THE SELF-DEVOTED.

SHE hath forsaken courtly halls and bowers
For his dear sake; ay, cheerfully resigned
Country and friends for him, and hath entwined
Her fate with his, in dark and stormy hours,
As the fond ivy clings to ruined towers,
With generous love, and never hath inclined
Round gilded domes and palaces to wind,

Or flung her wintry wreath 'midst summer flowers.
Her cheek is pale; it hath grown pale for him—
Her all of earthly joy, her heaven below;

He fades before her-fades in want and woe!
She sees his lamp of life wax faint and dim,
Essays to act the Roman matron's part,
And veils with patient smiles a breaking heart.

THE SOLITARY CHILD.

I KNEW a little cottage maid,
An orphan from her birth;
And yet she might be truly called
The happiest child on earth.

As guileless as the gentle lambs
That fed beneath her care;

Her mind was like a summer stream,
Unruffled, calm, and fair.

'Midst all the hardships of her lot,
Her looks were mild and meek;
And cheerfully the rose of health
Was blooming on her cheek.

The merry sports that childhood loves To her were never known;

But Ellen, in her lonely hours,

Had pleasures of her own.

She loved her peaceful flock to lead

To some lone wooded hill, That overhung the flowery plain, And softly-gliding rill :

And couched upon the blossomed heath,

From that delightful spot

To trace the distant village spire,
And many a well-known cot.

Whence watched she oft the curling smoke In misty wreaths ascend,

And on the blue horizon's verge

With loftier vapours blend.

She made acquaintance with the birds

That gaily flitted by;

And e'en the lowly insect tribes

Were precious in her eye.

She saw a glory in each cloud,

A moral in each flower,

That all to her young heart proclaimed

Their great Creator's power.

Nor looked the lonely one in vain,
Some kindly glance to meet;-
One lowly friend was ever near,
Reposing at her feet.

A friend, whose fond and generous love
Misfortunes ne'er estranged;

In sunshine and in storm the same,
Through weal and woe unchanged.

The lordly park, the barren moor,
Brown heath, or pasture fair,
Are all alike to faithful Tray,

If Ellen be but there.

His joys are centred all in her;
His world's the lonely wild,
Where he attends, the live-long day,

That solitary child.

THE BIVOUAC.

O'ER many, who would never hail again
His glorious rising, sank the evening sun;
And misty Twilight on the battle plain

In tears descended, robed in shadows dun;
Like pensive mourner weeping o'er the slain,
She came the thunders of each deep-mouthed gun
And clash of weapons died, as o'er the field
Her peaceful veil in pity she revealed.

The bloody business of the fierce affray

Had closed-but, oh! 'twas only for the space
Of one short night! How brief was the delay!
And yet how wondrously it did efface

The rage of those who had that dreadful day
Met there as foes so deadly; Sleep's embrace
Had locked the rival squadrons in repose,
And sweet oblivion of fatigue and woes.

They sank to slumber on the dewy ground

They lately had contested-while afar,

Through clouds, like hostile towers that sternly frown'd,
Gleamed in the wat'ry west the evening star,
Marked by that weary band who, duty-bound,
Must keep that night the vigils of the war,
With eyes that could in very sadness weep,
To share their happier comrades' envied sleep.