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The free heart and progressive mind
That leave the dusty past behind.
Speed well, speed well, speed well, speed well!"

Pealed out the Independent bell.

“All hail, ye saints in heaven that dwell
Close by the cross!” exclaimed a bell;
“Lean o'er the battlements of bliss,
And deign to bless a world like this;
I,et mortals kneel before this shrine—
Adore the water and the wine!
All hail ye saints, the chorus swell!”
Chimed in the Roman Catholic bell.

“Ye workers who have toiled so well,
To save the race!” said a sweet bell;
“With pledge, and badge, and banner, come,
Each brave heart beating like a drum;
Be royal men of noble deeds.
For love is holier than creeds;
Drink from the well, the well, the well!”
In rapture rang the Temperance bell.

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You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your
changes,
How many soever they be,
And let the brown meadow-lark’s note as he
ranges
Come over, come Over to me.

Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling
No magical sense conveys,

And bells have forgotten their old art of telling
The fortune of future days.

“Turn again, turn again,” once they rang cheerily
While a boy listened alone:

Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily
All by himself on a stone.

Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are
Over,
And mine, they are yet to be;
No listening, no longing, shall aught, aught dis-
COVer :
You leave the story to me.

ON THE DEATH OF HIS FAVORITE CAT.

THOMAS GRAY.

'Twas on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow,
Demurest of the tabby kind
The pensive Selima reclined,
Gazed on the lake below.

Her conscious tail her joy declared:
The fair round face, the snowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes—
She saw, and purred applause.

Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genii of the stream:
Their scaly armor's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw;
A whisker first and then a claw,
With many an ardent wish,
She stretch'd in vain, to reach the prize—
What female heart can gold despise?
What cat's averse to fish?

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent Again she stretch'd, again she bent, Nor knew the gulf between. Malignant Fate sat by and smiled— The slippery verge her feet beguiled— She tumbled headlong in!

Eight times emerging from the flood
She mew'd to ev'ry watery god
Some speedy aid to send:
No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd,
Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard,
A favourite has no friend!

From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold:
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize,
Nor all that glistens, gold!

LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD.
(The Pool of the Diving Friar.)
T. L. PEACOCK.

Gwenwynwyn withdrew from the feasts of his hall;

He slept very late, he prayed not at all;

He pondered, and wandered, and studied alone;

And sought, night and day, the philosopher's stone.

He found it at length, and he made its first proof

By turning to gold all the lead of his roof;

Then he bought some magnanimous heroes, all fire,

Who lived but to smite and be smitten for hire.

With these, on the plains like a torrent he broke; He filled the whole country with flame and with

smoke; He killed all the swine, and he broached all the wine; He drove off the sheep, and the beeves, and the kine.

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