The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

1 Mary in heaven. This pathetic lyric was written in memory of Mary

Burns.

Campbell, to whom Burns was engaged, but who died suddenly.

THE SUNBEAM.

Thou art no lingerer in monarch's hall,
A joy thou art and a wealth to all!
A bearer of hope unto land and sea :
Sunbeam! what gift hath the world like thee?

Thou art walking the billows, and ocean smiles;
Thou hast touched with glory his thousand isles;
Thou hast lit up the ships and the feathery foam,
And gladdened the sailor like words from home.

To the solemn depths of the forest-shades

Thou art streaming on through their green arcades,
And the quivering leaves that have caught their glow,
Like fireflies glance to the pools below.

I looked on the mountains-a vapour lay
Folding their heights in its dark array;
Thou brakest forth-and the mist became
A crown and a mantle of living flame.

40

NEVER SAY FAIL!

I looked on the peasant's lowly cot-
Something of sadness had wrapt the spot;
But a gleam of thee on its lattice fell,
And it laughed into beauty at that bright spell.

Sunbeam of summer! oh, what is like thee?
Hope of the wilderness, joy of the sea!

One thing is like thee to mortals given

The faith touching all things with hues of Heaven!

Mrs Hemans.

NEVER SAY FAIL!

Keep pushing 'tis wiser than sitting aside,
And dreaming and sighing and waiting the tide.
In life's earnest battle they only prevail,
Who daily march onward and never say fail!

With an eye ever open-a tongue that 's not dumb,
And a heart that will never to sorrow succumb-
You'll battle and conquer though thousands assail :
How strong and how mighty, who never say fail!

The spirit of angels is active, I know,
As higher and higher in glory they go :
Methinks on bright pinions from heaven they sail,
To cheer and encourage who never say fail!

Ahead then keep pushing, and elbow your way,
Unheeding the envious, and asses that bray;
All obstacles vanish, all enemies quail,

In the might of their wisdom who never say fail!

In life's rosy morning, in manhood's firm pride,
Let this be the motto your footsteps to guide;
In storm and in sunshine, whatever assail,
We'll onward and conquer, and never say fail!

Unknown.

BOADICEA.1

When the British warrior-queen,
Bleeding from the Roman rods,2
Sought, with an indignant mien,
Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage, beneath a spreading oak,
Sat the Druid,3 hoary chief,
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage, and full of grief.

'Princess, if our aged eyes

Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, "Tis because resentment ties

All the terrors of our tongues.

'Rome shall perish! write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish-hopeless and abhorred,
Deep in ruin, as in guilt!

'Rome, for empire far renowned,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground-
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates !4

'Other Romans shall arise,

Heedless of a soldier's name;

Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,

Harmony the path to fame! 5

'Then, the progeny that springs

From the forests of our land,"

Armed with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

'Regions Cæsar never knew,

Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles' never flew, None invincible as they !'

BOADICEA.

Such the Bard's prophetic words,
Pregnant with celestial fire;
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow;
Rushed to battle, fought, and died—
Dying, hurled them at the foe!

'Ruffians! pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestowed;

Shame and ruin wait for you!'

THE SKYLARK.

Bird of the wilderness!

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin1 o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness!

Blest is thy dwelling-place

Oh to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud;
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day;
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming2 comes,
Low in the heather blooms,

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!
Emblem of happiness!

Blest is thy dwelling-place

Oh to abide in the desert with thee!