABBI'S JEWELS.

IN schools of wisdom all the day was spent ;
His steps at eve the Rabbi homeward bent,
With homeward thoughts which dwelt upon the
wife

And two fair children who consoled his life.
She, meeting at the threshold, led him in,
And with these words, preventing, did begin:
"Ever rejoicing at your wished return,
Yet do I most so now: for since this morn
I have been much perplexed and sorely tried
Upon one point which you shall now decide.
Some years ago, a friend into my care
Some jewels gave, rich precious gems they were;
But having given them in my charge, this friend
Did afterward nor come for them, nor send,
But left them in my keeping for so long,
That now it almost seems to me a wrong
That he should suddenly arrive to-day,
To take those jewels which he left, away.
What think you? shall I freely yield them back,
And with no murmuring?—so henceforth to lack
Those gems myself, which I had learned to

see

Almost as mine for ever, mine in fee."

"What question can be here?

heart

Your own true

Must needs advise you of the only part;

That may be claimed again which was but lent,

And should be yielded with no discontent.

Nor surely can we find herein a wrong,
That it was left us to enjoy it long."

'Good is the word," she answered: may we

now

And evermore that it is good allow !"
And, rising, to an inner chamber led,

And there she showed him, stretched upon one

bed,

Two children pale, and he the jewels knew,
Which God had lent him and resumed anew.

ANON.

TO A LADY,

GAZING ON A BEAUTIFUL LANDSCAPE.

LADY the earnest smiles of living light
That kindle on thy lips, and in thine eyes,

At the fair landscape which surrounds thee,

skies,

Groves, glades, and fountains,-all that fairy

sight

Of beauty and of bliss,—will take their flight,
And vanish with the scene from whence they rise.
Not so their secret influence. When youth flies,
Ceasing to spread its mantle of delight

O'er this mysterious world--that sight shall seem
Like the remembered face of a dead friend,
To smile on thee from Heaven. It shall blend
With thy best thoughts, and, like a happy dream,
Repeat its silent music, till the stream

Of thy pure life hath reached its peaceful end.

Gaze on,
then-gaze thy fill! These silent shows
Of all-sufficing Nature, speak with voice
More eloquent than books, bidding rejoice,
With purest joy, the heart that wisely knows
To trust them. As Life's rapid river flows,
In sunshine or in shade, be but its course
Through scenes where Art has not put rude di-

vorce

Between thy heart and Nature's, sweet repose Shall ever be within thee and about,

Smiling away all ills. The rabble rout

Of the world's vulgar pains, and vapid pleasures, Shall never dare approach thee; while new treasures

Of thought and feeling, to thy pure soul given, Shall change this fair earth to another Heaven.

ANON.

HOME.

SPRUNG from an immemorial mountain throne, The snow-fed infant Rhone

Looks upward to a mother's eyes;

The melting glacier, gazing on her own,
Imprints her azure dyes.

Vain were the thousand ventures to awake
Beside the desert lake,

The sleeping Fountain of the Nile;

Those dying footsteps, sandall'd for her sake, Found rest by reeded isle.

What gold doth she dissolve at last, and pour Along the Memphian shore!

And thou, luxuriant Nile of Gaul,

Thou hast thine overflow of wine-a store

Of plenty" corn" for all.

But ye are neither-no-so clear, so pure,
So secret, so secure,

So holy as an English mother's home:
Less fruitful your endeavours, they endure
Less hours-less riches come.

THE MILKMAID.

Yet ah! their daily flow, and safe increase,
In season will not cease;

177

They hold less joyfulness, but still the same; And home-how oft, alas! save in the peace Above-is but a name.

Home is possession at the highest cost-
Keen edge the sooner lost-

Yet who would welcome dearth

For fear his plenty should be famine-cross'd?— Be God beside my hearth!

R. E. A. TOWNSEND.

THE MILKMAID.

THE rosy light of morning
Is flushing o'er the hill,
And through the leafy woodland
The song-birds' matins thrill;
Like pale ghosts from the dawning
The night-fogs steal away,
And nature smiles all glorious,

To hail the rising day.

The freshest hours and brightest,
Like the childhood of our life,
Like gay youth's busy fairy land,
Where joys and hopes are rife;

M