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The Cathedral Mind.

Temple of truths most eloquently spoken,

Shrine of sweet thoughts veil'd-in with words of power,
The "Author's mind" replete with hallow'd riches
Stands a Cathedral: full of precious things,-
Tastefully built in harmonies unbroken,

Cloister, and aisle, dark crypt, and aëry tower:
Long-treasured relics in the fretted niches,
And secret stores, and heap'd-up offerings,
Art's noblest gems, with every fruit and flower,
Paintings and sculpture, choice imaginings,
Its plenitude of wealth and praise betoken :
An ever-burning lamp portrays the soul;
Deep music all around enchantment flings;
And God's great Presence consecrates the whole.

Children.

Harmless, happy little treasures,

Full of truth, and trust, and mirth,
Richest wealth, and purest pleasures
In this mean and guilty earth,—

How I love you, pretty creatures,
Lamb-like flock of little things,
Where the love that lights your features
From the heart in beauty springs.

C C

On your laughing rosy faces
There are no deep lines of sin,
None of passion's dreary traces

That betray the wounds within;

But yours is the sunny dimple
Radiant with untutor'd smiles,
Yours the heart, sincere and simple,
Innocent of selfish wiles;

Yours the natural curling tresses,
Prattling tongues, and shyness coy,
Tottering steps, and kind caresses,
Pure with health, and warm with joy.

Those dull slaves of gain, or passion
Cannot love you as they should;
These poor worldly fools of fashion
Would not love you if they could:

Write them childless, as cold-hearted, Who can scorn GOD's generous boon, And whose souls with fear have smarted, Lest-His blessings come too soon.

While he hath a child to love him
No man can be poor indeed,
While he trusts a Friend above him,

None can sorrow, fear, or need.

But for thee, whose hearth is lonely
And unwarm'd by children's mirth,
Spite of riches, thou art only
Desolate and poor on earth:

All unkiss'd by innocent beauty,
All unloved by guileless heart,
All uncheer'd by sweetest duty,
Childless one, how poor thou art!

The Kaleidoscope.

I saw a child with a kaleidoscope,
Turning at will the tesselated field;
And straight my mental eye became unseal'd,
I learnt of life, and read its horoscope:

Behold, how fitfully the patterns change!
The scene is azure now with hues of Hope;

Now sober'd grey by Disappointment strange; With Love's own roses blushing, warm and bright; Black with Hate's heat, or white with Envy's cold; Made glorious by Religion's purple light;

Or sicklied o'er with yellow lust of Gold: So, good or evil coming, peace or strife,

Zeal when in youth, and Avarice when old, In changeful chanceful phases passeth Life.

A Greenhouse.

Fragrant and fresh, the tropical warm air
Lures into life my "bright consummate" flowers,
That, newly bathed in artificial showers,

Show to the sun their thousand beauties rare :
Here, in high pomp, the gorgeous Cactus flings
Its eastern tassel down the prickly stem,
And Fuchsias spread their tiny scarlet wings,
Like hovering humming-birds in emerald bowers:
There, the tall Amaryll's pink diadem
Above this lowlier Hyacinth queenly towers;
While Orange-blossoms, mingling in the throng
With blushing Roses, and Geraniums bright,
Pour forth an eloquent flood of silent song,
And wrap the heart "in dances and delight."

Fly-fishing.

Look, like a village queen of May, the stream
Dances her best before the holiday sun,

And still with musical laugh goes tripping on
Over those golden sands, which brighter gleam
To watch her pale-green kirtle flashing fleet
Above them, and her tinkling silver feet,
That ripple melodies: quick!-yon circling rise
In the calm refluence of this gay cascade
Mark'd an old trout, who shuns the sunny skies,
And, nightly prowler, loves the hazel shade:
Well thrown!-you hold him bravely,-off he speeds,
Now up, now down,-now madly darts about!
Mind, mind your line among those flowering reeds,-
How the rod bends !—and hail, thou noble trout.

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The Trophy.

, thou hast robb'd the Nereids, gentle brother, Of some swift fairy messenger; behold,

His dappled livery prankt with red and gold Shows him their favourite page: just such another Sad Galatea to her Acis sent

To teach the new-born fountain how to flow,

And track, with loving haste, the way she went
Down the rough rocks, and through the flowery plain,
E'en to her home where coral branches grow,
And where the sea-nymph clasps her love again:
We, the while, terrible as Polypheme,
Brandish the lissom rod, and featly try

Once more to throw the tempting treacherous fly,
And win a brace of trophies from the stream.

A Rise.

Come, then, coy Zephyr, waft my feather'd bait
Over this rippling shallow's tiny wave

To yonder pool, whose calmer eddies lave
Some Triton's ambush,-where he lies in wait

To catch my skipping fly; there drop it lightly. A rise,-by Glaucus! but he miss'd the hookAnother!-safe; the monarch of the brook,

With broadside like a salmon's, gleaming brightly! Off let him race, and waste his prowess there;

The dread of Damocles, a single hair

Will tax my skill to take this fine old trout :

So-lead him gently; quick-the net, the net!

Now gladly lift the glittering beauty out,
Hued like a dolphin, sweet as violet.

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