He stops, as if he thought the bliss
Too great to be believ'd

And holds his breath, as one might do'sim
Who fear'd to be deceived.

'Tis surely he—he saw him move,
And at the joyful sight,

He toss'd his head with a prouder air,
His fierce eye grew more bright.

Eager emotion swell'd his breast,
To tell his generous tale→

And he raised his voice to its wildest tone,
To bid the wanderer hail.

That voice was rescue from the grasp

Of painful, ling'ring death

'Twas life to one prepar'd to yield

To the winds his parting breath a d

'Twas hope to him from whom despair

The latest hope had riven→

'Twas a friend, when he might scarce expect

A friend from earth or heaven.

And surely 'twas the sweetest sound

That ear had ever known

The heart might almost st burst with joy to'l

That heard the welcome tone.

Não vi in Tokens and xn bu

The pilgrim heard—he rais'd his head,

And beheld the savage form

With sudden fear he seiz'd the gun confcA

That rested on his arm. Le syn

Enough of parting life remain'd

His errand to fulfil

One painful, dying effort more
Might save the murderer still.

So he heeded not his aching wound,
But crawl'd to the traveller's side,
Mark'd with a look the way he came,
Then shudder'd, groan'd, and died.

HYMNS AND POETICAL RECREAT

THE ANCHOR.

A MARINER at eventide

Pushed his light boat from the land-
I saw him pass the boiling surge

And fix his anchor in the sand.

Then blithe returning to the shore
As if his every care was past,
Nor casting e'en a look behind,

He hied him homeward to his rest.

LE COLIMACON.

SANS amis, comme sans famille,
Ici-bas vivre en étranger;'

Se retirer dans sa coquille
Au signal du moindre danger;
S'aimer d'une amitié sans bornes,
De soi seul remplir sa maison;
En sortir, suivant la saison,

Pour faire à son prochain les cornes ;
Signaler ses pas destructeurs

Par les traces les plus impures;
Outrager les plus tendres fleurs
Par ses baisers ou ses morsure;
Enfin, chez soi comme en prison,
Vieillir, de jour en jour plus triste;
C'est l'histoire de l'egoïste,

Et celle du Colimaçon.

THE BLOSSOM.

FAID Anna to Jane, as they loiter'd one day

In the year's early spring by the garden hedge side, Those bright, blushing flowers on yonder tall tree

"Are the fairest and sweetest I ever espied.

"But I know that to night ere the sun shall have set, "Their form will be chang'd and their colours will fly: "I almost could weep that such beauty should pass― ""Tis surely a pity that blossoms must die.

"But at least I'll enjoy them as long as I can,

"For go when they will I shall leave them with sorrow; "They shall bloom on my bosom at least for to-day,

66 Since, whether or no, I must lose them to-morrow."

The blossom was gather'd, and smil'd on her breast
For many an hour full sweetly, no doubt-

It died, as it would were it left on the tree-
But she who had gather'd it had not the fruit.

And 'tis so that we sigh o'er our life's fleeting joys,
Forgetting the purpose for which they were given;
Forgetting, tho' sweet be the blossoms on earth,

The fruit they should bear us is gather'd in heaven.

'Twill be well for poor Anna in life's after years, If too much engross'd by the joys of the hour, Too eager to seize on the pleasures of earth,

She lose not the fruit for the sake of the flower.

A HYMN IN ADVERSITY.

THE tender herb must sometimes droop, Or ere its leaf has grown

The Autumn blight will sometimes come, Before the flower has blown.

And even so, O Lord most High!
It was thy sovereign will,
The first I tasted of the world
Should be a draught of ill.

Nor let me venture to complain,
For thou art ever kind-

The love that gave the bitter first,
May leave the sweet behind.

Or if thou wilt that not for me
Life's blessings be reserv'd,
My humbled spirit owns it still
The best I have deserv'd.

Perhaps thou know'st if earth had found

A fairer boon for me,

Lur'd by the splendour of the gift,

I had forgotten thee.