British Bards

" Still ist die Kocht, es ruh'n die Gassen." Still is the night, and the streets are lone ; My darling dwelt in this house of yore ; 'Tis years since she from the city has flown, Yet the house stands there as it dld before. There, too, stands & man, and aloft staree he, And for Btress of anguish hewrings hls hands My blood runs cold when his face I see ; 'ïis my own very self in the moonlight stands Thou doublé ! Thou f eten, with the llvid face I Why dost thou naimic my love-lorn mold, That was racked and rent in this very place So inany a night in the times of Old ? -Theodore Martin, in Blackwood's Magazine. FOUND. " Hae ye seen my ain gude laddie Ganging doonwurds to the sooth, Girded wi' a braw red pladdie, An' a bit pipe in his mooth?" " Whatna sort's the mon ye're speerin' ? Is he unco big and strang, No eae gleg at talk as hearin' ?' 11 Aiblins, sir, ye're no that wrang." w Then, my lass, I've seen the chappie Standin' treat to a' that carne, Unco fu1 and awf u' happy " " That'U bo tho very samo." " When the gudeman tried to stop it He just lifted up his can, Swore tül mom he wouldna drop it " " Yon must be the very man." - Temple Bar. BEFOBE THE SNOW. Winter is on us, but not yet the snow ! The hills are etched on the horizon, bare, The skies are iron-gray, a bitter air, Witll meager clouds that ehuddor as they go ; One yellow leaf the listless wind doth blow, Like sanie new butterfly, unclassed and rare ; Tour footsteps ring in frozen alleys, where The black trees seem to shiver as you go. Beyond lie church and stceple, and their old And rusty vanes that rattle aB they veer - A sharper gust would shock theni from their hold 1 Yet up that path, in Maytime of the year, And past that di'eary, ruined tower we Btrolled To pluck wild Btrawberries with slimmer cheer -Ater Albert Glatignv, in Macmillan's Magazine LOVE'S LAST STJIT. M Love, forget me when I'm gone, When tbe tree is overthrown liet itB place be digged and sown O'er with grass ; when tliat is gruwi), The very place shall be unknown. So court I oblivion ; So, I charge thee by our love, Love, forget me, when I'm gons ! Love of tiim that lies in clay Only maketh life forlorn - ClQudlng o'er the aew-boru day Witli regrets of yestermorn. And what is love to him that's low, Or sunshine on his grave that floatB ? Love nor sunBnino reacheth now Dceper than the daisy roots. So, when he that nigh me hovera - Beath, that spares not happy lovers - Comes to claim his little due, Love, as tfcou art good and true, Proudly give the chnri his own, And forget me when I'm gone !" - Thomas Davidson, in Blackioood's Magazine. MOTHER AND CHILD. (DANAE AND PERSEUS.) Closed in the fine-wrought chest, ' She feit the rising wind the waters move. Then, by new fear poseessed, With action wild And cheeka bedewed, she Btretched her arma of love Toward Perseus : "O my child, What sorrow wrings my breast ! While thou art sunk so deep In infancy's caïin sleep ; Launched inthis joyless ark, B ron ze-f as tened, glimmering dark, Yet, pillowed on thy tangled hair, Thou slumber'st, nor dost care For biilow-B past thee bonnding Nor breezes sbrüly Bounding, Laid in thy mantle red, sweet face, how fair ! Ah ! but if fear Had aught of fear for thee, Thou even to me Wouldst turn thy tender ear. But qow I bid thee rest, my babe ; sleep etill ! Rest, O thon sea ! Rest, rest, unbounded ill ! Zeus, Father, eome relief, sonie ehange from Thee ! Am I too bold? For his sake. pardon me ! From Simonidon, in Good Words. FRIENDSHIP AND FLATTERY. T. When Friendship ftrBt camedown toeirth, With heart of generous mold, And soul of trutk and heavenly worth, 'Twas in the age of gold. She taught the love that canie f rom God For all humanity ; Sweet Pity in her footsteps trod, With Faith and Charity. n. But Flattary, as the world grew old, Stole Friendship'B honest face ; When Truth's Btern accents grew leas bold, And Falsehood taught grimace. Th' iudignant niartyr did not wreak Her vengeance upon men, Nor soar on refluent wing to seek Her home m heaven again. m. She lef t her rival to reign o'er The sunny paths of life, And loved the dark ones to explore With sad misfortune rife. Both to their own their aid exieud, Each in her way a mother ; Success Btill flnds the one a friend, Adversity the other. -Ttmple Bar. A PICTURE. Two littlo souls, a boy and girl, Wandering on to the foot of the hill ; Bushes'of green and blossome of pearí Laughed at theniselves in the roadsido rill. Crossing the lañe, a gorgeous jay, Bathed in the Hght of a fiattering ray, Jauntily chatters, " Some day, some day!" Two sweet souls, a man and a maid, (Beechen branches twisted above,) Picking the daisiea which sprínkle a glade, And trying their luck at a game of love ; " Thia year [" " Next year !'' What do they say ? And out of the beeches the curious jay Peeps and chuckles, " Some day, some day !" Two old bouIb, and the eni of the day Follows them home to the foot of the hill ; One late gleam which has wandered astray Breaks f rom a copse and dimplcs the rill. Autumn leaves are strewiug the wayT And hoarse from the laren the hungry jay Shouts out to the night, " Some day, some day !" Two poor souls at the dead of the nigbt, Side by side, lie Btiffened and still ; And the winter's moon just Boftena her light, As it solemnly rests at tlie foot of the hill, Remembering the bees and the buds and the May, The Bummer gold and the autumn gray, And the warm green lane where the beetles play. In the criHp, cold night the shivering jay Croake out of his dream, " Some day, some day V' - Tinsley's Magazine.