How little of ourselves we know,

Before a grief the heart has felt! The lessons that we learn of woe

May brace the mind, as well as melt.

The misery too stern for mirth,

The reach of thought, the strength of will, 'Mid cloud and tempests have their birth, Though blight and blast their course fulfil.

Love's perfect triumph never crown'd
The hope unchequer'd by a pang;

The grandest wreaths with thorns are bound,
And Sappho wept before she sang.

Tears at each pure emotion flow;
They wait on pity's gentle chain,

On admiration's fervid glow,
On piety's seraphic flame.

'Tis only when it mourns and fears, The loaded spirit feels forgiven,

And through the mist of falling tears

We catch the clearest glimpse of heaven. EARL OF CARLISLE, 1802——

THE POET'S BRIDAL-DAY SONG.

OH! my love's like the steadfast sun,
Or streams that deepen as they run ;
Nor hoary hairs, nor forty years,
Nor moments between sighs and tears,
Nor nights of thought, nor days of pain,
Nor dreams of glory dream'd in vain,
Nor mirth, nor sweetest song that flows
To sober joys and soften woes,
Can make my heart or fancy flee,

One moment, my sweet wife, from thee.

Even while I muse, I see thee sit
In maiden bloom and matron wit;
Fair, gentle as when first I sued,
Ye seem, but of sedater mood;
Yet

my heart leaps as fond for thee As when, beneath Arbigland tree,

We stay'd and woo'd, and thought the moon Set on the sea an hour too soon,

Or linger'd 'mid the falling dew,

When looks were fond and words were few.

Though I see smiling at thy feet

Five sons and ae fair daughter sweet,

And time, and care, and birth-time woes

Have dimm'd thine eye and touch'd thy rose,

To thee, and thoughts of thee, belong
Whate'er charms me in tale or song.
When words descend like dews unsought,
With gleams of deep enthusiast thought,
And Fancy in her heaven flies free,
They come, my love, they come from thee.

Oh, when more thought we gave, of old,
To silver than some give to gold,
'Twas sweet to sit and ponder o'er

How we should deck our humble bower;
'Twas sweet to pull in hope, with thee,
The golden fruit of Fortune's tree;
And sweeter still to choose and twine
A garland for that brow of thine;
A song-wreath which may grace my Jean
While rivers flow, and woods grow green.

At times there come, as come there ought,
Grave moments of sedater thought,
When Fortune frowns, nor lends our night
One gleam of her inconstant light,
And Hope, that decks the peasant's bower,
Shines like a rainbow through the shower;
Oh! then I see, while seated nigh,
A mother's heart shine in thine eye,
And proud resolve, and purpose meek,
Speak of thee more than words can speak.
I think this wedded wife of mine

The best of all things not divine.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, 1784-1842.

MARY MAGDALEN.

FROM THE SPANISH OF BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE

ARGENSOLA.

BLESSED, yet sinful one, and broken hearted!
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn!

Thou weepest days of innocence departed-
Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
The Lord to pity and love.

The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,

Even for the least of all the tears that shine
On that pale cheek of thine.

Thou didst kneel down to Him who came from heaven,
Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise

Holy, and pure, and wise.

It is not much that to the fragrant blossom
The ragged brier should change; the bitter fir
Distil Arabian myrrh ;

Nor that upon the wintry desert's bosom

The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain Bear home the abundant grain.

But come and see the bleak and barren mountains Thick to their tops with roses; come and see Leaves on the dry dead tree;

The perish'd plant, set out by living fountains, Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise For ever towards the skies.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, 1798—

-American.

THE LIGHT OF HOME.

SH was a phantom of delight
When first she gleam'd upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;

M