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Lying at a Reverend friend's house one night, the Author left the following verses in the room where he slept :

a

O THOU dread power, who reign’st above!

I know Thou wilt me hear;
When for this scene of peace and love,

I make my prayer sincere.
The hoary sire—the mortal stroke

Long, long, be pleased to spare;
To bless his little filial flock,

And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes

With tender hopes and fears,
0, bless her with a mother's joys,

But spare a mother's tears.
Their hope, their stay, their darling youth,

In manhood's dawning blush;
Bless him, Thou God of love and truth

Up to a parent's wish.
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,

With earnest tears I pray,
Thou know'st the snares on every

hand-
Guide Thou their steps alway.
When, soon or late, they reach that coast,

O'er life's rough ocean driven,
May they rejoice, no wanderer lost,

A family in IIeaven!

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WORDSWORTH.-Born, 1770; Died, 1850.

William Wordsworth was born at Cockermouth in Cumberland, and was educated at Cambridge. From about the year 1800 he settled permanently in his native county, where he was appointed a Distributor of Stamps at £500 a year. His longest poem,“ The Excursion,” is perhaps least read of all his compositions, but his shorter poems are often of the very highest order.

A PERFECT WOMAN.

She was a phantom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament:
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair ;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else, about her, drawn
From May-time's brightest, loveliest dawn ;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now

I
see,
with

eye serene,
The very pulse of the machine:
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death

;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an aðgel-light.

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats, on high, o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils,
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch'd in never-ending lino
Along the margin of a bay.
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:-
A Poet could not but be gay
In such a jocunda company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth to me the show had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude ;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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SONNETS.

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3rd, 1802.

EARTH has not anything to show more fair;

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty: This city, now, doth, as a garment, wear The beauty of the morning ; silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky;

I jocund, merry.

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

- 15

Composed in London, 1802.

Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:

England hath need of thee: she is a fen

Of stagnant waters; altar, sword, and pen, Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower, Have forfeited their ancient English dower

Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;

Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
Thou hadst a voice, whose sound was like the sea;
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free;
So didst thou travel on life's common way,

In cheerful godliness: and yet thy heart The lowliest duties on herself did lay.