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A SINGLE SOUL IS RICHER THAN ALL WORLDS, .

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There droops upon the dreary hills a mournful fringe of rain;
The gloaming closes slowly round, unblest winds are in the tree,
Round selfish shores for ever moans the hurt and wounded sea:
There is no rest upon the earth, peace is with Death and thee—
I am weary, Barbara!

[ALEXANDER SMITH, born 1830, died 1867. This graceful essayist and true poet died before his powers had fully ripened, being struck down by typhoid fever, acting on an enfeebled nervous system-the result of continuous and excessive literary toil. He had won, however, a high rank among modern poets by his "Life Drama," "Edwin of Deira," and "City Poems;" while his "Dreamthorpe," a volume of essay and criticism, his "Summer in Skye," and his domestic novel of "Alfred Hagart's Household," show that as a prose writer he would have attained an enduring re

putation.]

"BOOKS WERE HIS CHIEFEST FRIENDS: IN THEM HE READ OF THOSE GREAT SPIRITS WHO WENT DOWN LIKE SUNS,

ITS ACTS ARE ONLY SHADOWS OF ITSELF."-ALEX. SMITH.

AND LEFT UPON THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS OF DEATH A LIGHT THAT MADE THEM LOVELY."-ALEXANDER SMITH.

PART IV.

FROM

B. W. PROCTER, A.D. 1790,

ΤΟ

WILLIAM MORRIS.

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"GOD FROM ETERNITY DOTH TEACH HIMSELF IN ALL, AND ALL THINGS IN HIMSELF."-COLERIDGE.

HOPE'S GAYEST WREATHS ARE MADE OF EARTHLY FLOWERS

PART IV.

THE RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL.

JOW gallantly, how merrily
We ride along the sea!
The morning is all sunshine,
The wind is blowing free.
The billows are all sparkling
And bounding in the light,
Like creatures in whose sunny veins
The blood is running bright.
All nature knows our triumph,
Strange birds about us sweep;
Strange things come up to look at us,
The masters of the deep:
In our wake, like any servant,
Follows ever the bold shark :
Oh, proud must be our Admiral
Of such a bonny barque !

Proud, proud must be our Admiral,
(Though he is pale to-day),

Of twice five hundred iron men
Who all his nod obey;

THINGS THAT ARE MADE TO FADE AND FALL AWAY."-MRS. NORTON.

"PONDER ON LOVE, SWEET SOUL; ON JOY, THE END AND GOOD OF ALL ENDEAVOUR."-PROCTER.

"HAIL, ANCIENT MANNERS! SURE DEFENCE, WHERE THEY SURVIVE, OF WHOLESOME LAWS;

44

GREAT IS THE GLORY, for the strife IS HARD."-wordsworth.

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THE RETURN OF THE ADMIRAL.

Who fought for him, and conquered,
Who've won, with sweat and gore,
Nobility! which he shall have

Whene'er he touch the shore.
Oh, would I were our Admiral,

To order, with a word;
To lose a dozen drops of blood,
And so rise up a lord!

I'd shout e'en to yon shark, there,

Who follows in our lee,

"Some day I'll make thee carry me
Like lightning through the sea."

-The Admiral grew paler
And paler as we flew ;
Still talked he to his officers,
And smiled upon his crew;
And he looked up at the heavens,
And he looked down on the sea,
And at last he spied the creature
That kept following in our lee.
He shook-'twas but an instant;
For speedily the pride
Ran crimson to his heart,
Till all chances he defied:

It threw boldness on his forehead,
It gave firmness to his breath;

And he stood like some grim warrior
New risen up from death.

That night a horrid whisper
Fell on us where we lay;

And we knew our old fine Admiral

Was changing into clay;

"THIS WORLD IS ALL A FLEETING SHOW."-MOORE.

REMNANTS OF LOVE, WHOSE MODEST SENSE THUS INTO NARROW ROOM WITHDRAWS."-WORDSWORTH.

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