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LINES, Written after seeing among a collection of beautiful paintings, copies from the old masters, recently sent to New York from Italy,one representing the daughter of Herodias, bearing the head of John the Baptist in a charger, and wearing upon her countenance an espression, not of triumph, as one might suppose, but rather of soft and sorrowful remorse, as she looks upon the calm and beautiful features of her victim,—by a name unknown to us, Lucy HOOPER. They appeared in a New York paper.
MOTHER! I bring thy gift :
Never to pass away
What is it that I see
Lo! a celestial smile seems softly beaming
Alas! as yestermorn
And all was joy around-
thee Take from thy daughter's hand thy boon away.
Take it! my heart is sad;
And the pale face appals me, cold and still
I may not turn away
Of One whose words were flame-
Away with lute and harp,
The silent dead with his rebuking glance,
These fine descriptive stanzas were taken from one of the Magazines, a few months since.
Fling back the orient gates ! behold awaking
Downward they wheel in dance and revelry,
Her eyes are flashing glories ! round her head
Night's shadows backward to their caves are hurl’d,
THE POOR MAN'S SONG. Translated from the German of UHLAND, by Mr. R. M. MILNES, M.P. It cannot fail to please all wholesome tastes. There is a charming simplicity of expression, not altogether lost in the translation, although so difficult to be preserved; and the simplicity and naturalness (the coining of a required word must be excused) of the thoughts will be recognised by every reader.
A POOR man, poorer none, am I,
And walk the world alone,
And cheerful heart my own.
My dear, dear parents' hearth,
Since they are laid in earth.
I see the golden grain ;
And trod with toil and pain.
Where happy faces throng,
To all that pass along.
To comfortless despair ;
For every child of care.
Points mutely to the sky,
Arrest each passer by.
With blessing even on me,
Then, Lord, I speak with Thee.
Thy halls of joy and rest:
Shall seat me as thy guest.
THE TIME FOR PRAYER.
We cut from a newspaper, where it is stated to be from an unknown hand, the following beautiful poem. Surely it must be the composition of some practised writer.
When is the time for prayer?-
Lift up thy thoughts on high ;
Morn is the time for prayer!
And in the noontide hour,
And He will give thee rest :-
Noon is the time for prayer!
When the bright sun hath set,-
Then let thy prayer arise
Eve is the time for prayer !
And when the stars come forth,-
To pure bright dreams of heaven, --
Night is the time for prayer!
When is the time for prayer ?
Thy thoughts should heavenward flee.
Bend thou the knee in prayer !
THE WIND AND LEAF, OR ELOPEMENT.
A touching tale, and true as history.
Began the wind, “ awake and fly with me!
And though their whispers fragrant woo'd my stay
I thought on thee-arise and come away!
I would not rouse their coldness with a sigh ;
Were meant for common passion-let us fly."
The cold chaste Moon, the Queen of Heaven's bright isles,
The place that does Contain my books—the best companions—is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the old sages and philosophers ; And sometimes, for variety, I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels, Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account; and, in my fancy, Deface their ill-placed statues.