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There was mounting 'mong Grames of the Netherby
clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they
ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see ! So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ?
LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,
The place is little changed, Mary,
?Tis but a step down yonder lane,
But the grave-yard lies between them, Mary,
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,
I thank you for the patient smile
I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
They say there's bread and work for all,
And often in those grand old woods
THE SEVEN AGES.—Shakspeare.
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players : They have their exits, and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts, His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant, Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms : And then, the whining school-boy, with his satchel, And shining morning face, creeping like snail Unwillingly to school. And then, the lover, Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard, Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel, Seeking the bubble reputation, Even in the cannon's mouth. And then, the justice, In fair round belly, with good capon lined, With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Full of wise saws and modern instances; And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon; With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthfal hose well saved, a world too wide
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.
Leigh Hunt. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold :Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, “What writest thou ?”—The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, “ The names of those who love the Lord.” “ And is mine one ?” said Abou. “Nay, not so," Replied the Angel. Alou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee then Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.” The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
THE BLIND BOY'S BEEN AT PLAY.-E. Cook.
The Blind Boy's been at play, mother,
And many games we had;
And every step was glad.
But when we found a starry flower,
And praised its varied hue,
Just like a drop of dew.
Where falling waters made
As golden sun-rays played ;
And hailed the clear blue sky,
And breathed a long, long sigh.
Where'er we found the spots.
O’er wild forget-me-nots :
As fast as summer showers,
The sunshine and the flowers.”
Has taught me I am blest,
On all I love the best,
And daisies red and white,
And thank my God for sight.
THERE was a sound of revelry by night,