The earliest, whitest, blessedest times did draw
From her alone their universal law.

Friendship's an abstract of this noble flame,
'Tis love refined and purged from all its dross,
The next to angel's love, if not the same,

As strong as passion is, though not so gross:
It antidates a glad eternity

And is an heaven in epitome.

Thick waters shew no images of things;

Friends are each other's mirrors, and should be Clearer than crystal or the mountain-springs, And free from clouds, design, or flattery.For vulgar souls no part of Friendship share; Poets and friends are born to what they are. MRS KATHERINE PHILIPS, 1631-1664.

TO MY WIFE,

WITH THE PRESENT OF A RING ON OUR WEDDING-DAY.

THEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,—

So, sixteen years ago I said.

Behold another ring-for what?

To wed thee o'er again-why not?

With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth,
Taste long admired, sense long revered,
And all my Mary then appear'd.
If she, by merit since disclosed,
Prove twice the woman I supposed,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.

Here, then, to-day (with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense and pure,
As when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth and plighted mine)
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring,
A token and a pledge I bring:
With this I wed till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart:
Those virtues, which, before untried,
The wife has added to the bride:
Those virtues, whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience' sake, as well as love's.
For why they shew me hour by hour,
Honour's high thought, affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sentence,
And teach me all things-but repentance.
-Gentleman's Magazine.

A FATHER TO HIS MOTHERLESS

CHILDREN.

COME, gather closer to my side,
*My little smitten flock!

And I will tell of him who brought
Pure water from the rock;
Who boldly led God's people forth
From Egypt's wrath and guile,
And once a cradled babe did float
All helpless on the Nile.

You're weary, precious ones, your eyes
Are wandering far and wide;
Think ye of her who knew so well
Your tender thought to guide?
Who could to wisdom's sacred lore
Your fix'd attention claim?
Ah! never from your hearts erase
That blessed mother's name.

'Tis time to sing your evening hymn, My youngest infant dove !

Come, press your velvet cheek to mine,

And learn the lay of love;

My sheltering arms can clasp you all,
My poor deserted throng!

Cling as you used to cling to her

Who sings the angel's song.

Begin, sweet birds, the accustom'd strain;
Come, warble loud and clear;
Alas! alas! you 're weeping all,

You're sobbing in my ear.

Good-night-go say the prayer she taught
Beside your little bed;

The lips that used to bless you there
Are silent with the dead.

A father's hand your course may guide
Amid the thorns of life,

His care protect those shrinking plants
That dread the storms of strife;

But who, upon your infant hearts,
Shall like that mother write?

Who touch the strings that rule the soul?
Dear, smitten flock, good night!

-American.

MRS L. H. SIGOURNEY, 1791

CASA WAPPY.

[Casa Wappy was the self-conferred pet name of an infant son of the poet, snatched away after a very brief illness.]

AND hast thou sought thy heavenly home,
Our fond, dear boy-

The realms where sorrow dare not come,
Where life is joy?

Pure at thy death as at thy birth,

Thy spirit caught no taint from earth;
Even by its bliss we mete our dearth,
Casa Wappy!

Despair was in our last farewell,
As closed thine eye ;

Tears of our anguish may not tell

When thou didst die;

Words may not paint our grief for thee,

Sighs are but bubbles on the sea

Of our unfathom'd agony,

Casa Wappy!

Thou wert a vision of delight

To bless us given;

Beauty embodied to our sight,

A type of heaven: