TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE.

FAIR flower, that shunn'st the glare of day,
Yet lov'st to open, meekly bold,
To evening's hues of sober gray
Thy cup of paly gold;-

Be thine the offering owing long
To thee, and to this pensive hour,
Of one brief tributary song,

Though transient as thy flower.

Bernard Barton.

THE VOWS OF SUNNY WEATHER.

NOT ours the vows of such as plight
Their troth in sunny weather,

While leaves are green, and skies are bright,
To walk on flowers together.

But we have loved as those who tread
The thorny path of sorrow,

With clouds above, and cause to dread

Yet deeper gloom to-morrow.

Bernard Barton,

TO THE WINDS.

YE viewless minstrels of the sky!
I marvel not in times gone by
That ye were deified :

For, even in this later day,

To me oft has your power, or play,
Unearthly thoughts supplied.

Bernard Barton.

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,

An angel, writing in a book of gold :—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again with a great awakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had bless'd, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

Leigh Hunt, 1784-1859.

MORNING AT RAVENNA.

'Tis morn, and never did a lovelier day
Salute Ravenna from its leafy bay:

For a warm eve, and gentle rains at night,
Have left a sparkling welcome for the light,
And April, with his white hands wet with flowers,
Dazzle the bride-maids looking from the towers;
Green vineyards and fair orchards, far and near,
Glitter with drops, and heaven is sapphire clear,
And the lark rings it, and the pine trees glow,
And odors from the citrons come and go,
And all the landscape-earth, and sky, and sea,
Breathes like a bright-eyed face that laughs out openly.

Leigh Hunt.

CHORUS OF FLOWERS.

WE are the sweet flowers,
Born of sunny showers,

(Think, whene'er you see us, what our beauty saith ;) Utterance, mute and bright,

Of some unknown delight,

We fill the air with pleasure, by our simple breath;

All who see us love us

We befit all places;

Unto sorrow we give smiles-and unto graces, graces.

Leigh Hunt

TO A SICK CHILD WHILE SLEEPING.

To say "He has departed"

"His voice "—"his face"-"is gone;

To feel impatient-hearted,

Yet feel we must bear on;

Ah, I could not endure.
To whisper of such woe,
Unless I felt this sleep insure

That it will not be so.

Leigh Hunt.

THE NUN.

Ir you become a nun, dear,
A friar I will be;

In any cell you run dear,

Pray look behind for me.

The roses all turn pale, too;
The doves all take the veil, too;

The blind will see the show:
What! you become a nun, my dear?
I'll not believe it, no!

If you become a nun, dear,
The bishop Love will be;
The Cupids every one, dear,

Will chant, "We trust in thee!"

The incense will go sighing,

The candles fall a dying,

The water will turn to wine:

What! you go take the vows, my dear?

You may-but they'll be mine.

Leigh Hunt

AN ANGEL IN THE HOUSE.

How sweet it were, if without feeble fright,
Or dying of the dreadful beauteous sight,
An angel came to us, and we could bear
To see him issue from the silent air

At evening in our room, and bend on ours
His divine eyes, and bring us from his bowers
News of dear friends, and children who have never
Been dead indeed—as we shall know forever,

Leigh Hunt.

LILIES.

WE are lilies fair,

The flower of virgin light;
Nature held us forth and said,
"Lo! my thoughts of white!"

Ever since then, angels

Hold us in their hands;

You may see them where they take
In pictures their sweet stands.

A POETIC NOOK.

O FOR a seat in some poetic nook,

Leigh Hunt.

Just hid with trees and sparkling with a brook.

JENNIE KISSED ME.

JENNIE kissed me when we met,
Jumping from the chair she sat in;
Time, you thief! who love to get
Sweets into your list, put that in.

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad;

Leigh Hunt.

Say that health and wealth have missed me Say I'm growing old, but add—

Jenny kissed me!

Leigh Hunt.

I NEVER CAST A FLOWER AWAY.

I NEVER cast a flower away,

The gift of one who cared for me-
A little flower—a faded flower-
But it was done reluctantly.

I never looked a last adieu

To things familiar, but my heart
Shrank with a feeling almost pain
Even from their lifelessness to part.

I never spoke the word "Farewell,"
But with an utterance faint and broken
An earth-sick longing for the time

When it shall never more be spoken.

Mrs. Southey (Caroline Bowles), 1786-1854.

TO DEATH.

COME not in terrors clad, to claim

An unresisting prey

Come like an evening shadow, Death!
So stealthily so silently:

And shut mine eyes, and steal my breath-
Then willingly-oh I willingly

With thee I'll go away,

What need to clutch with iron grasp
What gentlest touch may take?
What need, with aspect dark, to scare
So awfully-so terribly,

The weary soul would hardly care,
Called quietly, called tenderly,
From thy dread power to break?

Mrs Southey.

TO A DYING INFANT.
SLEEP, little baby! sleep!
Not in thy cradle bed,
Not on thy mother's breast
Henceforth shall be thy rest,
But with the quiet dead.