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As home his footsteps he hath turned,
SIR W. SCOTT.
A SENSITIVE plant in a garden grew,
The snow-drop, and then the violet,
And their breath was mixed with fresh odour, sent
From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.
Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall, And narcissi, the fairest of them all,
Who gaze on their eyes, in the stream's recess, Till they die of their own dear loveliness.
And the hayacinth, purple, white, and blue,
And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
STANZAS ON FREEDOM.
MEN! whose boast it is that ye
If there breathe on earth a slave,
Woman! who shall one day bear
Deeds to make the roused blood rush
Is true freedom but to break
They are slaves who fear to speak
They are slaves who will not choose
Rather than in silence shrink
From the truth they needs must think.
COMMIT thou all thy griefs
Put thou thy trust in God,
Fix on His word thy stedfast eye,
Give to the winds thy fears,
God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears,
Through waves, and clouds, and storms,
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.
HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds
A faint and starry radiance through the gloom, And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, [care, With all their clustering locks, untouched by And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night, in prayer.
Gaze on, 'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek,
Mantling beneath its earnest boon of thought, Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair and meek, [wrought? And fragile things, as but for sunshine Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity!