STRONG TO FULFIL, IN SPIRIT AND IN VOICE,-(TRENCH)

RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.

Thou fadest as a flower, O Man!

Of food for musing here is store.

O Man! thou fallest as a leaf:

Pace thoughtfully Earth's leaf-strewn floor;

Welcome the sadness of the time,

And lay to heart this natural lore.

[From "Poems, Collected and Arranged Anew," ed. 1865.]

"O RIGHTEOUS DOOM, THAT THEY WHO MAKE PLEASURE THEIR ONLY END,- TRENCH)

WRITTEN DURING THE RUSSIAN WAR.

HIS, or on this ;-Bring home with thee this shield,
Or be thou, dead, upon this shield brought home.
So spake the Spartan mother to the son
Whom her own hands had armed. O strong of heart!
Yet know I of a fairer strength than this—
Strength linked with weakness, steeped in tears and fears,
And tenderness of trembling womanhood;
But true as hers to duty's perfect law.

And such is theirs, who in our England now,
Wives, sisters, mothers, watch by day, by night,
In many a cottage, many a stately hall,

For those dread posts, too slow, too swift, that haste
O'er land and sea, the messengers of doom;
Theirs, who ten thousand times would rather hear
Of loved forms stretched upon the bloody sod,
All cold and stark, but with the debt they owed
To that dear land who bore them duly paid,
Than look to enfold them in strict arms again,
By aught in honour's or in peril's path
Unduly shunned, for that embrace reserved.

[From "Poems, Collected and Arranged Anew," ed. 1865.]

THAT HARDEST OF ALL PRECEPTS-TO REJOICE."-Trench.

ORDERING THE WHOLE LIFE FOR ITS SAKE, MISS THAT WHERETO THEY TEND."-TRENCH.

["A WRITER of the most ardent and enthusiastic genius, whose eloquence is as the rush of mighty waters.

It is in these terms that Mr. Hallam describes Professor Wilson-the illustrious "Christopher North" of Blackwood's Magazine-and no impartial critic will deny their truth. As essayist, lecturer, novelist, and poet, the Professor held a high rank among his contemporaries; and though, from the fugitive character of most of his productions, and their local and personal allusions, as well as from a certain exuberance which is displeasing to a refined taste, his fame will be less with posterity, yet some of his higher work will assuredly live. The fire and profuse energy,-the dash and impetuous flow,-of his prose style are, however, wholly wanting in his poetry, which, indeed, is remarkable for an almost excessive sweetness, and, as Jeffrey observes, by reason of this sweetness acquires a certain monotony and languor apt, after awhile, to pall upon the reader. He is felicitous in his landscape-painting, and strikes with success a tone of tender sentiment; dealing always with the gentler sympathies of our nature-never rising to the heights of thought, nor penetrating into the depths of passion.

John Wilson was the son of a Paisley manufacturer, and born on the 18th of May 1785. At the age of thirteen he was sent to the University of Glasgow, and afterwards-in 1804-removed to Magdalene College, Oxford, where he carried off the Newdegate gold medal for the best English poem. Later in life he entered the Scottish bar, but derived his principal distinction from his numerous and varied contributions, under the nom de plume of Christopher North, to Blackwood's Magazine. These extended over a long series of years, and by their vivacity, fire, prodigal strength, richness of humour, lavish fancy, and impetuous eloquence, attracted an everincreasing circle of admiring readers. In 1820 Wilson was appointed Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edinburgh;—a post he held until his death, which took place on the 3rd of April 1854.]

"NOW IS THE TIME IN SOME MEEK SOLITUDE TO HOLD COMMUNION WITH THOSE INNOCENT THOUGHTS-(PROFESSOR WILSON)

THE SHIPWRECK.

IST! a low and moaning sound
At distance heard, like a spirit's song,
And now it reigns above, around,
As if it called the ship along :
The moon is sunk; and a clouded gray
Declares that her course is run,

A GENTLE PLEASURE TO SOME GENTLE HEART."-WILSON.

THAT BLESSED OUR EARLIER DAYS; TO LIST THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE MURMURING FROM HER INMOST SHRINE."-WILSON)

"SOULS OF HOLIEST BIRTH DWELL BUT A MOMENT WITH THE SONS OF EARTH-(PROFESSOR JOHN WILSON)

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TO ME MOST AWFUL IS THY HOUR OF REST,-(WILSON)

TO THIS DIM SPHERE BY GOD'S INDULGENCE GIVEN, THEIR FRIENDS ARE ANGELS, AND THEIR HOME IS HEAVEN."-WILSON.

["Fast the miserable ship becomes a lifeless wreck."]

But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast-
Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer, this hour is her last!
Five hundred souls, in one instant of dread,

Are hurried o'er the deck;

UPON ITS HOLY REST: HOW BRIGHT A GREEN SLEEPS ROUND THE DWELLING OF TWO LOVING HEARTS!

"MY SOUL, BEHOLD THE BEAUTY OF THE HOME!-WILSON)

And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock
And a hideous crash like thunder.

Her sails are draggled in the brine
That gladdened late the skies,

And her pendant that kissed the fair moonshine
Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues

Gleamed softly from below,

And flung a warm and sunny flush
O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral rocks are hurrying down
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.

Oh! many a dream was in the ship
An hour before her death;

And sights of home with sighs disturbed
The sleeper's long-drawn breath.
Instead of the murmur of the sea
The sailor heard the humming tree
Alive through all its leaves,

The hum of the spreading sycamore
That grows before his cottage-door,
And the swallow's song in the eaves.
His arms enclosed a blooming boy,
Who listened with tears of sorrow and joy
To the dangers his father had passed;
And his wife by turns she wept and
smiled,

-

As she looked on the father of her child

Returned to her heart at last.

THE VERY HEAVENS LOOK DOWN WITH GRACIOUS SMILES

THE AIR LIES HUSHED ABOVE THE PEACEFUL ROOF, AS IF IT FELT THE SANCTITY WITHIN!"-WILSON.