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Ye bind the deep with your secret zone,
But why do ye plant ’neath the billows dark
With mouldering bones the deeps are white,
Ye build-ye build—but ye enter not in,
THE CHILD OF EARTH.
FAINTER her slow step falls from day to day,
Death's hand is heavy on her dark’ning brow; Yet doth she fondly cling to earth, and say,
*I am content to die—but, oh! not now! Not while the blossoms of the joyous spring
Make the warm air such luxury to breathe
The season's viewless boundary is past;
Oh! must this glimpse of beauty be the last ? • Let me not perish while o'er land and sea,
With silent steps, the Lord of light moves on; For while the murmur of the mountain-bee
Greets my dull ear with music in its tone: Pale sickness dims my eye and clouds my browI am content to die! but oh! not now!!
Summer is gone : and autumn's soberer hues
Tint the ripe fruits, and gild the waving corn ;The huntsman swift the flying game pursues,
Shouts the halloo! and winds his eager horn. *Spare me awhile, to wander forth and gaze
On the broad meadows and the quiet stream, To watch in silence while the evening rays
Slant through the fading trees with ruddy gleam! Cooler the breezes play around my browI am content to die—but, oh! not now! The bleak wind whistles : snow-showers far and near
Drift without echo to the whitening ground; Autumn hath pass'd away, and, cold and drear, Winter stalks on with frozen mantle bound;
Yet still that prayer ascends. '0! laughingly
My little brothers round the warm hearth e.uwd, Our home-fire blazes broad, and bright, and high,
And the roof rings with voices light and losidi
Again the banks with clust'ring flowers are sp?
The child of earth is number'd with the dead! • Thee never more the sunshine shall awake,
Beaming all redly through the lattice-pane;
Nor fond familiar voice arouse again!
THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.
What were they?---you ask: you shall presently see;
Next time he put in Alexander the Great,
A long row of alms-houses, amply endow'd
By further experiments (no matter how)
sense ; A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt, Than one good potato just wash'd from the dirt ;Yet not mountains of silver and gold would suffice, One pearl to outweigh-'twas 'the pearl of great
price! At last the whole world was bowl'd in at the grate With the soul of a beggar to serve for a weight; When the former sprung up with so strong a rebuff, That it made a vast rent, and escaped at the roofWhile the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell, That it jerk'd the philosopher out of his cell.
Miss J. TAYLOR.
Have put their glory on.
The mountains that enfold In their wide sweep the colour'd landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold,
That guard the enchanted ground.
I roam the woods that crown The upland, where the mingled splendours glow, Where the gay company of trees look down
On the green fields below.
My steps are not alone In these bright walks; the sweet southwest, at play, Flies, rustling, where the painted leaves are strown
Along the winding way.
And far in heaven, the while,
The sweetest of the year.
Where now the solemn shade,
The valleys sick with heat ?
Let in through all the trees Come the strange rays; the forest depths are bright; Their sunny-colour'd foliage, in the breeze,
Twinkles, like beams of light.
The rivulet, late unseen, Where bickering through the shrubs its waters run, Shines with the image of its golden screen,
And glimmerings of the sun.