Then melts into the spring: soft spring, with breath Favonian, from warm chambers of the south, [fades, Recalls the first. All, to reflourish, As in a wheel, all sinks, to re-ascend. Emblems of man, who passes, not expires. With this minute distinction, emblems just, Nature revolves, but man advances; both Eternal; that a circle, this a line. That gravitates, this soars. The aspiring soul, Ardent and tremulous, like flame, ascends; Zeal and humility, her wings to heaven. The world of matter, with its various forms, All dies into new life. Life born from death Rolls the vast mass, and shall for ever roll. No single atom, once in being, lost. [From Night Thoughts.] NIGHT VII. AMBITION. MAN must soar: An obstinate activity within, An insuppressive spring will toss him up In spite of fortune's load. Not kings alone, Each villager has his ambition too; No sultan prouder than his fettered slave: [straw, Slaves build their little Babylons of Echo the proud Assyrian, in their hearts, And cry-" Behold the wonders of my might!" Because immortal as their lord, summer gay, And why? sial flowers, Droops into pallid autumn: winter And souls immortal must for ever heave something great; the glitter, or the gold; praise of mortals, or the praise of Heaven. Nor absolutely vain is human praise, When human is supported by divine. As love of pleasure is ordained to guard And feed our bodies, and extend our race; [tect, The love of praise is planted to proAnd propagate the glories of the mind. [From Night Thoughts.] NIGHT VIII. WISDOM. No man e'er found a happy life by chance; Or yawned it into being with a wish; Or, with the snout of grovelling appetite, E'er smelt it out, and grubbed it from the dirt. An art it is, and must be learned; and learned With unremitting effort, or be lost; And leave us perfect blockheads, in our bliss. The clouds may drop down titles and estates; Wealth may seek us; but wisdom must be sought; Sought before all; but (how unlike all else We seek on earth!) 'tis never sought in vain. [From Night Thoughts.] NIGHT IX. And is the ceiling of her sleeping sons. O'er devastation we blind revels keep; While buried towns support the dancer's heel. CHEERFULNESS IN MISFORTUNE. The moist of human frame the sun NONE are unhappy: all have cause to smile, But such as to themselves that cause deny. [pains: Our faults are at the bottom of our Error, in act, or judgment, is the source Of endless sighs. We sin, or we mistake; And nature tax, when false opinion stings. Let impious grief be banished, joy indulged; exhales; Winds scatter, through the mighty void, the dry; Earth repossesses part of what she gave, And the freed spirit mounts on wings of fire; Each element partakes our scattered spoils; SPORTIVE, SATIRICAL, HUMOROUS, AND DIALECT POEMS. CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS. YAWCOB STRAUSS. Dot vas der roughest chouse: I'd dake dot vrom no oder poy But leedle Yawcob Strauss. He dakes der milk-ban for a dhrum, To make der schticks to beat it mit,- Vrom der hair ubon mine hed? PAT'S CRITICISM. Who cured beast and man On the " cold-water plan," Without the small help of a pill. On his portal of pine And a lake where a sprite, As he sauntered that way, Stood and gazed at that portal of pine; NOTE.- Thackeray's Bouillabaisse and Trowbridge's Vagabonds, being really pathetic poems, are placed here for convenience rather than fitness, their colloquial style adapting them to this rather than the other department. When the doctor with pride Stepped up to his side, Some beoples gife us dings to eadt, Saying, "Pat, how is that for a Und say, "You don'd got peesnis sign?" "There's wan thing," says Pat, Which, be jabers! is quite a mistake: But, to make it complate, "Ah! indeed! pray, then tell, To make it look well, What bird do you think it may lack?" Says Pat, "Of the same, I've forgotten the name. But the song that he sings is 'Quack!' quack!'" FRITZ AND I. here To sdroll der schtreets aboudt!" Vot's dot you say?-you puy mine To gife me pread to eadt! But I vas no "tead peat." Vot, sell mine tog, mine leedle tog, Schust look at him, und see him He likes me pooty vell; tog, Mynheer, I wouldn't sell. MYNHEER, blease helb a boor oldt "Der collar?" Nein: 'tvas some man Vot gomes vrom Sharmany, Mit Fritz, mine tog, and only freund, I haf no geld to puy mine pread, For ve vas vanderers, Fritz und I, ding else Vrom vich I gould not bart; I dink it prakes mine heart. "Vot was it, den, aboudt dot tog," WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. LOVELY MARY DONNELLY. O LOVELY Mary Donnelly, it's you I love the best! Be what it may the time of day, the place be where it will, Her eyes like mountain water that's flowing on a rock, How clear they are, how dark they are! and they give me many a shock; Red rowans warm in sunshine, and wetted with a shower, Could ne'er express the charming lip that has me in its power. Her nose is straight and handsome, her eyebrows lifted up, The dance o' last Whit Monday night exceeded all before- When she stood up for dancing, her steps were so complete, The fiddler mourned his blindness, he heard her so much praised; And evermore I'm whistling or lilting what you sung; O, you're the flower of womankind, in country or in town; The higher I exalt you the lower I'm cast down. If some great lord should come this way and see your beauty bright, O, might we live together in lofty palace hall Where joyful music rises, and where scarlet curtains fall! O, lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty's my distress FLETCHER BATES. THE CLERGYMAN AND THE A CLERGYMAN who longed to trace Yon fleece kept wet and his kept While thinking what he could do more Heard some one rapping at the door, "Come in, my brother," said the For since the summer you withdrew, And to cut short all fulsome speeches, And said, "No longer be amazed, |