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TO THE MEMORY OF W. P. WATTS,

Aged Three Years.

A.A. WATTS.

A CLOUD is on my heart and brow,

The tears are in my eyes, --
And wishes fond, all idle now,

Are stifled into sighs ;
As musing on thine early doom,
Thou bud of beauty snatch'd to bloom,

So soon, 'neath milder skies !
I turn-thy painful struggle past-
From what thou art to what thou wast !

I think of all thy winning ways,

Thy frank but boisterous glee ;-
Thy arch sweet smiles,-thy coy delays,-

Thy step, so light and free,-
Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run,
Thy gladness when thy task was done,

And gain'd thy mother's knee;
Thy gay, good-humour'd, childish ease,
And all thy thousand arts to please !

Where are they now?-and where, oh where,

The eager, fond caress?
The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair,

The lips, all sought to press ?
The open brow, and laughing eye,-
The heart that leap'd so joyously?
(Ahl had we loved them less :)

Yet there are thoughts can bring relief,
And sweeten even this cup of grief.

What hast thou 'scaped ?-a thorny scene !

A wilderness of woe !
Where many a blast of anguish keen

Had taught thy tears to flow!
Perchance some wild and withering grief
Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf,

In these dark bowers below!
Or sickening chills of hope deferr'd
To strife thy gentlest thoughts had stirr'd!

What hast thou 'scaped ?-life's weltering sea,

Before the storm arose ;
Whilst yet its gliding waves were free

From aught that marr'd repose !
Safe from the thousand throes of pain,-
Ere sin or sorrow breathed a stain

Upon thine opening rose ?
And who can calmly think of this,
Nor envy thee thy doom of bliss ?

I cull'd from home's beloved bowers,

To deck thy last long sleep,
The brightest-hued, most fragrant flowers

That summer's dews may steep :-
The rose-bud-emblem meet-was there,
The violet blue, and jasmine fair,

That, drooping, seem'd to weep ;-
And now I add this lowlier spell :-
Sweets to the passing sweet 1-Farewell !

SUMMER'S GONE.

MRS. NORTON.

HARKT through the dim wood dying,

With a moan,
Faintly the winds are sighing

Summer's gone!
There, when my bruised heart feeleth,
And the pale moon her face revealeth,
Darkly my footstep stealeth,

To weep alone. Hour after hour I wander,

By men unseen-. And sadly my wrung thoughts ponder On what hath been.

Summer's gone!

There in our own green bowers,

Long ago, Our path through the tangled flowers

Threading slow; Oft hand in hand entwiningOft side by side recliningWe've watched in its crimson shining

The sunset glow,
Dimly that sun now burneth

For me alone-
Spring after spring returneth,
Thou art gone-

Summer's gone!

Still on my worn cheek playeth

The restless breeze!
Still on its freshness strayeth

Between the trees.
Still the blue streamlet gusheth-
Still the broad river rusheth-
Still the calm silence husheth

The heart's disease :
But who shall bring our meetings

Back again?
What shall recall thy greetings
Loved in vain !

Summer's gone!

SONNET.

ANONYMOUS.

THERE was a soft enchantment in her eye,
That charmed all it met; and round it wrought
A sympathetic incense of pure thought,
As in some fane of loveliest sanctity-
Such was the look of angel from on high
Emblazon'd Heav'n new-lighted with glad feet,
Blessing and blest, and bent on errand sweet ;
Radiant with love, and beaming charity.-
Such was the light that shone o'er leaf and flower
In sinless Eden, when the gentlest pair,
(In their Creator's image planted there)
Together walked, or sat in sylvan bower ;
Or, in the moon's mild lustre wond'ring stood ;
And their great Maker “saw that all was good."

SONG OF THE MONTH.

ANONYMOUS.

COME to thy home, beloved !

The time for thy toil is ending : I've made thee a rest, come see,

Where our last few flowers are bending A sweet farewell to thee !

Come to thy home, beloved !

Come to thy home, beloved !

The mists they are thick, remember ; We've no autumn's mellow sun,

It is dull and drear November, And thy way a darksome one,

Come to thy home, beloved !

Come to thy home, beloved !

There's an eye that longs to meet thee ; And the ftre is blazing clear,

And O! such a heart to greet thee, Will that not tempt thee here?

Come to thy home, beloved !

Come to thy home, beloved !

Comel how the vapour thickens. Will this watching ne'er be past?

There's a footstep.-Hark! it quickens. Ah! thou art here at last

Here, at thy home, beloved.

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