bands; For every fire that fronts the sun, God of the world! the hour must come, W. A. MUHLENBERG. [U. S. A.] I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY. Then the white sails are dashed like foam, I WOULD not live alway: I ask not to Or hurry, trembling, o'er the seas, God of the forest's solemn shade! God of the light and viewless air! God of the fair and open sky! God of the rolling orbs above! LADY DUFFERIN. WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. 163 There, too, is the pillow where Christ | The place is little changed, Mary; bowed his head; The day's as bright as then; 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, But the graveyard lies between, Mary, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, I'm bidding you a long farewell, But I'll not forget you, darling, LADY DUFFERIN. [1807-1867.] THE IRISH EMIGRANT. I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, The corn was springing fresh and green, WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. [1801-1839.] THE BELLE OF THE BALL. YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams Had been of being wise and witty; Ere I had done with writing themes, Or yawned o'er this infernal Chitty,Years, years ago, while all my joys Were in my fowling-piece and filly; In short, while I was yet a boy, I fell in love with Laura Lilly. I saw her at a county ball; There, when the sound of flute and fiddle Gave signal sweet in that old hall Of all that sets young hearts romancing: She was our queen, our rose, our star; And when she danced-O Heaven, her dancing! Dark was her hair; her hand was white; Shot right and left a score of arrows: rows. spar She sketched; the vale, the wood, the beach, Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading: She botanized; I envied each Young blossom in her boudoir fading: She warbled Handel; it was grand, She made the Catalani jealous: She touched the organ; I could stand For hours and hours and blow the bellows. She kept an album, too, at home, Well filled with all an album's glories, Paintings of butterflies and Rome, Patterns for trimming, Persian stories, Soft songs to Julia's cockatoo, Fierce odes to famine and to slaughter, And autographs of Prince Leboo, And recipes for elder water. And she was flattered, worshipped, bored; Her steps were watched, her dress was noted; Her poodle dog-was quite adored; As if the taxes were abolished; She smiled on many just for fun, I knew that there was nothing in it; I was the first, the only one Her heart had thought of for a minute: I knew it, for she told me so, In phrase which was divinely moulded; She wrote a charming hand, and O, How sweetly all her notes were folded! - Our love was like most other loves, — Some hopes of dying broken-hearted, A miniature, a lock of hair, The usual vows, and then we parted. We parted,months and years rolled by ; There had been many other lodgers, And she was not the ball-room belle, But only Mrs. Something-Rogers. |