CHANGES. A child is playing on the green, Again his laugh thrills wild and high : And nought shall have the power to keep A youth sits with his burning glance That he will do in future time,— He thinks not of the moments gone,— And such was I. Sunken those eyes, and worn that brow, Oh! pitying heaven, the wretch forgive, And such am I. ZARACH. BY THE REV. W. LISLE BOWLES. Look at those sleeping children!—softly tread, “”T is morn, awake! awake!" Ah! they are dead!— Of spring and flowers!-of flowers?-Yet nearer stand— As if its cup with tears was wet. So sleeps that child; not faded, though in death,— And seeming still to hear her sister's breath, As when she first did lay her head to rest Gently on that sister's breast, And kissed her ere she fell asleep! The' archangel's trump alone shall wake that slumber deep. "Take up those flowers that fell From the dead hand, and sigh a long farewell! Your spirit rests in bliss! Yet ere with parting prayers we say Farewell for ever! to the' insensate clay, Poor maid, those pale lips we will kiss!" Ah! 't is cold marble !-Artist, who hast wrought That joins to immortality thy name. -For these sweet children that so sculptured rest- Age after age shall pass away, Nor shall their beauty fade, their forms decay. The smile of death that fades not, shall engage Mothers, till ruin the round world hath rent, Shall gaze with tears upon the monument! And fathers sigh, with half-suspended breath, "How sweetly sleep the innocent in death!" Literary Souvenir. WOMAN'S TRUTH. My love is not of heavenly birth, No blazing suns adorn her head, Her mouth no glittering pearls can boast; But there's a calm domestic trace Of love in every word and feature, And many a sun has risen and set, And many a storm has blown around us, Since first our throbbing bosoms met, And love and law together bound us. And hopes have fall'n, and friends have changed, Yet never were our hearts estranged One moment from the faith we plighted. Harp on, ye bards-soar to the skies, Bring down the fairest stars that brighten May then Love's zig-zag path enlighten. Go search in climes beneath the sun, Where Nature's sweetest flowers are blowingTell each "dear girl" you found not one To match the rose, her soft cheek shewing. Should she, cold sceptic! doubt thee still, Oh, woman, source of every bliss That heaven to this cold world dispenses, Can such romantic praise as this Charm thy soft heart, and chain thy senses! Yes-hours in all our lives there are, From power and pride, to want's pale train, It is not in thine hour of prime, When friends are fond, and hopes are springing,— It is not at the witching time, When Love his first wild strain is singing ;— But at the couch that mocks repose, Where some beloved form may languish, Hoping yet dreading life's last close, While in the ranks of health and glee, His fate may scarce one sigh awaken, O woman! then 't is thine to be Near-though by all the world forsaken ! 'Tis eve! 't is fading eve! how fair the scene, With the tall corn's deep furrow calmly blest! And hark! the mingling sounds of earth and sea! Of some rude billow on the echoing shore. And hark! the rower's deep and well-known stroke! Glad hearts are there, and joyous hands once more Weary the whitening wave with their returning oar! But turn where art with graceful hand hath twined Lured from their azure home by scenes they love so well! A softer beauty floats along the sky, And moonlight dwells upon the heaving wave: |