WE live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breath;
In feelings, not in figures on the dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs when they beat
For God, for man, for duty. He most lives,
Who thinks most, feels noblest, acts the best.
Life is but a means unto an end-that end.
Beginning, mean, and end to all things, God.

And maid, whose cheek outblooms The ends of ravell'd skein to catch,

Or thread, or straw, that on the
ground

Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
Held out to lure thy roving eye;
Then onward stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round, with bootless
skill,

Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
As oft beyond thy curving side
Its jetty tip is seen to glide;
Till from thy centre, starting fair,
Thou sidelong rear'st, with rump in
air,

Erected stiff, and gait awry,

Like madam in her tantrums high:
Though ne'er a madam of them all,
Whose silken kirtle sweeps the hall
More varied trick and whim displays,
To catch the admiring stranger's
gaze

But not alone by cottage fire
Do rustics rude thy feats admire;
The learned sage, whose thoughts
explore

But lets thee have thy wayward will,
Perplexing oft her sober skill. .

MY LOVE IS ON HER WAY.

Он, welcome bat and owlet gray,
Thus winging low your airy way!
And welcome moth and drowsy fly
That to mine ear comes humming by!
And welcome shadows dim and deep,
And stars that through the pale sky
peep;

Oh welcome all! to me ye say
My woodland love is on her way.

Upon the soft wind floats her hair,
Her breath is on the dewy air;
Her steps are in the whisper'd sound,
That steals along the stilly ground.
Oh, dawn of day, in rosy bower,
What art thou to this witching hour?
Oh, noon of day, in sunshine bright,
What art thou to this fall of night?

In the faint gleam, that like a spirit's path

Tracks the still waters of some sul

len lake?

The widest range of human lore,
Or, with unfetter'd fancy, fly
Through airy heights of poesy,
Pausing, smiles with alter'd air,
To see thee climb his elbow-chair,
Or, struggling on the mat below,
Hold warfare with his slipper'd toe.
The widow'd dame, or lonely maid,
Who in the still, but cheerless shade
Of home unsocial, spends her age,
And rarely turns a letter'd page;
Upon her hearth for thee lets fall
The rounded cork, or paper ball,
Nor chides thee on thy wicked watch | And may be so to-morrow.)

Or lonely tower, from its brown mass
of woods,

Give to the parting of a wintry sun One hasty glance in mockery of the night

Closing in darkness round it? (Gentle

friend!

Chide not her mirth who was sad yesterday,

JAMES BALLANTINE.

ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW.

CONFIDE ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind,

And bear ye a' life's changes, wi' a calm and tranquil mind,

Though pressed and hemmed on every side, ha'e faith and ye'll win through, For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o'dew.

Gin reft frae friends or crost in love, as whiles nae doubt ye've been,

Grief lies deep hidden in your heart, or tears flow frae your een,
Believe it for the best, and trow there's good in store for you,
For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew.

In lang, lang days o' simmer, when the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to nature parched and dry,

The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew,
And ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew.

Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel owre proud and hie,
And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae poortith's e'e,
Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come, we ken na whence or hoo,
But ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew.

ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD.

Say not Good Night, but in some Where is, O Grave! thy victory now! And where, insidious Death, thy

Protected industry beneath thy reign To public plenty, private ease di Leads all the virtues in her filial

train;

Courageous Probity, with browserene;
And Temperance calm presents her
placid mien;

Contentment,
Art,
Mould the new man and humanize
his heart;

Moderation, Labor,

lates,

Domestic peace, to harmony of states.
Protected Industry, careering far,
Detects the cause, and cures the rage
of war,

And sweeps, with forceful arm, to
their last graves,

Kings from the earth and pirates from the waves.

LADY ANNE BARNARD.

AULD ROBIN GRAY.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame,
When a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane;

The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee,
Unkenned by my gudeman who soundly sleeps by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride,
But, saving ae crown piece, he'd naething else beside.
To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;
And the crown and the pound, O they were baith for me!

Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away;
My mother she fell sick - my Jamie was at sea-
And Auld Robin Gray, O! he came a-courting me.

My father cou'dna work- my mother cou'dna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win;
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his ee,
Said, Jenny, O! for their sakes, will you marry me !"

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jamie dee?
Or, wherefore am I spared to cry out, Wae is me!

My father argued sair — my mother didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea;
And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife, a week but only four,
When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist - I cou'dna think it he,

Till he said, "I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!"