Then read from the treasured volume

The poem of thy choice,

And lend to the rhyme of the poet

The beauty of thy voice.

And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.

(3)

CHARLES SWAIN.

THE following beautiful lyrics are contributed by Mr. Charles Swain, a genuine English poet, many of whose poems have deservedly become household favourites. He is, we believe, a native of Manchester, and for his genius has been rewarded with a pension from Government.

THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

OH! the old, old clock, of the household stock
Was the brightest thing and neatest;
Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold,
And its chime rang still the sweetest.
'Twas a monitor, too, though its words were few,
Yet they lived, though nations alter'd;
And its voice, still strong, warn'd old and young,
When the voice of friendship falter❜d!
Tick, tick, it said,-quick, quick, to bed,-
For ten I've given warning;

Up, up, and go, or else, you know,

You'll never rise soon in the morning!

A friendly voice was that old, old clock,
As it stood in the corner smiling,
And bless'd the time with a merry chime,
The wintry hours beguiling;

But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,
As it call'd at daybreak boldly,

When the dawn look'd grey o'er the misty way,
And the early air blew coldly;

Tick, tick, it said, quick, out of bed,
For five I've given warning;

You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth,
Unless you're up soon in the morning.

Still hourly the sound goes round and round,
With a tone that ceases never;

While tears are shed for the bright days fled,
And the old friends lost for ever!
Its heart beats on,—though hearts are gone
That warmer beat and younger;

Its hands still move,—though hands we love
Are clasped on earth no longer!

Tick,-tick, it said,—to the churchyard bed,
The Grave hath given warning,-
Up, up, and rise, and look to the skies,
And prepare for a Heavenly morning!

THE HUSBAND'S SONG.

RAINY and rough sets the day,-
There's a heart beating for somebody;
I must be
up and away,-

Somebody's anxious for somebody.
Thrice hath she been to the gate,-
Thrice hath she listen'd for somebody;
'Midst the night, stormy and late,
Somebody's waiting for somebody.
There'll be a comforting fire,-

There'll be a welcome for somebody;
One, in her neatest attire,

Will look to the table for somebody.
Though the star's fled from the west,
There is a star yet for somebody,
Lighting the home he loves best,-
Warming the bosom of somebody.

There'll be a coat o'er the chair,

There will be slippers for somebody;
There'll be a wife's tender care,-

Love's fond embracement for somebody.
There'll be the little one's charms,-
Soon 'twill be waken'd for somebody :
When I have both in my arms,

Oh! but how blest will be somebody!

NEAR THEE.

I WOULD be with thee- -near thee- -ever near thee—
Watching thee ever, as the angels are-
Still seeking with my spirit-power to cheer thee,
And thou to see me, but as some bright star,
Knowing me not, but yet oft-times perceiving
That when thou gazest I still brighter grow,
Beaming and trembling-like some bosom heaving
With all it knows, yet would not have thee know.
I would be with thee-fond, yet silent ever,

Nor break the spell in which my soul is bound: Mirror'd within thee as within a river;

A flower upon thy breast, and thou the ground; That when I died, and unto death return'd,

Our natures never more might parted be;
Within thy being all mine own inurn'd—
Life, bloom, and beauty, all absorbed in thee!

WHAT IS NOBLE?

WHAT is noble?-to inherit

Wealth, estate, and proud degree?—
There must be some other merit

Higher yet than these for me!—
Something greater far must enter
Into life's majestic span,

Fitted to create and centre
True nobility in man.

What is noble ?-'tis the finer
Portion of our mind and heart,
Link'd to something still diviner

Than mere language can impart :