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And mark'd that gentle tenderness
Which watch'd and wept for her distress ;
Then did her transient firmness melt
To tears of love, more deeply felt;
And dearer still he grew and dearer
E’en as the day of death drew nearer.

DALE.

THE WONDERS OF THE LANE.

STRONG climber of the mountain's side,

Though thou the vale disdain,
Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide

The wonders of the lane.
High o'er the rusty springs of Don

The stormy gloom is rolld;
The moorland hath not yet put on

His purple, green, and gold.
But here the titling spreads his wing,

Where dewy daisies gleam;
And here the sunflower 2 of the spring

Burns bright in morning's beam.
To mountain winds the famish'd fox

Complains that Sol is slow,
O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks

His royal robe to throw.
But here the lizard 3 seeks the sun,

Here coils, in light, the snake;
And here the fire-tuft 4 hath begun

Its beauteous nest to make.

| The hedge-sparrow.
9 The land-newt.

2 Dandelion.
4 Golden.crested wren.

Oh! then, while hums the earliest bee

Where verdure fires the plain,
Walk thou with me, and stoop to see

The glories of the lane !
For, oh! I love these banks of rock,

This roof of sky and tree,
These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming clock',

And wakes the earliest bee!
As spirits from eternal day

Look down on earth, secure,
Look here, and wonder, and survey

A world in miniature;
A world not scorn’d by Him who made

E’en weakness by His might;
And solemn in its depth of shade
And splendid in His sight,

ELLIOTT.

HOME.

THERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Belov’d by Heaven o'er all the world beside ;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
And milder moons emparadise the night;
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth ;
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air.
In every clime the magnet of his soul,
Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,

1 Beetle.

There is a spot of earth, supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his soften’d looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend :
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow path of life ;
In the clear heav'n of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fire-side pleasures gambol at her feet.
Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found ?
Art thou a man ? a patriot ? - look around ;
O, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home.

On Greenland's rocks, o'er rude Kamschatka's

plains, In pale Siberia’s desolate domains; Where the wild hunter takes his lonely way, Tracks through tempestuous snows his savage prey, The reindeer's spoil, the ermine's treasures shares, And feasts his famine on the fat of bears : Or, wrestling with the might of raging seas, Where round the pole the eternal billows freeze, Plucks from their jaws the stricken whale, in vain Plunging down headlong through the whirling

main ; His wastes of ice are lovelier in his eye Than all the flowery vales beneath the sky; And dearer far than Cæsar's palace-dome, His cavern shelter, and his cottage-home. O'er China's garden-fields, and peopled floods ; In California's pathless world of woods ; Round Andes' heights, where winter, from his

throne, Looks down in scorn upon the summer gone;

By the

gay

borders of Bermuda's isles , Where spring with everlasting verdure smiles ; On pure Madeira's vine-rob’d hills of health; In Java's swamp of pestilence and wealth ; Where Babel stood, where wolves and jackals

drink; 'Midst weeping willows, on Euphrates' brink; On Carmeľs crest; by Jordan's reverend stream, Where Canaan's glories vanish'd like a dream; Where Greece, a spectre, haunts her heroes'

graves,
And Rome's vast ruins darken Tiber's waves ;
Where broken-hearted Switzerland bewails
Her subject mountains, and dishonour'd vales ;
Where Albion's rocks exult amidst the sea,
Around the beauteous isle of liberty ;
- Man, through all ages of revolving time,
Unchanging man, in every varying clime,
Deems his own land of every land the pride,
Belov'd by Heaven o'er all the world beside ;
His home the spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest.

J. MONTGOMERY.

MAY.

COME hither, come hither, and view the face
Of nature, enrob’d in her vernal grace.
By the hedgerow wayside flowers are springing;
On the budding elms the birds are singing ;
And up — up

- up to the gates of heaven Mounts the lark, on the wings of her rapture

driven :

1 The climate of the Bermudas is a perpetual spring; snow seldom falls, and the fields and trees are always green.

The voice of the streamlet is fresh and loud;
On the sky there is not a speck of cloud :
Come hither, come hither, and join with me,
In the season's delightful jubilee:
Why tarry at home? the swarms of air
Are about and o’erhead — and every where -
The little moth opens its silken wings,
And from right to left like a blossom flings,
And from side to side, like a thistle seed,
Uplifted by winds from September meed:
The midge and the fly from their long dull sleep
Venture again in the light to peep,
Over lake and land abroad they flee,
Filling air with their murmuring ecstacy :
The hare leaps up from his brushwood bed,
And limps, and turns its timid head ;
The partridge whirrs from the glade ; the mole
Pops out from the earth of its wintry hole ;
And the perking squirrel's small nose you see
From the fungous nook of its own beech tree.
Come, hasten

ye

hither our garden bowers Are

green with the promise of budding flowers
The crocus, and, Spring's first messenger,
The fairy snowdrop, are blooming here;
The taper-leav'd tulip is sprouting up;
The hyacinth speaks of its purple cup;
The jonquil boasteth, “ Ere few weeks run,
My golden sunlet I'll show the sun ;
The gillyflower shoots its stem on high,
And peeps on heaven with its pinky eye ;
Primroses, an Iris-hued multitude,
By the hissing winds are wooing and woo'd;
While the wallflower threatens, with bursting

bud,
To darken its blossoms with winter's blood.
Come hither, come hither, and mark how swell
The fruit buds of the jargonelle ;

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