THE HISTORY OF A LIFE.

BY BARRY CORNWALL (PROCTER).

Day dawned-Within a curtained room,
Filled to faintness with perfume,

A lady lay at point of doom.

Day closed:-A child had seen the light;
But for the lady, fair and bright,
She rested in undreaming night.

Spring rose :-The Lady's grave was green;
And near it often-times was seen
A gentle Boy, with thoughtful mien.

Years fled: -He wore a manly face,
And struggled in the world's rough race,
And won, at last, a lofty place.

And then-he died! Behold, before ye,
Humanity's poor sum and story;
Life,-Death,-and all that is of Glory.

THE STORMY PETREL.

BY BARRY CORNWALL (PROCTER).

A thousand miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:
The sails are scattered abroad, like weeds;
The strong masts shake like quivering reeds;
The mighty cables, and iron chains,

The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,
They strain and they crack, and hearts like stone
Their natural hard proud strength disown.

Up and down! Up and down!

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,

And amidst the flashing and feathery foam

The Stormy Petrel finds a home,

A home, if such a place may be,

For her who lives on the wide wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,

And only seeketh her rocky lair

To warm her young, and to teach them spring
At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!

O'er the Deep! O'er the Deep!

Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep,
Outflying the blast and the driving rain,

The Petrel telleth her tale-in vain ;

For the mariner curseth the warning bird,

Who bringeth him news of the storms unheard!
-Ah! thus does the prophet, of good or ill,
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still:
Yet he ne'er falters :-So, Petrel! spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!

EXTRACT FROM FESTUS.1

BY PHILIP JAMES BAILEY.

Love is the happy privilege of the mind—
Love is the reason of all living things.
A Trinity there seems of principles,
Which represent and rule created life-

The love of self, our fellows, and our God.

1 Mr Bailey's great poem "Festus," which has been viewed as an exponent of much of what is working in the social system of European nations, has not yet had time to ripen into estimation and popularity. "It has already," says a writer in Lowe's Magazine, August 1848, "gone through three or four editions; and several more, it is probable, will be called for before it has produced the full effect upon the literary and imaginative mind of our time which it is calculated to produce."-"His fervour is of a lofty, serious, and manly cast; his sense of beauty most keen and varied; his imagination free, bold, indeed absolutely fearless, and exceedingly original." The plan of the poem is that of Goethe's "Faust" we subjoin the following few lines as additional examples of its style and imagery:

'Tis earth shall lead destruction; she shall end-
The stars shall wonder why she comes no more

On her accustomed orbit, and the sun

Miss one of his apostle lights; the moon,

An orphan orb, shall seek for earth for aye,

Through time's untrodden depths, and find her not;

No more shall morn out of the holy east,

Stream o'er the ambient air her level light,

Nor evening, with her spectral fingers, draw

Her star-spread curtain round the head of earth:

Her footsteps, never thence again shall grace
The blue sublime of heaven.

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THE SEASONS SUGGESTIVE OF FAITH IN GOD.

In all throughout one common feeling reigns:
Each doth maintain, and is maintained by the other:
All are compatible-all needful; one

To life,―to virtue one,—and one to bliss;
Which thus together make the power, the end,
And the perfection of created Being.

From these three principles doth every deed,
Desire, and will, and reasoning, good or bad, come;
To these they all determine-sum and scheme :
The three are one in centre and in round;
Wrapping the world of life as do the skies
Our world. Hail! air of love, by which we live!
How sweet, how fragrant! Spirit, though unseen
Void of gross sign-is scarce a simple essence,
Immortal, immaterial, though it be.

One only simple essence liveth-God,—
Creator, uncreate. The brutes beneath,
The angels high above us, with ourselves,
Are but compounded things of mind and form.
In all things animate is therefore cored
An elemental sameness of existence;
For God, being Love, in love created all,
As he contains the whole and penetrates.
Seraphs love God, and angels love the good:
We love each other; and these lower lives,
Which walk the earth in thousand diverse shapes,
According to their reason, love us too:

The most intelligent affect us most.

Nay, man's chief wisdom's love-the love of God.
The new religion-final, perfect, pure-

Was that of Christ and love. His great command-
His all-sufficing precept-was't not love?
Truly to love ourselves we must love God,-
To love God we must all his creatures love,-
To love his creatures, both ourselves and Him.
Thus love is all that's wise, fair, good, and happy!

THE SEASONS SUGGESTIVE OF FAITH IN GOD.

BY REGINALD Heber, d.d., LATE BISHOP OF CALCUTTA.

When Spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil; When Summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil; When Winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood ;In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.

The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade; The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade; The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way,

The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display.

Shall man, the lord of Nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny ?

No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour Thee.

The flowers of Spring may wither, the hope of Summer fade, The Autumn droop in Winter, the birds forsake the shade; The winds be lull'd-the sun and moon forget their old decree, But we in Nature's latest hour, O Lord! will cling to Thee.

EARLY PIETY.

BY REGINALD HEBER, D.D., LATE BISHOP OF CALCUTTA.

By cool Siloam's shady rill
How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose !

Lo such the child whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod;

Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God!

By cool Siloam's shady rill

The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wint'ry hour

Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy passion's rage!

O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within Thy Father's shrine !

Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,
Were all alike Divine;

Dependent on Thy bounteous breath,

We seek Thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age, and death,
To keep us still Thine own!

THE SILENT EVE.

BY D. M. MOIR (DELTA).

Lo! in the south, a silver star,
With amber radiance, shines afar ;-
The eldest daughter of the night,
In glory warm, in beauty bright.
Thou diamond in the pathless dome
Of azure, whither dost thou come?—
Far-far, within the orbless blue,
A tiny lustre twinkles through,
With distant and unsteady light,
To catch the eye, then mock the sight;
Till-as the shades of Darkness frown,
And throw their viewless curtains down,
The very veil that mantles earth
Awakens thee to brighter birth,
And bids thee glow with purer ray,
A lily on the tomb of Day!

No more to weep, *
But in soothing sleep

To slumber on long ages through ;—
My grave-turf bright
With the rosy light

Of eve, or the morning's silver dew!

For all my dreams,

And vision'd gleams,

Are not like those of this earthly span;

My spirit would stray

For ever away

From the noise of strife, and the haunts of man.

I ask no dirge.

The foaming surge

Of the torrent will sing a lament for me;