96. TO MY SOUL.-Chaucer (modernized).

Far from mankind, my weary soul, retire;
Still follow truth, contentment still desire.

Who climbs on high, at best his weakness shows,
Who rolls in riches, all to fortune owes.

Read well thyself, and mark thy early ways;
Vain is the muse, and envy waits on praise.

Wearing as winds, the breath of fortune blows;
No power can turn it, and no prayers compose.
Deep in some hermit's solitary cell,

Repose, and ease, and contemplation dwell.
Let Conscience guide thee in the days of need;
Judge well thy own, and then thy neighbour's deed.

What heaven bestows, with thankful eyes receive;
First ask thy heart, and then through faith believe.
Slowly we wander o'er a toilsome way,
Shadows of life, and pilgrims of a day.

"Who restless in this world receives a fall,
Look up on high, and thank thy God for all!"

97.-THE PALMER.-Sir Walter Scott.

"Open the door, some pity to show! keen blows the northern wind!
The glen is white with the drifted snow, and the path is hard to find.
No outlaw seeks your castle gate, from chasing the king's deer;
Though even an outlaw's wretched state might claim compassion here.
A weary Palmer, worn and weak, I wander for my sin;
O, open for Our Lady's sake! a pilgrim's blessing win!
The hare is crouching in her form, the hart beside the hind;
An aged man, amid the storm, no shelter can I find.

The iron gate is bolted hard, at which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barr'd, who hears me thus complain.
Farewell, farewell! and Heaven grant, when old and frail you be,
You never may the shelter want, that's now denied to me!"

The Ranger on his couch lay warm, and heard him plead in vain;
But oft, amid December's storm, he'll hear that voice again.
For lo, when, through the vapours dank, morn shone on Ettrick fair,
A corpse, amid the alders rank, the Palmer welter'd there.

98.-THE HOME OF THE SPIRIT.-Mrs. Hemans.

Answer me, burning Stars of night, where is the spirit gone,
That, past the reach of human sight, as a swift breeze hath flown?
And the Stars answer'd me: 66 We roll in light and power on high;
But in the never-dying soul ask that which cannot die."

O mary-toned and chainless Wind, thou art a wanderer free ;
Tell me, if thou its place canst find, far over mount and sea?
And the Wind murmur'd in reply: "The blue deep I have cross'd,
And met its barks and billows high, but not what thou hast lost."
Ye Clouds, that gorgeously repose around the setting sun,
Answer; have ye a home for those whose earthly race is run?
The bright Clouds answer'd: "We depart, we vanish from the sky;
Ask what is deathless in thy heart, for that which cannot die."
Speak, then, thou Voice of God within, thou of the deep low tone;
Answer me through life's restless din-where is the spirit flown?
And the Voice answer'd: "Be thou still, enough to know is given;
Clouds, winds, and stars their part fulfil; thine is to trust in heaven."

99.-SENTIMENTS OF A CONTENTED MIND.-Anon.

1 No glory I covet, no riches I want; ambition is nothing to me; the one thing I beg of kind heaven to grant, is a mind independent and free. 2 With passion unruffled, untainted with pride, by reason my life let me square the wants of my nature are cheaply supplied, and the rest is but folly and care. 3 The blessings which Providence freely has lent, I'll justly and gratefully prize; while sweet meditation and cheerful content shall make me both healthful and wise. In the pleasures the great man's possessions display, unenvied I'll challenge my part; for every fair object my eyes can survey contributes to gladden my heart. 5 How vainly, +hrough infinite trouble and strife, the many their labours employ! since all that is truly delightful in life, is what all, if they please, may enjoy.

100. THE LIFE OF MAN.-King.

Like the falling of a star, or as the flights of eagles are; or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, or silver drops of morning dew; or like a wind shat chafes the flood, or bubble which on water stood: even such is Man, whose borrowed light is straight call'd in and paid to night. The wind blows out, the bubble dies; the spring entomb'd in autumn lies; the dew dries up, the star is shot the flight is past—and man forgot.

101.-ON THE EFFECTS OF TIME AND CHANGE.-Beattie.

Of Chance or Change, O let not man complain,
Else shall he never, never, cease to wail;

For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
All feel the assault of Fortune's fickle gale:
Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed ;.
Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale,
And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed,
And, where the Atlantic rolls, wide continents have bloomed.
But, sure, to foreign climes we need not range;
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of Time and Change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet, at the darkened eye, the withered face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:

But spare, oh, Time, whate'er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,

Whate'er of fancy's ray or friendship's flame, is mine.

102.-WELCOME TO SPRING.-Eliza Cook.

How glad I shall be when the cuckoo is singing,

When Spring-time is here, and the sunshine is warm; For 'tis pleasant to tread where the blue-bell is springing, And lily-cups grow in their fairy-like form.

'Tis then we shall see the loud-twittering swallow Building his home 'neath the cottager's eaves; The brown-headed nightingale quickly will follow,

And the orchard be glad with its blossoms and leaves.

The branches so gay will be dancing away,

Decked out in their dresses so white and so pink;
And then we'll go straying, and playing, and maying,
By valleys and hills, and the rivulet's brink.

How glad I shall be when the bright little daisies
Are peeping all over the meadows again;
How merry 'twill sound when the skylark upraises
His carolling voice o'er the flower-strewn plain.
Then the corn will be up, and the lambs will be leaping,
The palm with its buds of rich gold will be bent;

The hedges of hawthorn will burst from their sleeping,
All fresh and delicious with beauty and scent.
"Twill be joyous to see the young wandering bee,

When the lilacs are out, and laburnum boughs swell:
And then we'll go straying, and playing, and maying,
By upland and lowland, by dingle and dell.

How glad I shall be when the furze-bush and clover
Stand up in their garments of yellow and red;
When the butterfly comes like a holiday rover,

And grasshoppers cheerily jump as we tread.
All the sweet wild-flowers then will be shining,
All the high trees will be covered with green;
We'll gather the rarest of blossoms for twining,

And garland the brow of some bonnie May Queen.
Like the branches so gay, we'll go dancing away,
With our cheeks in the sunlight, and voices of mirth;
And then we'll go straying, and playing, and maying,
And praise all the loveliness showered on earth.

103. THE NYMPH LAMENTING THE DEATH OF HER FAWN.-Marvell.

The wanton Troopers riding-by have shot my fawn, and it will die. Ungentle men! they cannot thrive who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst alive hem any harm; alas! nor could thy death yet do them any good. I'm sure I never wished them ill; nor do I for all this; nor will: but, if my simple prayers may yet prevail with Heaven, to forget thy murder, I will join my tears rather than fail. But, O my fears! it cannot die so—] -Heaven's King keeps register of every thing; and nothing may we use in vain :— Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain.

With sweetest milk and sugar first, I it at mine own fingers nursed; and as it grew, so every day it waxed more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a breath! and oft I blushed to see its foot more soft and white-shall I say, than my hand—nay, any lady's of the land. It is a wondrous thing how fleet 'twas on those little silver feet, with what a pretty skipping grace it oft would challenge me the race; and, when't had left me far away, 'twould stay, and run again, and stay. For it was nimbler much than hinds, and trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own, but so with roses overgrown, and lilies, that you would it guess to be a little wilderness; and all the springtime of the year it only loved to be there. Among the beds of lilies, I have

sought it oft where it should lie; yet could not, till itself would rise, find it, although before mine eyes; for, in the flaxen lilies' shade, it like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed, until its lips ev'n seemed to bleed ; and then to me 'twould boldly trip, and print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still on roses thus itself to fill; and its pure virgin limbs to fold in whitest sheets of lilies cold. Had it lived long it would have been lilies without, roses within!...Now, my sweet fawn is vanished to whither the swans and turtles go; in fair Elysium to endure, with milkwhite lambs and ermines pure...Oh! do not run too fast, for I will but bespeak thy grave and die.

104.-WISHES.-Elliot.

Would that I were a river, to wander all alone

Through some sweet Eden of the wild, in music of my own;

And, bathed in bliss, and fed with dew, distill'd o'er mountains hoary,
Return unto my home in heaven, on wings of joy and glory!

O, that I were a skylark, to soar and sing above,

Filling all hearts with joyful sounds, and my own soul with love!
Then, o'er the mourner, and the dead, and o'er the good man dying,
My song should come like buds and flowers, when music warbles flying.

O, that a wing of splendour, like yon wild cloud, were mine!
Yon bounteous cloud, that gets to give, and borrows to resign!
On that bright wing, to climes of spring, I'd bear all wintry bosoms,
And bid Hope smile on weeping thoughts-like April on her blossoms!

...

105. THE FOLLIES OF THE WORLD.-Keble.

1 Is this a time to plant and build, add house to house, and field to field? when round our walls the battle lowers; when mines are hid beneath our towers; and watchful foes are stealing round to search and spoil the holy ground? 2 Is this a time for moonlight dreams of love, and home by mazy streams?-for Fancy with her shadowy toys, aërial hopes, and pensive joys? . . . while souls are wandering far and wide, and curses swarm on every side! 3 No-rather steel thy melting heart to act the martyr's sternest part;-to watch, with firm, unshrinking eye, thy darling visions as they die; till all bright hopes, and hues of day, have faded into twilight gray. 4 Yes-let them pass without a sigh!—and, if the world seem dull and dry; if long and sad thy lonely hours, and winds have rent thy sheltering bowers; bethink thee what thou art, and where—a sinner, in a lite of care!