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Such was the sight their wond'ring eyes
Beheld, in heart-struck, mute surprise,

Who reined their coursers back,
Just as they found the long astray,
Who, in the heat of chase that day,

Had wandered from their track. Back each man reined his pawing steed, And lighted down, as if agreed,

In silence at his side;

And there, uncovered all, they stood –
It was a wholesome sight and good

That day for mortal pride :
For of the noblest of the land
Was that deep-hushed, bare-headed band;

And central in the ring,
By that dead pauper on the ground,
Her ragged orphans clinging round,
Knelt their anointed King!

REV. G. CRABBE.

THE ANGELS' SONG,

It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth

To touch their harps of gold :
Peace to the earth, goodwill to men

From heaven's all-gracious King;”
The world in solemn stillness lay

To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven sky they come

With peaceful wings unfurled;
And still their heavenly music floats

O'er all the weary world : Above its sad and lowly plains

They bend on heavenly wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds

The blessed angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffered long-
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled

Two thousand years of wrong;

And men, at war with men, hear not

The love-song which they bring :
Oh ! hush the noise, ye men of strife,

And hear the angels sing !
And ye, beneath life's crushing load

Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way

With painful steps and slow;
Look now! for glad and golden hours

Come swiftly on the wing :
Oh ! rest beside the weary road,

And hear the angels sing !
For lo ! the days are hastening on,

By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years

Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth

Its ancient splendours fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing!

E. H. SEARS.

STAFFA.

MERRILY, merrily, goes the bark,

Nature herself, it seemed, would raise On a breeze from the northward free; A minster to her Maker's praise ! So shoots through the morning sky the Not for a meaner use ascend lark,

Her columns, or her arches bend ; Or the swan through the summer sea. Nor of a theme less solemn tells The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And Ulva dark, and Colonsay,

And still, between each awful pause, And all the group of islets gay

From the high vault an answer draws, That guard famed Staffa round.

In varied tone prolonged and high, Then all unknown its columns rose, That mocks the organ's melody. Where dark and undisturbed repose

Nor doth its entrance front in vain The cormorant had found;

To old Iona's holy fane, And the shy seal had quiet home,

That Nature's voice might seem to say, And weltered in that wondrous dome, Well hast thou done, frail child of clay! Where, as to shame the temples decked Thy humble powers that stately shrine By skill of earthly architect,

Tasked high, and hard-but witness mine."

Sir WALTER SCOTT.

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LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry."“Now, who be ye would cross Loch Gyle,

This dark and stormy water?”"O! I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,

And this, Lord Ullin's daughter. And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather. His horsemen hard behind us ride;

Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride,

When they have slain her lover?”– Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

“I'll go, my chief —I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady: And, by my word ! the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,

I'll row you o'er the ferry.”.
By this the storm grew loud apace,

The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven, each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still, as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men,

Their trampling sounded nearer. O haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,

Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.”The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her,When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.
For, sore dismayed, through storm and

His child he did discover;-- [shade One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover. Come back! come back !” he cried in

Across this stormy water; [grief, And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter! oh, my daughter!”— 'Twas vain: the loud waves lashed the

Return or aid preventing ;- (shore, The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.

CAMPBELL

ODE TO THE CUCKOO.

Starts the new voice of spring to hcar,

And imitates the lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom

Thou fliest thy vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,

Another spring to hail.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of spring!
Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,

And woods thy welcome sing.
What time the daisy decks the green,

Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy. path,

Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant, with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet

From birds among the bowers.
The school-boy, wandering through the
To pull the primrose guy,

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Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year!
O could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.

M. BRUCE,

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AN ENGLISH CHRISTMAS HOME.

A loun and laughing welcome to the merry | A bright and joyous welcome to the berries Christmas bells!

and the leaves All hail with happy gladness to the well. That hang about our household walls in known chant that swells!

dark and rustling sheaves! We list the pealing anthem chord, we hear Up with the holly and the bay, set laurel the midnight strain,

on the board, And love the tidings that proclaim old And let the mistletoe look down while Christmas back again.

pledging draughts are poured. But there must be a melody of purer, But there must be some hallowed bloom to deeper sound

garland with the rest;-A rich key-note, whose echo runs through All, all must bring toward the wreath some all the music round:

flowers of the breast. Let kindly voices ring beneath low roof and For though green boughs may thickly grace palace dome,

low roof and palace dome, For those alone are carol chimes that bless Warm hearts alone will truly serve to deck a Christmas home.

a Christmas home.

Then fill once more, from Bounty's store, Then fill once more, from Bounty's store, red wine, or nut brown foam,

red wine, or nut brown foam, And drink to kindly voices in an English And drink to honest hearts within an Christmas home.

English Christmas home.

ELIZA COok.

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SEE, in yon chamber's dim recesses, That bosom, which seems nigh the bursting, A lady kneels with loosened tresses; Yon child was suckled, nestled, nurst in, A lovely creature, lowly kneeling,

That heart, - to God outpoured, and With mournful eyes, and brow of feeling; offered, One hand before her meekly spreading, Death, for her son, hath three times The other back her ringlets shedding,

suffered. That aye come gushing down betwixt Oh ! of all mortal pangs, there's nought Her eyes and that on which they're fixed. So dreadful as the death of thought! She shudders! See! Hear how she's sighing! He wakes - he smiles — looks up- and Can one so young, so fair, be dying?

there Is she some favourite saint imploring? He rises-God hath heard her prayer ! Confessing shame, or God adoring?

Whilst she, 'twixt sobbing, tears, and Her lustrous, dark eyes, wild are straying; shrieking, She bows her head;-lo! she is praying. Clasps him with heart too big for speaking. See ! see! before her, slumbering mild, She holds him up to God. And now, A fair-haired and a faded child.

Proud boastful man! what canst thou do? He is her son ;- could any other

In all thy miracles, there's nought Look with those rapt looks, save a mother? | Like that a mother's prayers have wrought.

A. CUNNINGHAM.

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