THE HAPPY MAN.

A MAN of no regrets,

He goes his sunny way
Owing the past no load of debts
The present cannot pay:
He wedded his first love,
Nor loved another since;
He sets his nobler hopes above;
He reigns in joy a Prince!

A man of no regrets,

He hath no cares to vex,
No secret griefs, nor mental nets
Nor troubles to perplex;

Forgiveness to his sin,

And help in every need,

Blessing around, and peace within,
Crown him a King indeed!

A man of no regrets,

Upon his Empire free

The sun of gladness never sets,

Then who so rich as he?

Yea, GoD upon my heart

Hath poured all blessings down; Then yield to Him, with all thou art, The homage of thy crown!

HERALDIC.

HIGH in Battle's antlered hall
Ancient as its Abbey wall,

Hangs a helmet, brown with rust,
Cobweb'd o'er, and thick in dust
High it hangs, 'mid pikes and bows
Scowling still at spectral foes,
Proud and stern, with vizor down,
And fearful in its feudal frown.
When I saw what ail'd thee, heart,
Wherefore should I stop and start?
That old helm, with that old crest,
Is more to me than all the rest;
Battered, broken, though it be,
That old helm is all to me.
Yon black greyhound knoweth well:
Many a tale hath it to tell

How in troublous times of old

Sires of mine, with bearing bold,
Bearing bold, but much mischance,
Sway'd the sword, or poised the lance,-
Much mischance, desponding still,
They fought and fell, foreboding ill:
And their scallop, gules with blood,
Fessed amid the azure flood,
Show'd the pilgrim, slain afar
O'er the sea, in Holy War:

While that faithful greyhound black
Vainly watch'd the wild boar's track;

And the legend and the name

Proved all lost but hope and fame,

Tout * est perdu, fors l'honneur,

Mas "L'Espoir est ma force" sans peur.

* Corruption, in the course of generations, has converted this piece of chivalrous

despondency into the Author's modernized and ineuphonious name.

THE TRUE EPICURE.

How saidst thou? - Pleasure: why, my life is pleasure;
My days are pleasantness, my nights are peace;
I drink of joys which neither cloy nor cease,
A well that gushes blessings without measure.
Ah, thou hast little heed how rich and glad,
How happy is my soul in her full treasure,
How seldom but for honest pity sad,

How constantly at calm!- my very cares
Are sweetness in my cup, as being sent;'
And country quiet and retired leisure

Keep me from half the common fears and snares;
And I have learnt the wisdom of content:

Yea, and, to crown the cup of peace with praise,
Both God and man have blest my works and ways.

THRENOS.

VANITY, vanity! dead hopes and fears,
Dim flitting phantoms of departed years,
Unsatisfying shadows, vague and cold,

Of thoughts and things that made my joys of old,
Sad memories of the kindly words and ways
And looks and loves of friends in other days,-
Alas! all gone a dream, a very dream,

A dream is all you are, and all you seem!

O life, I do forget thee: I look back,
And lo, the desert wind has swept my track:

I stand upon this bare and solid ground,

And, strangely wakened, wonder all around;

How came I here? and whence? and whither tend?

Speak, friend! - if death and time have spared a friend.
Behold, the place that knew me well of yore
Knoweth me not; and that familiar floor

Where all my kith and kin were wont to meet
Is now grown strange, and throng'd by other feet:

O soul, my soul, consider thou that spot,
Root there thy gratitude, and leave it not;
Still let remembrance, with a swimming eye,
Live in those rooms, nor pass them coldly by;
Still let affection cling to those old days,

And yearning fondly paint them bright with praise:
O once my home with all thy blessings fled,
O forms and faces gathered to the dead,

O scenes of joy and sorrow

faded fast!

How hollow sound thy footsteps, ghostlike PAST!

An aching emptiness is all thou art,

A famine hid within the caverned heart.

Thou changeless ONE, - how blest to have no change, --
Only with Thee, my God, I feel not strange;

Thou art the same for ever and for aye,
To-morrow and to-day as yesterday,
Thou art the same, -a tranquil Present still;
There I can hide, and bless Thy sovereign will:
Yes, bless Thee, O my Father, that Thy love
Call'd in an instant to the bliss above,

From ills to come and grief and care and fear,
Thy type to me, most honor'd and most dear!
O true and tender spirit, pure and good,
So vex'd on earth and little understood,
Thy gentle nature was not fit for strife,
But quail'd to meet the waking woes of life;
And therefore God our Father kindly made
Thy sleep a death, lest thou shouldst feel afraid!

THE DEAD.

A DIRGE.

I LOVE the dead!

The precious spirits gone before,

And waiting on that peaceful shore To meet with welcome looks

and kiss me yet once more

I love the dead!

And fondly doth my fancy paint

Each dear one, wash'd from earthly taint,

By patience and by hope

made a most gentle saint.

O glorious dead!

Without one spot upon the dress

Of your ethereal loveliness,

Ye linger round me still

with earnest will to bless.

Enfranchised dead!

Each fault and failing left behind

And nothing now to chill or bind, How gloriously ye reign

in majesty of mind!

O royal dead!

The resting, free, unfettered dead,
The yearning, conscious, holy dead,

The hoping, waiting, calm,

the happy, changeless dead!

I love the dead!

And well forget their little ill,
Eager to bask my memory still