I knew, I knew it could not last-
'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past!
Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,

I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never loved a tree or flower,
But 'twas the first to fade away.
I never nursed a dear gazelle,

To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well,
And love me, it was sure to die!

FROM "THE LIGHT OF THE HAREM."

ALAS! how light a cause may move

Dissension between hearts that love!

Hearts that the world in vain has tried,

And sorrow but more closely tied ;

That stood the storm when waves were rough,

Yet in a sunny hour fall off,

Like ships, that have gone down at sea,
When Heaven was all tranquillity!
A something light as air-a look,

A word unkind or wrongly taken—
Oh! love, that tempests never shook,
A breath, a touch like this has shaken.
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin ;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day;
And voices lose the tone that shed
A tenderness round all they said;
Till fast declining, one by one,
The sweetnesses of love are gone,
And hearts, so lately mingled, seem
Like broken clouds, or like the stream,
That smiling left the mountain's brow,

As though its waters ne'er could sever,
Yet ere it reach the plain below,

Breaks into floods that part for ever. Oh you that have the charge of Love, Keep him in rosy bondage bound,

As in the Fields of Bliss above

He sits, with flow'rets fetter'd round:

Loose not a tie that round him clings,
Nor ever let him use his wing;
For even an hour, a minute's flight
Will rob the plumes of half their light.
Like that celestial bird,-whose nest

Is found beneath far Eastern skies,--
Whose wings, though radiant when at rest,
Lose all their glory when he flies!"

THE BIRD LET LOOSE.

THE bird, let loose in Eastern skies,
When hast'ning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, God, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, through Virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to Thee!
No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs;—
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings!

OH, THOU! WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR.

Он, Thou, who dry'st the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be.

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends, who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes, are flown;
And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal that broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw
Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes or cheers,
And even the hope that threw

A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too,

Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom,
Did not thy Wing of Love

Come, brightly wafting through the gloom
Our Peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light

We never saw by day!

DEAR HARP OF MY COUNTRY.

DEAR Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee long,
When proudly, my own Island Harp! I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That ev'n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine;
Go, sleep, with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,

Have throbb'd at our lay, 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy own.

Ebenezer Elliot.

Born 1781.

Died 1849.

THE CORN-LAW RHYMER, as he is generally called, was born at Masborough in Yorkshire, on 7th March 1781. He appeared first as a poet in 1823; and when the Corn-Law agitation commenced, he lent the full vigour of his pen to further it. His Corn-Law rhymes had a great influence among his own class; but they are poor productions, and would never have entitled him to be ranked as a poet. Some of his other pieces show higher poetical powers. He died in 1849.

When Thou comest, earth and ocean, Shade and brightness, rest and motion, Help the Poor Man's heart to pray.

Sun-waked Forest,

Bird that soarest

O'er the mute empurpled moor,
Throstle's
's song that stream-like flowest,
Wind that over dewdrop goest,
Welcome now the woe-worn poor!

Little River,

Young for ever!

Cloud gold-bright with thankful glee,
Happy woodbine, gladly weeping,
Gnat within the wild rose keeping,
O! that they were blest as ye.

Sabbath holy!

For the lowly

Paint with flowers thy glittering sod:
For Affliction's sons and daughters
Bid thy mountains, woods, and waters,
Pray to God-the Poor Man's God!

Tyrants curse ye

While they nurse ye,

Life for deadliest wrongs to pay;
Yet, O Sabbath! bringing gladness
Unto hearts of weary sadness,

Still art Thou "The Poor Man's day."

Sabbath's Father,

Would'st Thou rather

Some should curse than all be blest,
If Thou hate not fruit and blossom,
To the Oppressor's godless bosom
Bring the Poor Man's day of rest,-

With its healing,
With his feeling,

With his humble trustful bliss ;

With the Poor Man's honest kindness,

Bless the rich man's heart of blindness, Teach him what religion is!

Jane Taylor.

JANE TAYLOR was born in London, in 1783.

Born 1783.
Died 1823.

Her father became after

wards a dissenting minister at Colchester, where he educated his family. In conjunction with her sister Anne, she wrote and published a collection of children's hymns and rhymes, which have been universally admired. Jane is also the author of "Display," a prose work. She died in 1823.

CRUCIFIXION OF CHRIST.

Lo at noon 'tis sudden night,
Darkness covers all the sky;
Rocks are rending at the sight:
Children, can you tell me why?
What can all these wonders be?
Jesus dies on Calvary!

Nail'd upon the cross, behold,

How His tender limbs are torn;

For a royal crown of gold

They have made him one of thorn:

Cruel hands, that dare to bind

Thorns upon a brow so kind!

See the blood is falling fast,

From his forehead and his side;
Hark! He now has breathed his last :
With a mighty groan He died.
Children, shall I tell you why
Jesus condescends to die?

He who was King above

Left his kingdom for a grave,

Out of pity-out of love,

That the guilty He might save.
Down to this sad world He flew,
For such little ones as you.

Reginald Heber.

Born 1783.

Died 1826.

REGINALD HEBER, D.D., Bishop of Calcutta, was born on 21st April 1783, at Malpas in Cheshire, a living held by his father. He entered at Brasenose College at the age of seventeen, and, in his twentieth year, his poem "Palestine" gained the prize for English poetical composition. The