And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
Yet O, the thought that thou art safe, and he !-
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise,
The son of parents passed into the skies.
And now, farewell! -Time, unrevoked, has run
His wonted course; yet what I wished is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again,
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;

And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft,
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.

WILLIAM COWPER.

THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.

[An Inverary correspondent writes: "Thom gave me the following narrative as to the origin of The Mitherless Bairn'; I quote his own words. 'When I was livin' in Aberdeen, I was limping roun' the house to my garret, when I heard the greetin' o' a wean. A lassie was thumpin' a bairn, when out cam a big dame, bellowin' "Ye hussie, will ye lick a mitherless bairn!" I hobled up the stair and wrote the sang afore sleepin'.'"]

WHEN a' ither bairnies are hushed to their hame By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wha stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'? "T is the puir doited loonie, the mitherless bairn !

The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed; Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare

head;

His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn, An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn.

Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there, O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair; But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern, That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn !

Yon sister that sang o'er his saftly rocked bed Now rests in the mools where her mammie is

laid;

The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn, An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn.

Her spirit, that passed in yon hour o' his birth, Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth; Recording in heaven the blessings they earn Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn!

O, speak him na harshly, -he trembles the while,

He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile; In their dark hour o' anguish the heartless shall learn

That God deals the blow, for the mitherless bairn!

WILLIAM THOM.

I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER.

I REMEMBER, I remember
The house where I was born,
The little window where the sun
Came peeping in at morn.
He never came a wink too soon,

Nor brought too long a day; But now I often wish the night Had borne my breath away!

I remember, I remember

The roses, red and white, The violets, and the lily-cups,

Those flowers made of light! The lilacs where the robin built,

And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, The tree is living yet!

I remember, I remember

Where I was used to swing,

And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing;

My spirit flew in feathers then,

That is so heavy now,

And summer pools could hardly cool
The fever on my brow!

I remember, I remember

The fir-trees dark and high;

I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky.

It was a childish ignorance,

But now 't is little joy

To know I'm farther off from heaven Than when I was a boy.

THOMAS HOOD