III. THE PIMPERNEL. THE least and loveliest of the sensitive tribe, But when the Hawthorn's lengthening shadow tells A silent praise, a secret benison; And grieves to think how many a human flower, Fed with the choicest dews, and redolent From Man's bright God, the Sun of Righteousness, IV. WILD THYME. FAR from the cultur'd vanities of man, Thou dwell'st with Freedom on the lonely wold, Breathest delight. Yet lack'st thou not thy friends V. THE HAREBELL. HIGH on the sparkling summit, among dews Lifts her blue eyes in patience. Graceful flower! The mountain maiden, as her daring foot Ascends o'er heath and granite, spies thee out, Would less befit a meek and humble spirit, VI. THE ROSE. FAVOURITE of man! Ne'er pleased where thou art not, He seeks thee in his mental wanderings, And pauses in his daily toil to glean Refreshment from thy sweetness. Thine the hue. He loves in beauty's cheek; and thine the pure If thou be wanting; and his wistful eye Delicious flower! dear type of vanity! How passing fair! yet, ah! how passing frail !- And universal darkness covers all! Yes, short the life of this world's loveliness, But thou, dear Rose, art still Earth's loveliest child, E. W. B. AN OWER TRUE TALE. [Being a further extract from an unpublished Life.*] THERE are few things which strike with a more pain< ful chill on the heart-at least on my heart-than the unchangedness of physical objects, while Time has dealt destruction and decay upon all else. The scene which we contemplate with dimmed eye and saddened mind, was offered in self-sameness to our view when we were rife with all the nerve of bodily, and all the joyousness of mental, youth. The eternal river glides on, murmuring to the air, and glistening to the sun, as it murmured and glistened in our youth-in the youth of our fathers. The tree which flourished in majesty in our childhood flourishes in majesty still,-for the days of a man's life work no visible change on the grandeur of vegetable age. Even the works of human hands mock those who reared them they remain in beauty and in strength, when the builder has crumbled into dust:-the tenement of his own body is the only one which he cannot repair. Human frames shoot, ripen, and decay,-human hearts bud, bloom, and wither, but Nature and natural things remain unchanged-at least, during the time which suffices to work in us rise, maturity, and final fall. And this does not apply solely to long lapse of time. There are none, I am sure, who have suffered any great and sudden calamity without feeling with force the unchanged state of external objects. There is even a sort of sensation of surprise at seeing physical things as they were-indifferent business proceeding as it did—when all within us has been shattered, uprooted, and reversed. Every thing * This paper is taken from the same manuscript as that entitled "Meeting," which appeared in our last number. |