TEN YEARS AGO. TEN years ago-ten years ago— Had sered not then its pathway green; Time has not blanched a single hair, In love's deep truth in earlier years; Though somewhat stained by secret tears;— But where, oh where's the spirit's glow That shone through all-ten years ago? I too am changed-I scarce know why ;— In the first summer month of life; Yet journey on my path below Oh! how unlike-ten years ago! But look not thus-I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou must share, To bid those joyous hours revive, When all around me seemed so fair! We've wandered on in sunny weather, When winds were low, and flowers in bloom, And hand in hand have kept together, And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom, Endeared by ties we could not know When life was young,-ten years ago! Has fortune frowned? Her frowns were vain! For hearts like ours she could not chill. Stedfast in calms-in tempests tried In concert still our fate we'll brave; Have we not knelt beside his bed, And watched our first-born blossom die? Hoped till the shade of hope had fled, Then wept till feeling's fount was dry? Was it not sweet, in that dark hour To think-mid mutual tears and sighsOur bud had left its earthly bower And burst to bloom in Paradise? What to the thought that soothed that woe Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright, Then dry those tears-though something changed Time that hath friends and hopes estranged, A. A. W. LINES SENT WITH AN HOUR GLASS TO A LADY ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. YES all things fade away That the soul cherishes and seeks on earth;— Youth hath its favoured hour, Of fancies, and high hopes, and dazzling dreams; And Manhood's hour comes next, Fevered and filled with the world's active thought; Schemes, and ambitions ;―till the spirit vexed,— Finds that its hour hath fled and left it nought! Shortest and last is thine, Wasted in vain regrets and memories—Age! Thus pleasure hath its hour! And grief, and pain, and peril have no more; On-conqueror of the earth! And fold not yet thy world-destroying wing! Thy end will come, Oh Time! When thou, a conqueror shalt conquered be; Leeds Intelligencer. M. J. J. THE COVENANTER'S HEATHER-BED. This poem, suggested by the picture representing the Temptation of St Anthony, by Teniers, exemplifies the different aspect which the same subject and situation would assume when clothed in the images supplied by Scottish Puritanism. A STORMY night and dark, had closed a gloomy day, His feet were tired and damp, with the clays of many a hill, When the powers of darkness thronged with persevering spite, To tempt his weary soul mid the visions of the night. And first a black one came, and said, with scornful eye, 'Come, Jonathan, get up, and your merits let us try; If you be strong in faith, here take me by the hand, Pull up while I draw down,-we'll see who best can stand;— When flames break out beneath us, and yawning earth is riven, "Twill then be brought to proof what hold you have on heaven. 'You boldly walk by day, while sunshine warms the ground; The breeze cheers up your heart, and the wild bee hums around But when our dark hour comes, your songs and vaunts decrease And, trusting to your works, you fain would sleep in peace;— But if in works you trust, I have witnesses behind, Who can speak of former deeds, and recall them to your mind.' And then straightway the fiend for another fiend made room, When with her you would sit, one plaid encircled both, You called yourself her true love to her you pledged your troth; But when you grew a man, and was master of some sheep, And saw some farmers' daughters, you left her there to weep; Among the lonely knolls her heart sobbed out its pain, The one who next appeared, a tattered bible bore, And said, 'when first in youth you left your mother's door, The next who came to taunt, a piece of money showed, And you therefore slid this coin among others that were bright; Tormented thus and stung by a many a bitter word, "The last,' he cries, 'is false !' and starts and grasps his sword. Around on every side his furious strokes he plies, Among their flitting shapes, among their glaring eyes; But laughing, at his rage, on sooty wings they fled, And a new rattling shower assailed his heather-bed. Blackwood's Magazine. LOVE. NAY, pray thee, let me weep, for tears I'll weep his smiles, for first they taught Literary Gazette. |