FLORENCE VANE.

Made to tread the mills of toil,

Up and down in ceaseless moil :
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in

Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,

Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

FLORENCE VANE.

I LOVED thee long and dearly,
Florence Vane;

My life's bright dream and early
Hath come again ;

I renew, in my fond vision,

My heart's dear pain:
My hopes, and thy derision,
Florence Vane!

The ruin, lone and hoary,

The ruin old,

Where thou didst hark my story,

At even told :

That spot, the hues Elysian

Of sky and plain,

I treasure in my vision,

Florence Vane!

I loved the long and clearly,

Florence Vane;

my life's bright dream, and Early, Hath come again;

I renew, in

my fond vision,

My heart's dear pain,

my hope, and thy derision

Florence vune.

The ruin love and hourg,

The ruin old,

where thou didst hasse

at even toed,

m

my

That spot - the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain_

I treasure in my vision,

Horence Vane.

story.

Philip Pendleton Cooke.

The lilies of the valley

By young graves weep;

The daisies love to dally

Where maidens sleep.

May their bloom, in beauty vying,

Never wane

Where thine earthly part is lying,

Florence Vane!

PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE.

THE ROSE.

Go, lovely rose !

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired;
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

EDMUND Waller.