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Bear on your wings, and in your notes, his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness, if I be silent, morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gathered aught of evil or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark."

So pray'd they innocent; and to their thoughts Firm peace recover'd soon, and wonted calm.

MILTON.

THE COMMON LOT.

ONCE in the flight of ages past,

There lived a man: and who was he?
Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast,

That man resembled thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,

The land in which he died unknown;
His name hath perished from the earth,
This truth survives alone:-

R

That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear,
Alternate triumphed in his breast;
His bliss and woe-a smile, and tear!-
Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirit's rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffered, but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoyed, but his delights are fled;
Had friends,—his friends are now no more;
And foes, his foes are dead.

He loved, but whom he loved the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb :
Oh, she was fair!-but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

The rolling seasons, day and night,

Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main; Erewhile his portion, life and light,

To him exist in vain.

He saw-whatever thou hast seen;
Encountered-all that troubles thee:
He was,-whatever thou hast been;

He is, what thou shalt be.

The clouds and sunbeams o'er his eye

That once their shades and glory threw, Have left in yonder silent sky

No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,
Their ruins, since the world began,

Of HIM afford no other trace

Than this-THERE LIVED A MAN!

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Remember the foundations

That in earth and darkness lie;

For, were not those foundations
So darkly resting there,
Yon towers could never soar
So proudly in the air.

The workshop must be crowded
That the palace may be bright;
If the ploughman did not plough,
Then the poet could not write.
Then let every toil be hallow'd,
That man performs for man,
And have its share of honour,
As part of one great plan.

See, light darts down from heaven,
And enters where it may;

The eyes of all earth's people
Are cheer'd with one bright day.
And let the mind's true sunshine
Be spread o'er earth as free,
And fill the souls of men

As the waters fill the sea.

R. GILFILLAN.

GINEVRA.

SHE was an only child: from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire :
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,

Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria,

Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.
She was all gentleness, all gaiety,

Her pranks the favourite theme of every tongue..
But now the day was come, the day, the hour;
Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time,
The nurse, that ancient lady, preach'd decorum;
And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave
Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

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Great was the joy; but at the bridal feast, When all sat down, the bride was wanting there, Nor was she to be found! Her father cried, "Tis but to make a trial of our love!" And fill'd his glass to all; but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest, the panic spread. 'Twas but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back and flying still, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.

But now,

alas! she was not to be found :

Nor from that hour could any thing be guess'd,
But that she was not !-Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith

Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Her father lived; and long might'st thou have seen
An old man wandering as in quest of something,-
Something he could not find-he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remain'd awhile
Silent and tenantless-then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day, a day of search

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