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Asunder should be torn in ruth,

It was a cruel doom.

3. "Go forth," she said, "pursue thy way;

But some fair garden shouldst thou see,
Alone among the arbours stray,

And pluck a rose-leaf from the spray,
The freshest there may be;

4. "Unclasp thy mail, when none is by,
That leaf upon thy breast to lay,
How soon 'twill wither, fade, and die,
Observe for that poor leaf am I,
From thee, my stem away."

5. "And thou, my soul," the soldier said,
“When I am wandering faint and far,
Go thou to our own greenwood shade,
Where I the marble fountain made,
And placed the golden jar.

6. "At noon I filled my jar with wine,

And dropp'd therein a ball of snow,
Lay that on this warm heart of thine,
And while it melts behold me pine
In solitary woe."

Sir John Bowring (1792 - 1872).

A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW.

1. Oh, when I was a tiny boy

My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind!
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from mine eye,
To cast a look behind!

2. A hoop was an eternal round

Of pleasure. In those days I found

A top a joyous thing;

But now those past delights I drop,
My head, alas! is all my top,

And careful thoughts the string!

3. My marbles-once my bag was stored,-
Now I must play with Elgin's1 lord,
With Theseus 2 for a taw!

My playful horse has slipt his string,
Forgotten all his capering,

And harnessed to the law!

4. My kite, how fast and far it flew!
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin,3 drew
My pleasure from the sky!

'Twas paper'd o'er with studious themes,
The tasks I wrote,-my present dreams
Will never soar so high.

5. My joys are wingless all and dead;
My dumps are made of more than lead;
My flights soon find a fall;

My fears prevail, my fancies droop,
Joy never cometh with a hoop,

And seldom with a call!

6. My football's laid upon the shelf;-
I am a shuttlecock myself

The world knocks to and fro,-
My archery is all unlearned,

And grief against myself has turned
My arrows and my bow!

7. No more in noontide sun I bask;
My authorship's an endless task,
My head's ne'er out of school.-

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My heart is pained with scorn and slight,

1 The name Elgin marbles was given to a splendid collection of statuary which was brought from the Parthenon of Athens to England, by Lord Elgin, in 1814, and is now deposited in the British Museum, London.

2 The great legendary hero of Attica.

3 Benjamin Franklin, who identified lightning with electricity.

I have too many foes to fight,

And friends grown strangely cool!

8. The very chum that shared my cake
Holds out so cold a hand to shake,

It makes me shrink and sigh,—
On this I will not dwell and hang,
The changeling would not feel a pang
Though these should meet his eye!

9. No skies so blue or so serene

As then ;-no leaves look half so green
As clothed the play-ground tree!

All things I loved are altered so,
Nor does it ease my heart to know
That change resides in me!

10. Oh, for the garb that marked the boy,The trousers made of corduroy,

Well ink'd with black and red;

The crownless hat,-ne'er deem'd an ill,-
It only let the sunshine still
Repose upon my head!

11. Oh for the ribbon round the neck!
The careless dog's-ears apt to deck
My book and collar both!
How can this formal man be styled
Merely an Alexandrine1 child,
A boy of larger growth?

12. Oh, for that small, small beer anew!

And (heaven's own type) that mild sky-blue
That washed my sweet meals down;

The master even!-and that small Turk
That fagged me !-worse is now my work-
A fag for all the town!

There is a reference here to the Alexandrine verse (see Introduction).

13. Oh for the lessons learned by heart!
Ay, though the very birch's smart

Should mark those hours again;
I'd "kiss the rod," and be resigned
Beneath the stroke,—and even find
Some sugar in the cane!

14. The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed!
The Fairy Tales in school-time read,
By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun!
The angel form that always walked
In all my dreams, and looked and talked
Exactly like Miss Brown!

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15. The omne bene "1-Christmas come,

The prize of merit, won for home,—

Merit had prizes then!

But now I write for days and days,—
For fame—a deal of empty praise
Without the silver pen!

16. Then home, sweet home! the crowded coach,—
The joyous shout,-the loud approach,-
The winding horns like rams'!

The meeting sweet that made me thrill,—
The sweetmeats almost sweeter still,
No "satis "2 to the "jams."3

17. When that I was a tiny boy

My days and nights were full of joy,
My mates were blithe and kind,—
No wonder that I sometimes sigh,
And dash the tear-drop from my eye,
To cast a look behind!

Thomas Hood (1798 — 1845).

1 "All is well"-the opening words of a well-known rhyme in classical schools.

2 "Enough."

3 "Already"-"jam satis" is also a not uncommon Latin phrase. The play upon words needs no explanation.

THE VOICE OF WOE.

"The language of passion, and more peculiarly that of grief, is ever nearly the same."

1. An Indian chief went forth to fight,

And bravely met the foe.

His eye was keen-his step was light-
His arm was unsurpassed in might;
But on him fell the gloom of night—
An arrow laid him low.

His widow sang with simple tongue,
When none could hear or see,
Ay, cheray me!

2. A Moorish maiden knelt beside
Her dying lover's bed;

She bade him stay to bless his bride,
She called him oft her lord, her pride;
But mortals must their doom abide-
The warrior's spirit fled.

With simple tongue the sad one sung,
When none could hear or see,
Ay, di me!

3. An English matron mourned her son,
The only son she bore;

Afar from her his course was run,
He perished as the fight was done,
He perished when the fight was won,
Upon a foreign shore.

With simple tongue the mother sung,
When none could hear or see,
Ah, dear me!

4. A gentle Highland maiden saw

A brother's body borne

From where, for country, king, and law,

He went his gallant sword to draw;

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