THE WORLD'S CHANGES. From a periodical entitled The Irish Penny Journal we extract a poem which has strangely taken our fancy. What are its peculiar merits we should find it difficult to say; but there is something in the novelty of the subject, and the earnest handling of it, calculated both to surprise and please. He who reads it once will be pretty sure to peruse it again. "Contarini Fleming wrote merely, TIME." Disraeli the Younger. THE Solemn Shadow that bears in his hands And he ask'd of a panoplied soldier near, "How long has this fortress'd city been here?" So will it endure till the funeral knell As Eternity's annals shall tell." And after a thousand years were o’er, And vestige of none of a city lay there, And the marshall'd corn stood high and pale, And a shepherd piped of love in a vale. "How!" spake the Shadow, "can temple and tower Thus fleet, like mist from the morning hour?" But the shepherd shook the long locks from his brow"The world is fill'd with sheep and corn; Thus was it of old, thus is it now, Thus, too, will it be while moon and sun Rule night and morn, For Nature and Life are one." And after a thousand years were o'er, The Shadow paused over the spot once more. And lo! in the room of the meadow-lands A sea foam'd far over saffron sands, And flash'd in the noontide bright and dark, How marvell'd the Shadow! "Where then is the plain? But the fisher dash'd off the salt spray from his brow- What babblest thou about grain and fields? Man looks for what Ocean yields." And after a thousand years were o'er The Shadow paused over the spot once more. And the ruddy rays of the eventide It is not amid seas ; The earth is one forest all." And after a thousand years were o'er, And what saw the Shadow? A city again, With workhouses fill'd, and prisons, and marts, And faces that spake exanimate hearts. 66 Strange pictures and sad! was the Shadow's thought; And turning to one of the Ghastly, he sought For a clue in words to the When and the How But the man uplifted his care-worn brow "Change? What was life ever but conflict and change? From the ages of old Hath affliction been widening its range." "Enough!" said the Shadow, and pass'd from the spot :— "At last it is vanish'd, the beautiful youth Of the earth, to return with no to-morrow; EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL. This is one of the many beautiful compositions of Mrs. HEMANS, whose poetry has this remarkable character, that, beautiful as it is in portions, it will not bear to be read continuously in a volume. Perhaps this is the consequence of the perfection of its mechanism, for in rhythm and rhyme in the music of verse-she is unrivalled. Pleasing at first, this unbroken smoothness palls by repetition and becomes monotony. Nevertheless, many of her minor poems are full of the truest poetry of thought, and the strain is in exquisite harmony with the sentiment. Such a poem is the following. HUSH! 'tis a holy hour-the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads, Gaze on,-'tis lovely!-childhood's lip and cheek, Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, Though fresh within your breasts th' untroubled springs And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings Her lot is on you-silent tears to weep, And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sunless riches, from affections deep, To pour on broken reeds a wasted shower; And to make idols, and to find them clay, And to bewail that worship-therefore pray! Her lot is on you-to be found untired, Watching the stars out by the bed of pain, ANNABEL LEE. EDGAR ALLAN POE, an American, is the author of this fanciful lyric, which is thoroughly original in its structure, turn of thought and expression-a sportive and almost careless composition, but a flash of true genius. Ir was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know And this maiden she lived with no other thought I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love- With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven And this was the reason that, long ago, me, In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, That the wind came out of the cloud by night, But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of many far wiser than we And neither the angels in heaven above, For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes And so all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Brilliants. Under this title we purpose to string together short passages of peculiar beauty, scattered among the larger productions of the poets. Where italic is used it is with intent to direct the particular attention of the reader to some fine thought for which it is remarkable. MORNING. On his shoulders Night Throwing his ebon mantle rent with storms |