I'd sooner see within that frame, The shape of man without one spring Of thought, however wandering; A living statue, it can weep, With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. A serving maid was she, and fell in love With one who left her, went to sea, and died. Her fancy followed him through foaming waves To distant shores; and she would sit and weep At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, And laugh, and breathe, and move, and Delusive most where warmest wishes are, sleep. But this mere mechanism-the call Of natural instinct-this is all That gives this mass of moulded clay There's not a gleaming, not a spark THE MANIAC. COWPER. THERE often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed Would oft anticipate his glad return, And dream of transports she was not to know! She heard the doleful tidings of his deathAnd never smiled again! and now she roams The dreary waste; there spends the live-long day, And there, unless when charity forbids, The live-long night. A tattered apron hides, Tho' pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Tho' pinched with cold, asks never-Kate is crazed; FAREWELL. SEPARATION. ANON. BARTON. WHEN forced to part from those we love, NAY, shrink not from that word "Farewell!" We still a pang of anguish prove, As if 'twere Friendship's final knell; Such fears may prove but vain : So changeful is Life's fleeting day, Whene'er we sever-Hope may say We part, to meet again! E'en the last parting Earth can know, Brings not unutterable wo, To souls that heavenward soar; For humble Faith, with stedfast eye, Points to a brighter world on high, Where hearts, that here at parting sigh, May meet-to part no more! And feel a touch of sorrow. But who can paint the briny tears We shed when thus we sever, If forced to part for months, for years, To part-perhaps for ever! ANSWER. DUDLEY. BUT if our thoughts are fix'd aright, A cheering hope is given, Though here our prospects end in night, Yes, if our souls are raised above, 'Tis sweet when thus we sever, Since parting in a Saviour's love, THE MISSIONARIES' FAREWELL. ANON. LAND where the bones of our Fathers are sleeping! We leave thee lamenting, but not with repining. Land of our Fathers! in grief we forsake thee; God is thy God; thou shalt walk in His brightness! Dark is our path o'er the dark rolling ocean; Hail to the land of our toils and our sorrows! Jesus, we pray for thy Spirit to lead us, Jesus, we pray for thy power to succeed us; Then when thy grace from our toils shall release us, Thy love in the mansions of glory shall bless us, LORD RUSSELL, ON PARTING FROM HIS LADY. OH MY LOV'D RACHEL! name for ever dear, Life's harshest dregs, else nought had forced a groan : THE rose was in rich bloom on Sharon's Drawing clear water for his rosy lips, plains, When a young mother, with her First-born, thence Went up to Zion; for the boy was vow'd Unto the Temple service. By the hand She led him, and her silent soul, the while, Oft as the dewy laughter of his eye Met her sweet serious glance, rejoiced to think That aught so pure, so beautiful was hers, To bring before her God. So pass'd they on, O'er Judah's hills; and wheresoe'er the leaves Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, Like lulling rain-drops, or the olive-boughs, With their cool dimness, cross'd the sultry blue Of Syria's heaven, she paused, that he might rest; And softly parting clusters of jet curls To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reach'd, The earth's One Sanctuary; and rapture hush'd Her bosom, as before her, thro' the day Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Beseechingly to hers, and, half in fear, Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm Clung even as ivy clings; the deep-springtide Of nature then swelled high; and o'er her child Yet from her own meek eyelids chased the Bending, her soul brake forth, in mingled sleep That weighed their dark fringe down, to sit and watch The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, As at a red flower's heart: and where a fount Lay, like a twilight star, 'midst palmy shades, sounds Of weeping and sad song.-"Alas!" she cried, "Alas, my boy! thy gentle grasp is on me, The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, And now fond thoughts arise, |