"Open your hospitable door, And shield me from the biting blast; Cold, cold it blows across the moor, The weary moor that I have pass'd." With hasty steps the farmer ran, And close beside the fire they place The poor half-frozen beggar man, With shaking limbs and pale blue face. The little children flocking came, And chafed his frozen hands in theirs, And busily the good old dame A comfortable mess prepares. Their kindness cheer'd his drooping soul, And told the thanks he could not speak. The children then began to sigh, And all their merry chat was o'er, And yet they felt, they knew not why, More glad than they had done before. MISS AIKIN. H LOVE UNCHANGEABLE. LET me not to the marriage of true minds Or bends with the remover to remove : That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out e'en to the edge of doom. If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. -Sonnets. W. SHAKSPEARE, 1564-1616. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, Again thou usher'st in the day My Mary from my soul was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget!— Can I forget the hallow'd grove Where by the winding Ayr we met To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past! Thy image at our last embrace Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? ROBERT BURNS, 1759–1796. TASTE LIFE'S GLAD MOMENTS. TASTE Life's glad moments, Whilst the wasting taper glows; The quickly-fading rose. Man blindly follows grief and care, He seeks for thorns and finds his share, Unheeded shed their blossoms. When tim'rous Nature veils her form, Then, ah! how sweet when, lull'd the storm, Taste Life's, &c. When spleen and envy anxious flies, Who fosters faith in upright breast, And freely gives to the distress'd, There sweet contentment builds her nest, Taste Life's, &c. And when life's path grows dark and strait, And pressing ills on ills await, Then Friendship, sorrow to abate, The helping hand will offer. She dries his tears, she strews his way, Of life she is the fairest band, Man journeys light and cheerily. SIR A. BOSWELL, 1775-1822. -From the German. AE GUDE TURN DESERVES ANITHER. YE mauna be proud, although ye be great, |