ACCOUNT CURRENT.

Contra, Cr.

Oh, what joys from woman spring! |
Source of bliss and purest peace! |
Eden could not comfort bring, |

Till fair woman show'd her face. |

When she came, | good honest Adam |
Clasp'd the gift with open arms,

He left Eden for his madam, |

So our parent prized her charms. |

Courtship thrills the soul with pleasure ; | Virtue's blush on beauty's cheek: | Happy prelude to a treasure |

Kings have left their crowns to seek!|

Lovely looks and constant courting, |
Sweet'ning all the toils of life; |
Cheerful children, harmless sporting, |
Lovely woman made a wife !|

Modest dress and gentle carriage, |
Love triumphant on his throne;|
These the blissful fruits of marriage—|
None but fools would live alone. |

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE,

Who fell at the Battle of Corunna.

(REV. CHARLES WOLFE.)

Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note,
As his corse to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier discharg'd his farewell shot |
O'er the grave where our hero we buried. |
We buried him darkly at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets turning, |
By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, |
And the lantern dimly burning. |

No useless coffin enclos'd his breast, |

Nor in sheet, nor in shroud, we wound him; |
But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, |
With his martial cloak around him. |
Few, and short were the prayers we said; |
And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; |
But we steadfastly gaz'd on the face of the dead;|
And we bitterly thought of the morrow. I

We thought, as we hollow'd his narrow bed, |
And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, |

That the foe, and the stranger would tread o'er his

head;

And we far away on the billow. |

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, |
And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ;|

But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on |
In the grave where a Briton has laid him. |

But half of our heavy task was done, |

When the clock told the hour for retiring;| And we heard the distant, and random gun, | That the foe was sullenly firing. |

Slowly, and sadly we laid him down |

From the field of his fame, fresh, and gory:

:|

We carv'd not a line, we rais'd not a stone', |
But left him alone in his glory. |

PART IV.

READINGS AND RECITATIONS

FOR SENIOR STUDENTS.

THE MAY QUEEN.

(ALFRED TENNYSON.)

You must wake and call me early,—call me early, mother

dear;

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad new

year :

Of all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest day,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

There's many a black,-black eye, they say, but none so bright as mine;

There's Margaret, and Mary, there's Kate, and Caroline; But none so fair as little Alice in all the land they say :So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

I sleep so sound all night, mother, that I shall never wake,

If you do not call me loud, when the day begins to

break;

But I must gather knots of flowers, and buds, and garlands gay,

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

As I came up the valley, whom think

you

should I see, But Robin leaning on the bridge beneath the hazel-tree ; He thought of that sharp look, mother, I gave him yes

terday

But I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

He thought I was a ghost, mother, for I was all in white, And I ran by him without speaking, like a flash of light.

They call me cruel-hearted, but I care not what they say, For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green,
And you'll be there too, mother, to see me made the
Queen;

For the shepherd lads on every side 'll come from far away,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The honeysuckle round the porch has wov'n its wavy bowers,

And by the meadow-trenches, blow the faint sweet cuckoo-flowers;

And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire, in swamps and hollows grey :—

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

The night winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow

grass,

And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass;

There will not be a drop of rain the whole of the live

long day,

And I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

All the valley, mother, 'll be fresh, and green, and still, And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, And the rivulet in the flowery dale 'll merrily glance and play;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

So you must wake and call me early,-call me early, mother dear;

To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad new year :

To-morrow 'll be of all the year the maddest, merriest day;

For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May.

NEW YEAR'S EVE.

If you're waking, call me early, call me early, mother dear;

For I would see the sun rise upon the glad new year :It is the last new year that I shall ever see,

Then you may lay me low i' the mould, and think no more of me.

To-night I saw the sun set: he set and left behind

The good old year, the dear old time, and all my peace of mind;

And the new year's coming up, mother, but I shall never

see

The blossom on the blackthorn, the leaf upon the tree.

Last May we made a crown of flowers; we had a merry day;

Beneath the hawthorn on the green they made me Queen of May :

And we danced about the May-pole and in the hazel

copse,

Till Charles's wain came out above the tall white chim

ney tops.