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66 THUS KINDRED OBJECTS KINDRED THOUGHTS INSPIRE;

A WISH.

A WISH.

INE be a cot beside the hill;

A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,

And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall cling

Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing,

In russet gown and apron blue.

"LULLED IN THE COUNTLESS CHAMBERS OF THE BRAIN, OUR THOUGHTS ARE LINKED BY MANY A HIDDEN CHAIN;

AWAKE BUT ONE, AND LO! WHAT MYRIADS RISE! EACH STAMPS ITS IMAGE AS THE OTHER FLIES."-ROGERS.

The village church among the trees,

Where first our marriage-vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,

And point with taper spire to heaven.

[SAMUEL ROGERS, author of "The Vision of Columbus," "Italy," "Human Life," "The Pleasures of Memory;" born 1763, died 1855.]

"AND SUCH IS HUMAN LIFE; SO, GLIDING ON, IT GLIMMERS LIKE A METEOR, AND IS GONE!"-rogers.

AH, WHY SHOULD VIRTUE fear the FROWNS OF FATE?"-KOGers.

F thou shouldst ever come by choice or chance

To Modena, where still religiously
Among the ancient trophies is preserved
Bologna's bucket*. . .

Stop at a Palace near the Reggio-gate,

Dwelt in of old by one of the Orsini.
Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace,

And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses,
Will long detain thee; but, ere thou go,
Enter the house-prythee, forget it not-
And look awhile upon a picture there.

'Tis of a lady in her earliest youth,
The very last of that illustrious race.
He who observes it,-ere he passes on,
Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again,
That he may call it up, when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,
Her lips half open, and her finger up,

As though she said "Beware!" her vest of gold
Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head to foot,
An emerald stone in every golden clasp ;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then, her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart,—
It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody!

* Reputed to have been the bucket which once caused a war between
Bologna and Modena,

"LIGHTER THAN AIR, HOPE'S SUMMER-VISIONS DIE."-ROGERS.

"NO EYE OBSERVES OUR GROWTH OR OUR DECAY TO-DAY WE LOOK AS WE DID YESTERDAY."-ROGERS.

"YET HERE HIGH PASSIONS, HIGH DESIRES UNFOLD, PROMPTING TO NOBLEST DEEDS."-ROGERS.

134

"6 BEWARE THE POISON IN THE CUP OF GOLD."-ROGERS.

GINEVRA.

Alone it hangs,

Over a mouldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent

With Scripture stories from the life of Christ.

She was an only child; from infancy

;

The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire
The young GINEVRA was his all in life,
Still as she grew, for ever in his sight;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,

She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

;

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue.
But now the day was come, the day, the hour
Now frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum ;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.
Great was the joy. But at the bridal feast,
When all sat down, the Bride was wanting there.
Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,
"Tis but to make a trial of our love!"
And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook,
And soon from guest to guest the panic spread.
'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco,
Laughing and looking back, and flying still,
Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.
But now, alas! she was not to be found;
Nor from that hour could anything be guessed,
But that she was not!

THE GENEROUS MAN HAS HIS COMPANION STILL."-ROGERS.

"DO WHAT MAN WILL, HE CANNOT REALIZE HALF HE CONCEIVES THE GLORIOUS VISION FLIES."-ROGERS.

"THE SOUL OF MUSIC SLUMBERS IN THE SHELL, TILL WAKED AND KINDLED BY THE MASTER'S SPELL;

"" THINK NOTHING DONE WHILE AUGHT REMAINS TO DO."-ROGERS.

Francesco fled to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turks.

Orsini lived; and long might you have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,
Something he could not find—he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.

Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,

When, on an idle day, a day of search
'Mid the old lumber in the Gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 'twas said
By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking-place?"
'Twas done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst, it fell; and, lo! a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald-stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold.
All else had perished,— save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
"GINEVRA."

There, then, had she found a grave!

Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down for ever!

[SAMUEL ROGERS. From his poem of "Italy." This story is said to be
founded on fact, and resembles the legend immortalized in the popular
song of "The Mistletoe Bough."]

"CARELESS OF BLAME WHILE HIS OWN HEART APPROVES."-ROGERS.

AND FEELING HEARTS, TOUCH THEM BUT RIGHTLY, POUR A THOUSAND MELODIES UNHEARD BEFORE."-ROGERS.

"LEAVE TO THE NIGHTINGALE HER SHADY WOOD, A PRIVACY OF GLORIOUS LIGHT IS THINE,-(WORDSWORTH)

"TWAS MORN,-THE SKYLARK O'ER THE FURROW SUNG."-ROGERS.

B

THE SKYLARK.

IRD of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud;

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

WHENCE THOU DOST POUR UPON THE WORLD A FLOOD OF HARMONY, WITH INSTINCT MORE DIVINE."-WORDSWORTH.