For these, for these, we grieve! What Time has robb'd us of, we knew must go; Not only finds us poor, but keeps us so. It ought not thus to be; Nor would it, knew we meek Religion's sway: Her votary's eye could see How little Time can give or take away. Faith in the heart enshrin'd, Would make Time's gifts enjoy'd and used, while lent ; And all it left behind, Of love and grace, a noble monument. STANZAS. BOWLES. I NEVER cast a flower away, To things familiar, but my heart But with an utterance faint and broken, When it shall never more be spoken. THOSE EVENING BELLS. MOORE. THOSE evening bells, those evening bells, Of youth and home, and that sweet time Those joyous hours are pass'd away, AGAINST SLANDER. ANON. SWEET to the scent's the smiling brier The painting that delights the eye, No mortal ever yet was made Angels themselves have some small shade: Mercy to others' failings show, As you would be forgiven; MIRIAM'S SONG. MOORE. SOUND the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea! How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken, And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; Jehovah has triumph'd,—his people are free! Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord, Of those she sent forth in the hour of her pride? For the Lord hath look'd out from his pillar of glory, And all her brave thousands are dash'd in the tide. Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea; Jehovah has triumph'd,-his people are free! TIME. DR. KNOX. TIME speeds away-away-away, Time speeds away-away-away, THE RUINED HOUSE. CHARES SWAIN. THE house is old, the house is cold, It used to be all light and song, Ere yet its aged roof was grey, Old visions haunt the creeking floors; While still the night-winds out of doors Old visions haunt the floors above: I'VE PLUCKED THE BERRY. MOTHERWELL. I'VE pluck'd the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me: I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer, With their wild eyes, like glitt'ring beads, to note if harm were near; I pass'd them by, and bless'd them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small, whose home is in the wood. And here, e'en now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing, He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his 'little wing. He will not fly; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay. Sing on, sing on, blithe bird!—and fill my heart with summer gladness, It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness! DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB. LORD BYRON. THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, |