FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What! were ye born to be

An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
"T was pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave; •
And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.

Is this a fast, to keep

The larder lean,

And clean

From fat of veals and sheep?

Is it to quit the dish

Of flesh, yet still
To fill

The platter high with fish?

Is it to fast an hour,

Or rag'd to go,

Or show

A downcast look, and sour?

GEORGE HERBERT.

Who would have thought my shrivelled heart

Could have recovered greenness? It was

gone

Quite under ground; as flowers depart To see their mother-root, when they have blown ;

Where they together,

All the hard weather,

REST.

WHEN God at first made man, Having a glass of blessings standing by, "Let us," said he, "pour on him all we

can:

Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie, Contract into a span."

So strength first made a way;

known.

pleasure:

Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, When almost all was out, God made a stay, Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said he, "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in nature, not the God of nature; So both should losers be.

"Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast."

So hills and valleys into singing break; And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue,

and speak,

Yet stones are deep in admiration.

Thus praise and prayer here beneath the

showed them me

To kindle my cold love.

For sure if others knew me such,
Such as myself I know,

I should have been dispraised as much
As I am praised now.

By her help I also now

Make this churlish place allow

Some things that may sweeten glad

ness,

In the very gall of sadness.

Delights not so my mind,

As those things make my heart afeard,
Which in myself I find:
And I had rather to be blamed,

So I were blameless made,

Than for much virtue to be famed,

When I no virtues had.

Though slanders to an innocent
Sometimes do bitter grow,
Their bitterness procures content,
If clear himself he know.

And when a virtuous man hath erred,
If praised himself he hear,

It makes him grieve, and more afeard, Than if he slandered were.

Lord! therefore make my heart upright,
Whate'er my deeds do seem;
And righteous rather in thy sight,
Than in the world's esteem.
And if aught good appear to be
In any act of mine,

Let thankfulness be found in me,
And all the praise be thine.

That these hanging vaults have made;
The strange music of the waves,
Beating on these hollow caves;
This black den which rocks emboss,
Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals that give light
More to terror than delight;
This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,
She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er heaven to mortals lent:
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive
thee;

Though thou be to them a scorn,
That to naught but earth are born,-
Let my life no longer be

Than I am in love with thee!

COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE.

SHE doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow;
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height,
Through the meanest object's sight,
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustling.
By a daisy, whose leaves spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed;
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me,
Than all nature's beauties can
In some other wiser man.