Like slaves they obey'd her in height of power,
But left her all in her wintry hour;

And the crowds that swore for her love to die,
Shrank from the tone of her last sad sigh-
And this is man's fidelity.

'Tis woman alone, with a firmer heart,
Can see all these idols of life depart,
And love the more, and soothe, and bless
Man in his uttermost wretchedness.

BARRY CORNWELL.

DOMESTIC PEACE.

TELL me, on what holy ground,
May Domestic Peace be found!
Halcyon daughter of the skies,
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptered state,
From the rebel's noisy hate;
In a cottag'd vale she dwells,
List'ning to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past, employ
Memory, bosom spring of joy!

S. T. COLERIDGE,

THE TEAR.

WHEN friendship or love
Our sympathies move;

When truth, in a glance, should appear,

The lips may beguile,

With a dimple or smile,

But the test of affection's a tear.

Too oft is a smile

But the hypocrite's wile, To mark detestation or fear; Give me the soft sigh, Whilst the soul telling eye

Is dimm'd, for a time, with a tear.

Mild charity's glow,

To us mortals below,

Shews the soul from barbarity clear;

Compassion will melt,

Where this virtue is felt,

And its dew is diffused in a tear.

The man doom'd to sail,
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,

The green sparkles bright with a tear.

The soldier braves death,

For a fanciful wreath,
In glory's romantic career;

But he raises the foe,

When in battle laid low,

And bathes every wound with a tear.

If, with high-bounding pride,
He return to his bride,
Renouncing the gore-crimson'd spear;
All his toils are repaid,

When, embracing the maid,

From her eye-lid he kisses the tear.

Sweet scene of my youth,

Seat of friendship and truth,

Where love chas'd each fast-fleeting year;

Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,

For a last look I turn'd,

But thy spire was scarce seen through a tear.

Though my vows I can pour,

To my Mary no more,

My Mary, to love once so dear;

In the shade of her bow'r,

I remember the hour,

She rewarded those vows with a tear.

By another possest,

May she live ever blest,

Her name still my heart must revere ;
With a sigh I resign,

What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a tear.

Ye friends of my heart,

Ere from you I depart,

This hope to my breast is most near;
If again we shall meet,

In this rural retreat,

May we meet, as we part, with a tear.

When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier :
As ye pass by the tomb,

Where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a tear.

May no marble bestow,

The splendour of woe,

Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame

Shall blazon my name,

All I ask, all I wish, is a tear.

LORD BYRON.

THE HEATHER FOR ME!

BONNY's the blushing rose at e'en,

Bonny's the violet blue,

And noble's the oak with his acorns green
And broad leaves tipp'd with dew.
But roses and violets soon may fade,
And felled the oak may be;

I'd gie ye all for ane single blade

Of heather. The heather for me!

"Tis bonny to sit in leafy bower,
When song delights the ear,
To feel the odour of every flower
Blend with music near;

But gie me a seat on my hunter's back,
And then for melody;

One blast of the bugle to follow his track
O'er the heather. The heather for me!

ODE TO TRUTH.

SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light, Swift darting from his heavenly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;

Q

ANON.