LIFE'S SUNNY SPOTS.

BY JOANNA BAILLIE.

I WILL collect some rare, some cheerful friends,
And we shall spend together glorious hours,
That gods might envy. Little time so spent
Doth far outvalue all our life beside.
This is indeed our life, our waking life,

The rest dull breathing sleep.

Thus, it is true, from the sad years of life We sometimes do short hours, yea minutes strike, Keen, blissful, bright, never to be forgotten; Which, through the dreary gloom of time o'er

past,

Shine like fair sunny spots on a wild waste.
But few they are, as few the heaven-fired souls
Whose magic power creates them.

VALUE OF FRIENDSHIP.

BY SOUTHERN.

FRIENDSHIP is power and riches all to me;
Friendship's another element of life:
Water and fire not of more general use,
To the support and comfort of the world.
Than friendship to the being of my joy;
I would do everything to serve a friend.

4

L'AMITIE EST L'AMOUR SANS LES AILES.

BY BYRON.

WHY should my anxious breast repine,

Because my youth is fled?

Days of delight may still be mine;

Affection is not dead.

In tracing back the years of youth,
One firm record, one lasting truth
Celestial consolation brings;

Bear it, ye breezes, to the seat,

Where first my heart responsive beat,-
"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Through few, but deeply chequered years,
What moments have been mine!
Now half obscured by clouds of tears,
Now bright in rays divine;
Howe'er my future doom be cast,
My soul, enraptured with the past,
To one idea fondly clings;

Friendship! that thought is all thine own, Worth worlds of bliss, that thought alone"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Where yonder yew-trees lightly wave
Their branches on the gale,

Unheeded heaves a simple grave,
Which tells the common tale;
Round this unconscious school-boys stray,
Till the dull knell of childish play

From yonder studious mansion rings;
But here whene'er my footsteps move,
My silent tears too plainly prove,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Oh Love! before thy glowing shrine
My early vows were paid;

My hopes, my dreams, my heart was thine,
But these are now decayed;
For thine are pinions like the wind,
No trace of thee remains behind,
Except, alas! thy jealous stings.
Away, away! delusive power,
Thou shalt not haunt my coming hour
Unless, indeed, without thy wings.

Seat of my youth! thy distant spire
Recalls each scene of joy ;
My bosom glows with former fire,-
In mind again a boy.

Thy grove of elmes, thy verdant hill,

Thy every part delights me still,—

Each flower a double fragrance flings;

Again, as once, in converse gay,
Each dear associate seems to say,

"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

My Lycus! wherefore dost thou weep?

Thy falling tears restrain;

Affection for a time may sleep,

But, oh, 'twill wake again.

Think, think, my friend, when next we meet,
Our long-wished interview, how sweet!
From this my hope of rapture springs;
While youthful hearts thus fondly swell,
Absence, my friend, can only tell,

66

Friendship is Love without his wings!

In one, and one alone deceived,

Did I my error mourn?
No-from oppressive bonds relieved,
I left the wretch to scorn.

I turned to those my childhood knew,
With feelings warm, with bosoms true,

Twined with my heart's according strings:
And till those vital chords shall break,
For none but these my breast shall wake
Friendship, the power deprived of wings!

Ye few, my soul, my life is yours,
My memory and my hope;

Your worth a lasting love ensures,
Unfettered in its scope;

From smooth deceit and terror sprung
With aspect fair and honeyed tongue,
Let Adulation wait on kings;

With joy elate, by snares beset,

We, we, my friends, can ne'er forget,

'Friendship is Love without his wings!"

Fictions and dreams inspire the bard
Who rolls the epic song;

Friendship and Truth be my reward—
To me no bays belong;

If laurelled Fame but dwells with lies,
Me the enchantress ever flies,

Whose heart and not whose fancy sings;
Simple and young, I dare not feign;
Mine be the rude yet heartful strain,
"Friendship is Love without his wings!"

In storms.

Time draweth wrinkles in a fair Face, but addeth fresh colours to a fast

Friend, which neither heat, nor cold, nor mis'ry, Nor place, nor destiny, can alter or

Diminish. O friendship! of all things the

Most rare, and therefore most rare, because most Excellent; whose comforts in misery

Are always sweet, and whose counsels in

Prosperity are ever fortunate.

Vain love! that only coming near to friendship

In name, would seem to be the same, or better,

In nature.

Lilly.