While the wanton zephyr sings, While the shepherd charms his sheep, Now, even now, my joys run high. Be full, ye courts; be great who will; Seek her on the marble floor : In vain you search, she is not there; In vain you search the domes of care! And often, by the murmuring rill, With the exception of Gray's "Elegy, written in a Country Churchyard," perhaps no poem has been so frequently imitated as Dyer's "Grongar Hill;" and this is no marvel, for its beauties are manifold. "PLEASE TO RING THE BELLE." THOMAS HOOD. FROM WHIMS AND ODDITIES." I'LL tell you a story that's not in Tom Moore :- Now a handmaid, whatever her fingers be at, The meeting was bliss; but the parting was woe; LOVE. JOHN CRITCHLEY PRINCE, BORN AT WIGAN, IN LOVE is an odour from the heavenly bowers, Love smileth on the pilgrim's weary way; FIRST LOVE. FROM "THE MODERN ORLANDO," PUBLISHED ANONY. MOUSLY AT LONDON, IN 1846. FEW hearts have never loved; but fewer still - All's for the best.-The fever and the flame, The pulse, that was a pang; the glance, a sword; The tone, that shot like lightning through the frame, Can shatter us no more:-the rest is but a name ! ITs monks! Yet what have I to do with monks? I doubt if I should give a single sigh If their whole race were in their churchyards flung. Three-fourths of all I saw were born to ploughs, On the rich features of some sainted nun: Rome, Rome! it is not thus that life's high deeds are done. |