'Tis past, 'tis past! but I gaze on it now With quiv'ring breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me, 'twas there she died, And memory flows with lava tide. Say it is folly, and deem me weak, Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek: My soul from a mother's old arm-chair. Он, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals, I ween, The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, To pleasure his dainty whim; And the mould'ring dust that years have made Is a merry meal for him. Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green. Fast he stealeth on though he wears no wings, How closely he twineth, how tightly he clings Whole A rare old plant is the ivy green. ages have fled, and their works decay'd, And nations scatter'd been; But the stout old ivy shall never fade From its hale and hearty green. For the stateliest building man can raise Creeping where no life is seen, THE WILD CHERRY-TREE. BARRY CORNWALL. OH, there never was yet so pretty a thing, Up from the ground when the skies were blue; As thou, my wild, wild cherry-tree! Jove! how it danc'd in the gusty breeze! 'Twas the same to my wild, wild cherry-tree! Never at rest, like a thing that's young, Back I fly to the days gone by, And I see thy branches against the sky, THE SHADOW. FRANCIS BENNOCH. Music by J. L. HATTON. WITH lofty song, we love to cheer, But now we sing of holy deeds Devoted to the brave, Where she, who stems the wound that bleeds, A hero's life may save; And heroes saved exulting tell How well her voice they knew— How sorrow near it could not dwell, But spread its wings and flew. Neglected, dying in despair, When wounded sore, on fever's rack, She called their fluttering spirits back, With grateful lips they kissed the place When words of wrath profaning rung They knew that they were cared for then, They wake!-the angel tending there FAIR FLOWER! FAIR FLOWER! W. T. MONCRIEFF. FAIR flower! fair flower! Though thou seem'st so proudly growing, Dear flower! dear flower! Vainly we our sighs breathe o'er thee, Poor flower! poor flower! No aid now to health can win thee; Wan flower! wan flower! Than all behind thee staying; UNDER THE HOLLY-BOUGH. From Egeria" by CHARLES MACKAY. Music by C. W. GLOVER. YE who have scorn'd each other, In this fast-fading year; Ye who, by word or deed, Let sinn'd against and sinning Ye who have loved each other, |