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As home his footsteps he hath turned,
SIR W. Scott.
A sensitive plant in a garden grew,
The snow.drop, and then the violet,
And their breath was mixed with fresh odour,
sent From the turf, like the voice and the instrument.
Then the pied wind-flowers, and the tulip tall,
And the hayacinth, purple, white, and blue,
And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose,
clime Grew in that garden, in perfect prime.
STANZAS ON FREEDOM.
Men! whose boast it is that ye
If there breathe on earth a slave,
do not feel the chain
Woman! who shall one day bear
hear, without a blush,
Is true freedom but to break
They are slaves who fear to speak
They are slaves who will not choose
Commit thou all thy griefs
And ways into His hands;
Who earth and heaven commands.
Put thou thy trust in God,
In duty's path go on;
So shall thy work be done.
Give to the winds thy fears,
Hope, and be undismay'd ; God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears,
God shall lift up thy head.
Through waves, and clouds, and storms,
He gently clears thy way ;
Shall end in brightest day.
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRLS' SCHOOL.
Hush! 'tis a holy hour—the quiet room Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp
sheds A faint and starry radiance through the gloom, And the sweet stillness, down on bright young heads,
[care, With all their clustering locks, untouched by And bowed, as flowers are bowed with night,
Gaze on, 'tis lovely !-childhood's lip and
cheek, Mantling beneath its earnest boon of thought, Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair and meek,
[wrought ? And fragile things, as but for sunshine Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity !