THE COUCH BY FRIENDSHIP SPREAD. How sweet the couch by friendship spread, Though coarse its quilt, and hard its fold! Where shall the wanderer find a bed, Though heaped with down, and hung with gold, So dearly loved, so warm, so soft, As that where he hath lain so oft? Oh! when our frame with toil is tired, So cheering, soothing, and so sweet, As our own ingle's fitful gleams, When 'nighted on the mountain road, And nerves anew each fainting limb And, oh! when on a distant coast, Our steps are stayed by dire disease, Who then, of those who watch the most, Like those who watched disease's strife, At home, and soothed us back to life? Where is the heart's soft silver chain Which binds to earth our spirits weak, Pardons the peevishness of pain, Supplies the wants we cannot speak, And with well-tried and patient care Inspires our love and prompts our prayer. Alas! though kind the stranger's eye, When fired by fever's phantom chase, But dear to us are those who wait Oh may I have in life and death, A bed where I may lay me down; A home, a friend, whose every breath May blend and mingle with my ownWhose heart with mine in joy may beat, Whose eye with mine in pain may meet! And when at last the hour is come Which bids my joy and sorrow cease; When my pale lips grow hushed and dumb, And my tired soul hath fled in peace, Then may some friend lay down my head Into its cold and narrow bed. BETHUNE. LOVE AND DEATH. WHAT time the mighty moon was gathering light, And all about him rolled his lustrous eyes; Death, walking all alone beneath a yew, And talking to himself, first met his sight: "You must begone," said Death, "these walks are mine." Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Yet ere he parted, said, "This hour is thine: Life eminent creates the shade of death; TENNYSON. THE BRIDE. FROM IN MEMORIAM." COULD we forget the widowed hour, As on a maiden in the day When first she wears her orange-flower; When, crowned with blessing, she doth rise And hopes and light regrets that come, And doubtful joys the father move, Her office there to rear, to teach, And, doubtless, unto thee is given Ay me, the difference I discern! How often shall her old fireside Be cheered with tidings of the bride! How often she herself return, And tell them all they would have told, But thou and I have shaken hands, TENNYSON. GODIVA. Nor only we, the latest seed of Time, Cry down the past; not only we, that prate Upon his town, and all the mothers brought Their children, clamouring-" If we pay, we starve," She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone, His beard a foot before him, and his hair A yard behind. She told him of their tears, And prayed him, "If they pay this tax, they starve." Whereat he stared, replying, half-amazed, "You would not let your little finger ache For such as these?"-"But I would die," said she, He laughed, and swore by Peter and by Paul: Then filliped at the diamond in her ear; 66 O, ay, ay, ay, you talk !”—“ Alas!" she said, So left alone, the passions of her mind, |