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THE WEAVER'S SONG.

Here is another of BARRY CORNWALL's lyrics, so fine in composition, so wholesome in sentiment-how vastly superior to the Bacchanalian songs that formerly almost engrossed the lyrical efforts of the poets.

WEAVE, brothers, weave!-Swiftly throw
The shuttle athwart the loom;

And show us how brightly your flowers grow
That have beauty but not perfume:

Come, show us the rose with a hundred dyes,
The lily that hath no spot,

The violet deep as your true-love's eyes,
And the little forget-me-not.

Sing, sing, brothers! weave and sing,
'Tis good both to sing and weave;
'Tis better to work than live idle,
'Tis better to sing than grieve.

Weave, brothers, weave!-Weave, and bid
The colours of sunset glow!

Let grace in each gliding thread be hid,
Let beauty about ye blow:

Let your skein be long, and your silk be fine,
And your hands both firm and sure;

And time nor chance shall your work untwine,
But all-like a truth-endure!

So, sing, brothers, &c.

Weave, brothers, weave!—Toil is ours;
But toil is the lot of man;

One gathers the fruit, one gathers the flowers,
One soweth the seed again!

There is not a creature, from England's king
To the peasant that delves the soil,

That knows half the pleasure the seasons bring,
If he have not his share of toil.

So, sing, brothers, &c.

Brilliants.

GOD.

WHEN God reveals his march through nature's night,
His steps are beauty, and his presence light.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.

SLEEP AND DEATH.

How wonderful is Death,
Death and his brother Sleep!
One pale as yonder waning moon,
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean's wave,
It blushes o'er the world;
Yet both so passing beautiful.

THE NIGHTINGALE.

SHELLEY.

FOR I have ever thought that it might bless
The world with benefits unknowingly;
As does the nightingale, up-perched high,
And cloister'd among cool and bunched leaves-
She sings but to her love, nor e'er conceives
How tiptoe night holds back her dark-grey hood.
KEATS.

LIFE THROUGH DEATH.

A DEW-DROP, falling on the wild sea wave,
Exclaim'd in fear "I perish in this grave;
But, in a shell received, that drop of dew
Unto a pearl of marvellous beauty grew;
And happy now the grave did magnify

Which thrust it forth-as it had fear'd to die ;-
Until again "I perish quite," it said,
Torn by rude diver from its ocean bed;

O unbelieving! so it came to gleam
Chief jewel in a monarch's diadem.

TEARS.

R. C. TRENCH.

WHAT precious drops are these

Which silently each other's track pursue,

Bright as young diamonds in their infant dew?

Dryden.

RESIGNATION.

WHATE'ER my doom,

It cannot be unhappy: God hath given me
The boon of resignation.

FOREBODING.

WILSON.

As at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of the prairies,

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the shrinking mimosa,

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings of evil, Shrinks and closes the heart, e'er the stroke of doom has attain'd it. LONGFELLOW.

GREAT MINDS.

THE world must have great minds,
Even as great spheres suns.

A LONELY GRAVE.

Ir was a solitary mound,

BAILEY.

Which two spears' length of level ground
Did from all other graves divide,

As if in some respect of pride,

Or melancholy's sickly mood

Still shy of human neighbourhood,

Or guilt, that humbly would express

A penitential loneliness.

GRIEF.

WORDSWORTH.

SLOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears: Yet slower, yet; O faintly, gentle springs:

List to the heavy part the music bears;

Woe weeps out her division, when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers,

Fall grief in showers,

Our beauties are not ours;

O, I could still,

Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,

Drop, drop, drop, drop,

Since Nature's pride is now a wither'd daffodil.

BEN JONSON.

HABIT.

It is the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious than the hawk,
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,

Because his painted skin contents the eye?

THE HAND.

SHAKSPERE.

The instrument of instruments, the hand;
Courtesy's index; chamberlain to Nature;
The body's soldier; the mouth's caterer;
Psyche's great secretary; the dumb's eloquence;
The blind man's cradle, and his forehead's buckler;
The minister of wrath, and friendship's sign.

A LANDSCAPE.

LINGUA.

PATHS there were many,
Winding through palmy fera, and rushes fenny,
And ivy banks: all leading pleasantly

To a wide lawn, whence one could only see
Stems thronging all around, between the swell
Of tuft and slanting branches; who could tell
The freshness of the space of Heaven above,
Edged round with dark tree-tops, through which a dove
Had often beat his wings, and often too

A little cloud would move across the blue?

KEATS.

SLAVERY.

O execrable son, so to aspire
Above his brethren, to himself assuming
Authority usurpt, from God not given.
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl,
Dominion absolute; that right we hold
By his donation ;-but man over man
He made not Lord, such title to himself
Preserving, human left from human free.

MILTON.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

AS BEAUTITUL POETRY is a good medium for Advertisements, and as only a few can be inserted, the following will be the Scale of

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