And as she gazed, in wonder lost, on all the scenes around,

She saw a peasant at her feet a tilling of the ground;

The little creature crawled about, so slowly here and there,

And, lighted by the morning sun, his plough shone out so fair.

'O, pretty plaything,' cried the child, 'I'll take thee home with me,'

Then with her infant hands she spread her kerchief on her knee,

And cradling man, and horse, and plough, so gently on her arm,

She bore them home quite cautiously, afraid to do them harm.

She hastes with joyous steps and glad (we know what children are),

And spying soon her father out, she shouted from afar,

Oh father, dearest father, such a plaything I have found;

I never saw so fair a one on our own mountain ground.'

Her father sat at table then, and drank his wine so mild,

And smiling with a parent's smile, he asks the happy child,

'What struggling creature hast thou brought so carefully to me,

Thou leap'st for very joy, my child; come, open, let us see.'

She opes her kerchief cautiously, and gladly you may deem,

And shows her eager sire the plough, the peasant, and his team;

And when she placed before his sight the newfound pretty toy,

She clasped her hands, and screamed aloud, and cried for very joy.

But her father looked quite seriously, and shaking slow his head,

'What hast thou brought me here, my girl? this is no toy,' he said,

'Go take it quickly back again, and put it down below

The peasant is no plaything, child; how coulds't thou deem him so?

•So

go,

without a sigh or sob, and do my will,' he said;

For know, without the peasant, girl, we none of us had bread;

'Tis from the peasant's hardy stock the race of

giants are;

The peasant is no plaything, child; no-God forbid he were.'

CHEERFULNESS.
Serwis.

SEE how the day beameth brightly before us,
Blue is the firmament, green is the earth;
Grief hath no voice in the universe chorus-
Nature is ringing with musical mirth.
Lift up the looks that are sinking in sadness;
Gaze! and if beauty can capture thy soul,
Virtue herself will allure thee to gladness-
Gladness, philosophy's guerdon and goal.

Enter the treasuries Pleasure encloses;

List! how she thrills in the nightingale's lay. Breathe! she is wafting the sweets from the roses;

Feel! she is cool in the rivulet's play.

Taste! from the grape and the nectarine gushing

Flows the red rill in the beams of the sun, Green in the hills, in the flower groves blushing,

Look! she is always and everywhere one.

Banish, then, mourner, the tears that are trickling

Over the cheeks that should rosily bloom; Why should a man like a girl or a sickling, Suffer his lamp to be quenched in the tomb.

Still may we battle for goodness and beauty; Still hath philanthropy much to essay; Glory rewards the fulfilment of duty;

Rest will pavilion the end of our way.

What though corroding and multiplied sorrows, Legion-like, darken this planet of ours, Hope is a balsam the wounded heart borrows, Ever when anguish hath palsied its powers; Wherefore, tho' fate play the part of a traitor, Soar o'er the stars on the pinions of hope, Fearlessly certain that, sooner or later,

Over the stars thy desire shall have scope. Look round about on the face of creation, Still is God's earth undistorted and bright, Comfort the captives to long tribulation,

Thus shalt thou reap the more perfect delight. Love! but if love be a hallowed emotion, Purity only its rapture should share;

Love, then, with willing and deathless emotion,
All that is just, and exalted, and fair.
Act! for in action are wisdom and glory,
Fame, immortality-these are its crown:
Would'st thou illumine the tablets of story,

Build on achievements thy dome of renown. Honor and feeling were given thee to cherish; Cherish them, then, though all else should decay;

Landmarks be these, that are never to perish, Stars that will shine on thy duskiest day,

Courage! disaster and peril once over, Freshen the spirit as showers the grove : O'er the dim graves that the cypresses cover,

Soon the forget-me-not' rises in love. Courage, then, friends! though the universe crumble,

Innocence, dreadless of danger beneath, Patient and trustful, and joyous and humble, Smiles through the ruin on darkness and death.

'My earrings! my earrings! they're dropt into the well,

And what to say to Muça, I cannot, cannot tell.'

'Twas thus, Granada's fountain by, spake Albuhazor's daughter.

'The well is deep, far down they lie, beneath the dark blue water.

To me did Muça give them when he spake his sad farewell;

And what to say when he comes back, alas! I cannot tell.

'My earrings! my earrings! they were pearl in silver set;

That when my Moor was far away, I should not him forget;