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III.

THE PIMPERNEL.

THE least and loveliest of the sensitive tribe,
Whose hearts and lives are fix'd upon the sun,
Soon as her God, in garb of gold array'd,
Mounts in the eastern heaven, the Pimpernel
Unveils her scarlet cheek and glistening eye.
Glowing with humble joy, there all the day
Her blossoms shine like rubies on the bank,
And put to shame the proud Geranium.

But when the Hawthorn's lengthening shadow tells
The sun's declining course, his faithful flower
Gathers her tremulous leaves, and waits in sad
But pious patience for reviving morn.
The Poet in her life and lustre reads

A silent praise, a secret benison;

And grieves to think how many a human flower,
Bedeck'd with beauty's richest garniture,

Fed with the choicest dews, and redolent
Of health and joy, can darkly turn away

From Man's bright God, the Sun of Righteousness,
Whose hand produc'd-whose bounty gave them all!

IV.

WILD THYME.

FAR from the cultur'd vanities of man,

Thou dwell'st with Freedom on the lonely wold,
And, from thy delicate and dewy lips,

Breathest delight. Yet lack'st thou not thy friends
And lovers. See! the early shepherd stops
To bless thy healthful fragrance: Ere he spring
To greet the rosy dawn, th' awaken'd lark
Presses thee lightly to his breast: The bee
Comes sailing on the breeze with restless hum;
In vain our ladies'-finger spreads her store
Of golden ingots, and the heath-flower shakes
Her waxen bells; his curious sense hath caught
The honey-bearing Thyme, and, passing all,
He drops into her bosom, and is still.

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V.

THE HAREBELL.

HIGH on the sparkling summit, among dews
And balm, the Harebell bows her taper neck,
To meet the kisses of the morning breeze;
Then back retiring to the sunny sky,

Lifts her blue eyes in patience.

Graceful flower!

The mountain maiden, as her daring foot

Ascends o'er heath and granite, spies thee out,
And wreathes thee in her dark and clustering hair,
With dewy finger. She hath judged thee well.
The costly hyacinth, or queenly rose,

Would less befit a meek and humble spirit,
Contented with the rude tempestuous soil
From which she cheerly earns her daily bread,
And, unobstructed by the glare of wealth,
Or incense-cloud of flattery, looks to Heaven.

VI.

THE ROSE.

FAVOURITE of man! Ne'er pleased where thou art not, He seeks thee in his mental wanderings,

And pauses in his daily toil to glean

Refreshment from thy sweetness. Thine the hue.

He loves in beauty's cheek; and thine the pure
And lasting fragrance that his fancy gives
To virtue. Not a bower, a place of rest,
A mimic Eden, can arrest his foot

If thou be wanting; and his wistful eye
Ne'er looks on Heaven with such intent delight,
As when the glorious Eve her roses strews
O'er every cloud that paves the western steep.

Delicious flower! dear type of vanity!

How passing fair! yet, ah! how passing frail !-
But what, of all that boast thy attributes,
May claim a longer date? The rosy cheek?
Oh! name it not: deep in her narrow grave
Let Beauty rot unseen? The rose-like mind?
Trace not the human mind past infancy;
But turn again to the bright Heavens, for there
Are roses still. Lo! in our very gaze,
Each after each, they fade and pass away,

And universal darkness covers all!

Yes, short the life of this world's loveliness,

But thou, dear Rose, art still Earth's loveliest child,
And we will bless thy looks, and crop thy sweets,
That cheat our way-worn hearts of half their woe,
But onward press to more enduring climes,
Where all that's rare, and sweet, and beautiful,
In glorious union, meet to fade no more.

E. W. B.

AN OWER TRUE TALE.

[Being a further extract from an unpublished Life.*]

THERE are few things which strike with a more pain< ful chill on the heart-at least on my heart-than the unchangedness of physical objects, while Time has dealt destruction and decay upon all else. The scene which we contemplate with dimmed eye and saddened mind, was offered in self-sameness to our view when we were rife with all the nerve of bodily, and all the joyousness of mental, youth. The eternal river glides on, murmuring to the air, and glistening to the sun, as it murmured and glistened in our youth-in the youth of our fathers. The tree which flourished in majesty in our childhood flourishes in majesty still,-for the days of a man's life work no visible change on the grandeur of vegetable age. Even the works of human hands mock those who reared them they remain in beauty and in strength, when the builder has crumbled into dust:-the tenement of his own body is the only one which he cannot repair. Human frames shoot, ripen, and decay,-human hearts bud, bloom, and wither, but Nature and natural things remain unchanged-at least, during the time which suffices to work in us rise, maturity, and final fall. And this does not apply solely to long lapse of time. There are none, I am sure, who have suffered any great and sudden calamity without feeling with force the unchanged state of external objects. There is even a sort of sensation of surprise at seeing physical things as they were-indifferent business proceeding as it did—when all within us has been shattered, uprooted, and reversed. Every thing

* This paper is taken from the same manuscript as that entitled "Meeting," which appeared in our last number.

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