"PROSPERITY, LIKE THE SWALLOW, COMES AND GOES: TO-DAY THERE IS THE RUINOUS CLAY 414 THIS LIFE IS BUT A MOMENT'S SPARROW-FLIGHT-(SMITH) ALEXANDER SMITH. AND STRAW; TO-MORROW SWEETEST TWITTERINGS FILL OUR EAVES."-ALEXANDER SMITH. "THE SADDEST GRAVE THAT EVER TEARS KEPT GREEN MUST SINK AT LAST-(SMITH) The truth that checks the blood, and makes the temples gray: The light of thy sunrise Dwells deep in memory's eyes, And I feel as bare as winter in the thick leaf-coming May. O youth, youth, youth, Time has neither rest nor ruth. Her garments scented with the May; Dancing in the sheer excess Of a thoughtless happiness. HAS NEVER MADE THE FULL AND PERFECT MAN."-SMITH. UNTO THE COMMON LEVEL OF THE WORLD, THEN O'ER IT RUNS A ROAD."-SMITH. "STUFF YOUR SHOP-WINDOWS THICKLY WITH YOUR GOODS ;-(SMITH) 416 ALEXANDER SMITH. Her smile is bright, but very shallow, Thoughtful days without a stir, "WHEN LORD CHRIST COMES TO HIS OWN, THE TIMES OF WAR ARE O'ER:-(ALEXANDER SMITH) UPON HIS RAIMENT THERE ARE STAINS OF BLOOD, BUT 'TIS HIS OWN, FOR HE CAN ONLY LOVE."-SMITH. "FAMILIAR THINGS ENOUGH TO YOU AND ME,—(a. Smith) Sing to the Spring-but through the Spring I look And hear a sad, unmated redbreast wail, For I am tortured by a boding eye That, gazing on the morning's glorious grain, Sweet is thy song, O merle! and sweetly sung [From "Last Leaves," by Alexander Smith. This bright lyric, full of spring-time glow and music, is characterized by a thoughtful critic in the Spectator as "clear, sweet, and beautiful, quite the finest thing Smith ever wrote."] "CHRIST MADE ALL, AND LAYS HIS EAR SO CLOSE UNTO THE WORLD-(ALEXANDER SMITH) B SONNE T. EAUTY still walketh on the earth and air: As ere the Iliad's music was outrolled; The roses of the spring are ever fair, 'Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair, So, if we are at all divinely souled, This beauty will unloose our bonds of care. 'Tis pleasant when blue skies are o'er us bending TAKE A STRANGE GLORY FROM THE POET'S MIND."—SMITH. THAT, IN LONE DESERT, PERIL, OR THICK NIGHT, A WHISPERED PRAYER CAN REACH IT."-SMITH. "THE NOBLE ARTIST FINDS ENOUGH REWARD, WHILE THE PURE NYMPH IS GROWING FROM THE STONE, "THAT TERRIBLEST OF VIRTUES, TRUTHFULNESS."-ALEXANDER SMITH. ["Mong branches green still ring-doves coo and pair."] To meet a soul set to no worldly tune, [From "Poems," edition 1856.] IN THE SWEET SMILE WITH WHICH SHE BLESSES HIM FOR LOVELINESS AND IMMORTALITY."-A. SMITH. Robert Southey. [THE poetical character of this most able and laborious writer has not unfairly been summed up by Lord Jeffrey :-Southey, he says, is a poet undoubtedly, but not of the highest order. There is rather more of rhetoric than of inspiration about him; and we have oftener to admire his taste and industry in borrowing and adorning, than the boldness or felicity of his inventions. He has indisputably a great gift of amplifying and exalting, but uses it, we must say, rather unmercifully. He is never plain, concise, or unaffectedly simple; and is so much bent upon making the most of everything that he is perpetually overdoing. "HONEY IN WHICH THE BEES HAVE LEFT THEIR STINGS.A. SMITH. |