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THE STREAM OF LIFE.-ANDREW PARK.

1. I THREW three flowers into a stream

That swiftly journeyed by,
And sparkled in the golden gleam

Of May's reviving sky.
“Now,” said I calmly, as I stood,

“This is the stream of life,
That sweeps to the eternal flood,

And these, three men of strife !"

2. I placed them gently side by side

Upon the sparkling stream,
Then on they rushed, like things of pride

Aroused from Morphean dream.
Awhile they journeyed on in joy

Along their pebbly way,
But soon earth's common lot, alloy,

Has seized them in their play.

3. One that bade well to be the first

'Mong the ambitious three,
Has hit upon a jarring rock,

And to the side runs he.
The others, heedless of his fate,

Move joyously along,
Nor mourn their poor,

wrecked brother's state, Self-love has grown so strong.

4. But, ha! the foremost of the two

Has caught upon a brier;
And now the third one rushes past,

Impatient with desire.
Though all are trav'ling down to death,

Ne'er to retrace life's stream,
Yet do they thus mark other's wo,

Nor sad nor sickly seem.

5. On bounds the one triumphantly,

More pleased to reign alone,
And, laughing at the two behind,

Is dashed against a stone:
While struggling now impatiently,

The other two sweep by,
And
gaze

on their relentless friend
With an indignant eye.
6. Thus moves mankind o'er mother earth

Exceptions, little claim :
All are alike at weakly birth,

And have no wit nor name.
But growing into manhood bold,

They sail life's fleeting river;
One all-engrossing object, GOLD,

Which some find, and some never !

YOUNG LOCHINVAR.-WALTER SCOTT.

1. O young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

Through all the wide border his steed was the best-
And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight, like the young

Lochinvar 2. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,

He swam the Eske river, where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted, at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war,

Was to wed the fair Ellen, of brave Lochinvar. 3. So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all,

Then spoke the bride's father his hand on his sword,
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word:
“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?" 4. “I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ;

Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now I am come with this lost love of mine,
To tread but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.”

5. The bride kissed the goblet, the knight took it up,

He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
“Now tread we a measure,” said young Lochinvar.

6. So stately his form, and so lovely her face,

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom-stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride maidens whispered : “ "Twere better by far,
To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.”

7. One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood

near, So light to the croup, the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung: “She's won, we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur, They'll have swift steeds that follow," quoth young Lochin

var.

8. There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan,

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ;

There was racing, and chasing on Cannobie Lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so gallant in war,
Have you e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

THE POOR MAN'S MAY. SAUNDERS.

1. SWEET May! they tell me thou art come:

Thou art not come to me;
I cannot spare a single hour,

Sweet May! to welcome thee.
God knows how hard I've worked this week,

To earn my children bread;
And see we have an empty board,

My children are unfed.

2. And thou art still the same sweet May

My childhood loved so well,
When humming like a happy bee

Along some primrose dell.
I thought, oh! what a lovely world

Is this, dear God has given;
And wondered any one should seek

For any other heaven!

3. The hawthorn buds have come again,

And apple blossoms too;
And all the idle, happy birds

May sing the long day through.
The old green lane awakes once more,

And looks perhaps for me;
Alas! green lane, my heart may die

I cannot come to thee.

THE BACHELOR'S DAY.

1. The bachelor's morning is weary and sad:

His bread is ill-toasted, his butter is bad;
His coffee is cold, and his shoes are not brushed

Breakfast thus leaveth him angry and flush'd.
2. He comforts himself for his sorrows by thinking,

At dinner at least he'll have eating and drinking: “Good ale and beefsteak no misfortune can hinder,”But the steak, when brought up, is found burn'd to a

cinder.

3. He tags at the bell-pull, by fury inspired,

To lecture the landlady till he is tired;
But she takes precious care to be out of the way
When she thinks that her lodger has something to say !

4. He then finds that the temper to which she has driven

him, Is not like to be sweetened by the beer she has given him, So he rises in wrath. “But my tea cannot miss,” He half doubtingly says, “ to be better than this."

5. The whole afternoon he has nothing to do

He reads his old newspaper twenty times through;
If the weather were good, he might saunter about,

But the rain is so heavy he cannot go out.
6. Between yawning and nodding, time passes away,

And tea comes at last, after weary delay :
Now surely the fates will relent at his lot,

And allow him “ the cup that inebriates not.” 7. Alas, no to his sorrow no tea will pour out;

For a host of tea-leaves have got fixed in the spout, And before he can clean out the obdurate stopper, The tea is as cold as the bread and the butter.

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