The crest is fall'n that tower'd so high;
The plume from yonder bough,
That shone like Argus' blazing eye,
Is dull and draggled now.

Thus changed, a lesson he conveys,
And warning to the young,

Who love the honor, fame, and praise,
That to the world belong.

What are the grace and ornament,
Of beauty, wealth, and power;
A trust assigned, a treasure lent,—
Possessions of an hour.

The eyes that flashed with pride of life,
The high, unbending form,
The hands that minister 'd to strife,
Must mingle with the worm.

Shall earth and ashes then be proud? No! each event we scan,

Proclaims in language clear and loud, Pride was not made for man.

Let us our best adorning find,
Not in display of dress:

The spirit meek, the quiet mind,
This, this is loveliness.

I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.

More rich than gold, than gems more bright,

A tempter sweet and mild

Is precious in Jehovah's sight,

And decks the Christian child.

The grace that in excitement lives
May sparkle for a day;

But that the Holy Spirit gives

Shall never fade away.

175

JANE TAYLOR.

I'D BE A BUTTERFLY.

O I'd be a butterfly, flitting about
From roses to lilies, now in and now out,
I'd flutter all day in the sun's pleasant ray,
And with butterfly brothers I'd merrily play.

And I'd be a honey-bee,-busy and bright
From sunrise at morning till dew-fall at night,
Sweet honey I'd store, till the season was o'er,
And the comb and the hive were too full to hold more.

O I'd be the violet, modest and sweet!

And almost unseen in my shady retreat;

Yet there can be no doubt I should soon be found out, For my perfume would spread itself all around about.

And I'd be the lily that lives in the vale,
With tall leaves to shelter my flowers so pale;

I'd hang my head there with my sisters so fair,

And our breath should be borne on the soft summer

air.

But now sir, you must not believe that we would
Be a butterfly, flower, or bee if we could;

O no! we agree that we rather had be

Just such little children as those you now see.

MISS WARNER.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM

It was a summer's evening,

Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;

And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild, Wilhelmine.

She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he beside the rivulet

In playing there had found;

He came to ask what he had found

That was so large, and smooth, and round.

THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM.

177

Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by;

And then the old man shook his head,
And heaved a natural sigh:

""Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory."

"I find them in the garden,

For there's many here about;
And often when I go to plough,

The ploughshare turns them out:
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory.'

"Now tell us what 't was all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up,
With wonder-waiting eyes;

"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they kill'd each other for."

"It was the English," Kaspar cried, "Who put the French to rout; But what they kill'd each other for I could not well make out; But every body said," quoth he, "That 't was a famous victory.

66

'My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;

They burnt his cottage to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;

So with his wife and child he fled,

Nor had he where to rest his head.

"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide,
And many a tender mother then,
And new-born baby died;

But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.

"They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won,

For many a thousand bodies there

Lay rotting in the sun;

But things like that, you know, must be

After a famous victory.

"Great praise the Duke of Marlboro' won,

And our good Prince Eugene,"

"Why, 't was a very wicked thing!"

Said little Wilhelmine.

“Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, "It was a FAMOUS VICTORY.