THE SHEPHERD'S DELIGHT. THE sun was going down, and day, The clouds press'd down, like damp of doubt, "Ours is the sky," they said, "for there The setting sun, in words of might, The clouds blush'd, red as burning brand; The shepherd laugh'd aloud, Was written on the cloud! "That's my delight," the shepherd cried, "A bright fair-weather sign; To night my flocks in hope abide, So may truth write a rainbow fair, SONG OF DYING SUMMER. LIKE one beloved for many sunny charms, That must stream thro' the window:-such was she, And changing it to grey. The summer goeth From field and forest,—from the gentle valley; From the low river and the lofty hill; But, ere she goeth, ye may hear her singing,— What are the signs of the Summer going— Going so far away ? Daily the dawning is nearer drawing Unto the close of day; Daily the fading leaves are leaving Leaving the late green stem; Nightly the wind in the wood is grieving Grieving as over them. These are the signs of the Summer going— There is no morn-spring of melody flowing Down to the vale of day; There is no nightingale, song outpouring, After the sun is set; Gone is the season when, gaily soaring, Morning and melody met. "Yes," saith the Summer, "I must be going; My friends are getting few; ፡፡ Beauty and brightness and life are leaving— See ye not how that my soul is grieving- Such are the signs of the Summer going- Sad as the spirit of peace withdrawing From the wild wind of war: Daily the lifeless leaves are leaving Leaving the late fair stem; Nightly the winds in the woods are grieving- THE GREAT EXHIBITION. THE Great Exhibition-the Hall monumental— Here glow like an Eden-view, seen from a hill! The Hall monumental;—it stands a reminder Of one but for whom it would not have been rear'd; The Prince of the people ; ;-no better, or kinder, In this favour'd nation hath ever appear'd: The death-book has added his name to its pages, But memory places him still where he stood: Whatever be lost in the forth-coming ages, 'T will not be the name of our ALBERT THE GOOD! The Palace of labour;—it giveth assurance Of will to be useful in glare or in gloom; Of true-hearted daring, of patient endurance, In mine, field, or forest; at anvil or loom. The WORKS of the workman his praises are telling; The words upon willing ears pleasantly fall; The wave-roll of harmony, praisefully swelling, Acknowledges God as the Giver of all. The Temple of skill;—it reveals the designer, These twenty-four acres of splendour are showing The findings of thought in the flowings of time; |