"HE NEVER SMILED AGAIN."-Mrs. Hemans.

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS (1793-1835), a distinguished English poetess, was born at Liverpool, but spent her early life in Wales. Her best poem is the Forest Sanctuary, but her minor pieces are most popular, such as The Graves of a Household, The Voice of Spring, &c. She died at Dublin.

*

THE bark that held a prince went down,

The sweeping waves rolled on;

And what was England's glorious crown
To him that wept a son?*

5 He lived, for life may long be borne
Ere sorrow break its chain ;*

ΙΟ

Why comes not death to those who mourn?
He never smiled again!

There stood proud forms* around his throne,
The stately and the brave;

But which could fill the place of one-
That one beneath the wave?

Before him passed the young and fair

In pleasure's reckless* train,

15 But seas dashed o'er his son's bright hair: He never smiled again!

Graves which true love had bathed with tears
Were left to Heaven's bright rain;

He, Henry I., who died in 1135.

Fresh hopes were born for other years:
He* never smiled again !

THE FIRE OF DRIFT-WOOD.
Longfellow.

WE sat within the farm-house old,
Whose windows, looking o'er the bay,
Gave to the sea-breeze, damp and cold,
An easy entrance, night and day.

Port, a harbour, a Not far away we saw the port,*—
place of safety for

vessels.

The strange, old-fashioned, silent town,-
Dismantled fort, The lighthouse,-the dismantled fort,*
The wooden houses, quaint * and brown.

a

place of defence in former times, now no longer used, so there

fore stripped of its We sat and talked until the night,

cannon, &c.

Quaint, odd.

Gloom, partial Jark

ness.

Secret, unknown, hidden.

Swerving, wandering, departing from a custom, turning aside.

Descending, filled the little room;
Our faces faded from the sight,

Our voices only broke the gloom.*

We spake of many a vanished scene,

Of what we once had thought and said,
Of what had been, and might have been,
And who was changed, and who was dead ;

And all that fills the hearts of friends,

When first they feel, with secret * pain,
Their lives thenceforth have separate ends,
And never can be one again.

The first slight swerving* of the heart,
That words are powerless to express,
And leave it still unsaid in part,

Or say it in too great excess.

Tones, &c, the sounds The very tones* in which we spake

of our voices.

Had something strange, I could but mark;
The leaves of memory seemed to make
A mournful rustling in the dark.

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intense heat.

O flames that glowed! * O hearts that yearned! Glow, to shine with
They were indeed too much akin,*

The drift-wood fire without that burned,

Yearn, to feel an

earnest desire. Akin, resembling

The thoughts that burned and glowed within, closely, relationship.

THE HOMES OF ENGLAND.-Mrs. Hemans.

10

Through shade and sunny gleam,

Stately, very grand, noble in appearance. Ancestral trees, very old, planted by the forefathers of the present owners. Greensward,

turf.

green

And the swan glides* past them with the sound Glides, moves quickly

Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry Homes of England!

Around their hearths* by night,

What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!

*

There woman's voice flows forth in song,
Or childhood's tale is told;

15 Or lips move tunefully along

Some glorious page of old.*

and with ease.

Hearth, the fireside.

Ruddy light, the bright red light of the fire.

Glorious page of old, some story of olden times in which great and noble deeds are mentioned.

CHARLES DICKENS (1812-1870), a native of Landport, Portsmouth. In early life he was connected with the press as a parliamentary reporter. The Pickwick Papers early established his reputation as the greatest living humorist. He was admired by a universal circle of readers. Chief works: Nicholas Nickleby, Old Curiosity Shop, David Copperfield, Dombey and Son, Bleak House, &c.

Dainty, being very
particular as to one's
food; hard to please.
Ivy, an evergreen
creeping plant.
I ween, I believe.

Whim, a fancy, a sudden change of the mind.

Rare, uncommon.

Oн a dainty * plant is the Ivy* green,

That creepeth o'er ruins old!

On right choice food are his meals, I ween,'

In his cell so lone and cold.

*

The walls must be crumbled, the stones decay'd, 5
To pleasure his dainty whim;

*

And the mould'ring dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare *old plant is the Ivy green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch* old heart has he;
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings
To his friend, the huge Oak Tree !
15 And slily he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
And he joyously twines and hugs* around
The rich mould of dead men's graves.

20

Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decay'd,
And nations have scattered been ;

But the stout old Ivy shall never fade
From its hale* and hearty green.

25 The brave old plant in its lonely days
Shall fatten on the past;

30

For the stateliest* building man can raise
Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on where time has been,

A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Staunch, trusty,
sound, firm.

Hug, to clasp tightly.

Hale, healthy.

Stately, very beautt

ful, grand to look at.

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.-Campbell.

THOMAS CAMPBELL (1777-1844) was a native of Glasgow, and rose to early fame by the publication of his Pleasures of Hope in 1799. Other poems: Gertrude of Wyoming, a tale of Pennsylvania; Theodoric, a Swiss story; and a number of lyrics, which are, perhaps, the finest in the language.

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."*

5 "Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle,*
This dark and stormy water?"
"Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,*
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men

Chieftain, the head of a clan.

Highlands, the mountainous districts in the north and west of Scotland.

Ferry, a place where people are rowed across a water. Lochgyle, a small arm of the sea which runs off in a north-west direction from Loch Long.

Ulva's isle, a small island on the west coast of Mull,

Glen, a narrow valley among the mountains.

Heather, the heath, a small evergreen shrub.