CROWNE

And in blossomed vale and grove
Every shepherd knelt to love.
Then a rosy, dimpled cheek,
And a blue eye, fond and meek;
And a ringlet-wreathen brow,
Like hyacinths on a bed of snow:
And a low voice, silver sweet,
From a lip without deceit;
Only these the hearts could move
Of the simple swains to love.

But that time is gone and past, Can the summer always last? And the swains are wiser grown, And the heart is turned to stone,

And the maiden's rose may wither;
Cupid's fled, no man knows whither
But another Cupid's come,
With a brow of care and gloom:
Fixed upon the earthly mould,
Thinking of the sullen gold;
In his hand the bow no more,
At his back the household store,
That the bridal gold must buy:
Useless now the smile and sigh;
But he wears the pinion still,
Flying at the sight of ill.

Oh, for the old true-love time,
When the world was in its prime!

WISHES FOR OBSCURITY.

man!

Take noisy vexing greatness they

that please;

Lease. Give me obscure and safe and silent Acquaintance and commerce let me have none

With any powerful thing but time alone:

by power,

To know himself can never find an hour!

Strange to himself, but to all others known,

Lends every one his life, but uses none;

So, ere he tasted life, to death he goes,

knows.

loose sic bands,

An' the heart that wad part sic

luve;

But there's nae hand can loose my band,

But the finger o' God abuve. Though the wee, wee cot maun be my bield,

And my claithing e'er so mean, I wad lap me up rich i' the faulds o' luve,

Heaven's armfu' o' my Jean.

Her white arm wad be a pillow for me Far safter than the down;

And luve wad winnow owre us his

kind, kind wings,

An' sweetly I'd sleep, an' soun'. Come here to me, thou lass o' my luve,

Come here, and kneel wi' me! The morn is fu' o' the presence o' God,

An' I canna pray without thee.

The morn-wind is sweet 'mang the beds o' new flowers,

The wee birds sing kindlie an' hie; Our gudeman leans owre his kaleyard dyke,

And a blithe auld bodie is he.

The beuk maun be taen when the

carle comes hame,

Wi' the holie psalmodie;

God,

And I will speak o' thee.

SHE'S GANE TO DWELL IN
HEAVEN.

SHE'S gane to dwall in heaven, my lassie,

She's gane to dwall in heaven: Ye're owre pure, quo' the voice o' God, For dwalling out o' heaven!

en,

To sing the evening psalm.

There's naught but dust now mine, lassie,

There's naught but dust now mine; My saul's wi' thee i' the cauld grave, An' why should I stay behin'?

A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.

A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail,

And bends the gallant mast And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on our lee.

"O for a soft and gentle wind!" I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the swelling breeze,

And white waves heaving high,The white waves heaving high, my lads,

The good ship tight and free; The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we.

To be set free, and meet their kind in joy.

Changed to celestials, thoughts that rise in each

By natures new, impart themselves, though silent.

Each quickening sense, each throb of holy love, Affections sanctified, and the full glow [one, Of being, which expand and gladden By union all mysterious, thrill and live

In both immortal frames;-sensation all,

And thought, pervading, mingling sense and thought!

Ye paired, yet one! wrapt in a consciousness Twofold, yet single, this is love, this life!

THE SOUL.

COME, brother, turn with me from pining thought

And all the inward ills that sin has wrought;

Come, send abroad a love for all who live,

And feel the deep content in turn they give.

Kind wishes and good deeds, - they

make not poor; They'll home again, full laden, to thy door;

The streams of love flow back where they begin,

For springs of outward joys lie deep within.

Even let them flow, and make the places glad

And earth seem bare, and hours, once happy, press

Upon thy thoughts, and make thy loneliness

More lonely for the past, thou then shalt hear

The music of those waters ranning

near;

And thy faint spirit drink the cooling stream,

And thine eye gladden with the playing beam

That now upon the water dances, now Leaps up and dances in the hanging bough.

Is it not lovely? Tell me, where doth dwell

The power that wrought so beautiful a spell?

In thine own bosom, brother? Then as thine

Guard with a reverent fear this power divine.

And if, indeed, 't is not the out

ward state,

But temper of the soul by which we

rate

Sadness or joy, even let thy bosom

move

With noble thoughts and wake thee into love;

And let each feeling in thy breast be given

An honest aim, which, sanctified by Heaven,

And springing into act, new life imparts,

Till beats thy frame as with a thousand hearts.

Sin clouds the mind's clear vision

from its birth,

Around the self-starved soul has spread a dearth.

The earth is full of life; the living Hand

Touched it with life; and all its forms expand

With principles of being made to suit Man's varied powers and raise him

from the brute.

And shall the earth of higher ends be full,