Who once began to linger in the street How varied are the images arising to n Of those who wished to shun the wro praised the right! Yet from the silken bonds of sloth they Which held them gently prisoned in and-By. Then shun the spot, my youthful while yet you may; d Let not old age o'ertake you as you slo Lest you should gaze around you, and You have reached the house of “Neve By-and-By. Ex. 78. LULLABY.- T SWE WEET and low, sweet a Low, low, breathe and blow, While er will come to his babe in the nest, r sails all out of the west ader the silver moon ; little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. THE SMACK IN SCHOOL. — Palmer. ISTRICT school, not far away, Mid Berkshire hills, one winter's day, _mming with its wonted noise escore mingled girls and boys; w upon their task intent, re on furtive mischief bent, ile the master's downward look tened on a copy-book; uddenly, behind his back, arp and clear a rousing smack! ere a battery of bliss in one tremendous kiss! 's that?" the startled master cries; hir," a little imp replies, William Willith, if you pleathe,- ster thundered, "Hither, Will!" olen chattels on his back, ng his head in fear and shame, the awful presence came, What evil genius put you to ́t? Ex. 80. THE QUARREL. ALAS! they had been friends But whispering tongues can And constancy lives in realms abo And life is thorny; and youth i And to be wroth with one we love Doth work like madness in the And thus it chanced, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline! Each spoke words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best br They parted, ne'er to meet again But never either found another To free the hollow heart from pain They stood aloof, the scars remaining, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder The marks of that which once hath been. Ex. 81. — THE MOTHER'S LAST SONG.— Barry Cornwall. LEEP! The ghostly winds are blowing! No moon abroad, no star is glowing; Beyond moon or star, To the land where the sinless angels are! I lost my heart to your heartless sire Where the waters flow, And make us a bed where none shall know. The world is cruel, the world is untrue; But fly-fly From the cruel sky, And hide in the deepest deeps, and, die? THE HERE are gains for all our losses, We are stronger and are better Under manhood's sterner reign; Something beautiful is vanished, Ex. 83. HANG UP HIS HARP. Eliza Cook. HIS young bride stood beside his bed, Her weeping watch to keep; Hush! hush! he stirred not, Or did he only sleep? was he dead, His brow was calm, no change was there, No sigh had filled his breath; Oh! did he wear that smile so fair In slumber or in death? "Reach down his harp," she wildly cried, 85 |