o the cold moon a richer, stronger strain, han that with which the lyric lark salutes he new-born day. Her deep and thrilling song eemed with its piercing melody to reach he soul, and in mysterious unison lend with all thoughts of gentleness and love. heir hearts were open to the healing power f nature; and the splendour of the night, he flow of waters, and that sweetest lay ame to them like a copious evening dew, alling on vernal herbs which thirst for rain. THE VALE OF COVADONGO. There was a stirring in the air, the sun Prevailed, and gradually the brightening mist Began to rise and melt. A jutting crag Jpon the right projected o'er the stream, Not farther from the cave than a strong hand Expert, with deadly aim, might cast the spear, Or a strong voice, pitched to full compass, make ts clear articulation heard distinct. ■ venturous dalesman, once ascending there To rob the eagle's nest, had fallen, and hung Among the heather, wondrously preserved: Therefore had he with pious gratitude Placed on that overhanging brow a cross, Tall as the mast of some light fisher's skiff, And from the vale conspicuous. As the Moors Advanced, the chieftain in the van was seen, Known by his arms, and from the crag a voice 248 Pronounced his name-Alchaman, hoa! look up, To shape and substance. In the midst there stood That well-known figure, and had well believed Thus she closed Her speech; for, taking from the Primate's hand Set the whole ruin loose! huge trunks and stones, And loosened crags, down, down they rolled with rush Echo prolonged . POVERTY. Aye, Idleness! the rich folks never fail To find some reason why the poor deserve Their miseries! - Is it idleness I pray you, That brings the fever or the ague fit? That makes the sick one's sickly appetite Turn at the dry bread and potatoe meal? Is it idleness that makes small wages fail For-growing wants? Six years ago, these bells Rung on my wedding-day, and I was told What I might look for, -but I did not heed Good counsel. I had lived in service, Sir, Knew never what it was to want a meal: Laid down without one thought to keep me sleepless, Or trouble me in sleep; had for a Sunday My linen gown, and when the pedlar came Could buy me a new ribbon. And my husband, A towardly young man and well to do. He had his silver buckles and his watch; There was not in the village one who looked Sprucer on holidays. We married, Sir, And we had children, but as wants increased Wages did not. The silver buckles went, So went the watch; and when the holiday coat Was worn to work, no new one in its place. For me you see my rags! but I deserve them, For wilfully, like this new married pair, I went to my undoing. But the Parish Aye, it falls heavy there; and yet their pittance ust serves to keep life in. A blessed prospect, To slave while there is strength, in age the workhouse, A parish shell at last, and the little bell Tolled hastily for a pauper's funeral! Is this your child? Aye, Sir; and were he drest And cleaned, he'd be as fine a boy to look on As the Squire's young master. These thin rags of his Let comfortably in the summer wind; But when the winter comes, it pinches me SLAVERY. Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep |