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“And now,” quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
“ 'Tis over, and the brood is safe.”
(For Ravens, though as birds of omen,
They teach both conjurors and old women
To tell us what is to befal,
Can't prophesy themselves at all.)
The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had marked his airy lodge,
And destined all the treasure there
A gift to his expecting fair,
Climbed like a squirrel to his prey,
And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL.

'Tis Providence alone secures,
In every change, both mine and yours.
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape :
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a ħair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

THE BATTLE OF HOHENLINDEN.

On Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden showed another sight,
When the drum beat at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet-sound arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade;
And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven ;
Then rushed the steed to battle driven ;
And, volleying like the bolts of Heaven,

Far flashed the red artillery.

And redder still these fires shall glow,
On Linden's hills of purpled snow;
And bloodier still shall be the flow

Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun,
When furious Frank and fiery Hun

Shout ’mid their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens : On, ye brave !
Who rush to glory and the grave.
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave,

And charge with all thy chivalry !
Oh! few shall part where inany meet;
The snow shall be your winding sheet;
And
every turf beneath your

feet
Shall mark the soldier's cemetery.

THE SICK MAN AND THE ANGEL.

Is there no hope ?” the sick Man said.
The silent doctor shook his head,
And took his leave with signs of sorrow,
Despairing of his fee to-morrow.

When thus the Man, with gasping breath :I feel the chilling wound of death!

Since I must bid the world adieu, “Let me my former life review. “ I grant my bargains were well made, " But all men over-reach in trade;

“ 'Tis self-defence in each profession :
“ Sure self-defence is no transgression.
“The little portion in my hands,
“By good security on lands,
6 Is well increased. If unawares,
“My justice to myself and heirs
“ Hath let my debtor rot in jail,
“For want of good sufficient bail ;
“ If I by writ, or bond, or deed,
“ Reduced a family to need,

My will hath made the world amends-
“My hope on charity depends.
“ When I am numbered with the dead,
And all my pious gifts are read,

By heaven and earth 'twill then be known, “My charities were amply shewn. An Angel came.

« Ah friend !” he cried, “ No more in flattering hope confide. Can thy good deeds in former times “Outweigh the balance of thy crimes ! 66 What widow or what orphan prays “ To crown thy life with length of days ? A pious action's in thy power; “ Embrace with joy the happy hour. “Now while you draw the vital air, “ Prove

your

intention is sincere. “ This instant give a hundred pound; “Your neighbours want, and you abound.”

“ But why such haste ?” the sick man whines ; “ Who knows as yet what Heaven designs ? “ Perhaps I may recover still. 6. That sum and more are in

my

will. “Fool!” says the Vision, "now 'tis plain, “ Your life, your soul, your heaven was gain. “ From every side, with all your might, “ You scraped, and scraped beyond your right; " And after death would fain atone, “ By giving what is not your own.

“While there is life there's hope,” he cried : “ Then why such haste ?" so groaned and died !

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM. When marshalled on the nightly plain

The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From
every host, from

every gem ; But one alone the Saviour speaks,

It is the Star of Bethlehem. Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud—the night was dark, The ocean yawned—and rudely blowed

The wind that tossed my foundering bark. Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port

of

peace. Now safely moored-my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore,

The Star !--The Star of Bethlehem !

THE BOY AND THE RAINBOW.

DECLARE, ye sages, if ye find
'Mongst animals of every kind,
Of each condition, sort, and size,
From whales and elephants to flies,
A creature that mistakes his plan,
And errs so constantly as man?

Each kind
pursues his

proper good,
And seeks for pleasure, rest, and food,
As Nature points, and never errs
In what it chooses and prefers ;
Man only blunders, though possest
Of talents far above the rest.

The happiness of human kind Consists in rectitude of mind, A will subdued to reason's sway, And passions practised to obey; An open and a generous heart, Refined from selfishness and art; Patience which mocks at Fortune's power, And Wisdom never sad nor sour: In these consists our proper bliss, Else Plato reasons much amiss. But foolish mortals still pursue False happiness in place of true : Ambition serves us for a guide, Or lust, or avarice, or pride ; While Reason no assent can gain, And Revelation warns in vain. Hence, through our lives, in every stage From infancy itself to age, A happiness we toil to find, Which still avoids us like the wind ; Ev'n when we think the prize our own, At once 'tis vanished, lost and gone. You'll ask me why I thus rehearse All Epictetus in my verse, And if I fondly hope to please With dry reflections such as these, So trite, so hackneyed, and so stale ?I'll take the hint and tell a tale.

One evening, as a simple swain
His flock attended on the plain,
The shining bow he chanced to spy,
Which warns us when a shower is nigh;

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