Exceeding peace had made Bon Athem bold,
And to the presence in the room

he said,

"What writest thou?" "The vision raised its head And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord ?" " and is mine one," said Abou. "Wey, not to " so." Replied the engel.. Abou spoke more low, But chearly still; and said, "I pray there then, Write me as one, that loves his fellow men. The angel wrote, and venishd. _ the west night with a great wakening light.

It came again,

And shewd the names whom love of god had blesid, And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the vest

Leigh Hunt

ABOU BEN ADHEM.

ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,

"What writest thou?"-The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,

Answered- "The names of those who love the Lord." "And is mine one?" said Abou; "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel.—Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.”

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night

It came again, with a great wakening light,

And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

LEIGH HUNT.

MONTROSE TO HIS MISTRESS.

My dear and only love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhor,
I'll call a synod in my heart,
And never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.

But I will reign and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe;
But 'gainst my batteries if I find

Thou storm or vex me sore,

As if thou set me as a blind,

I'll never love thee more.

TOO LATE I STAYED.

And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,

If others do pretend a part,

Or dare to share with me;
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
As ne'er was known before;

I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and more.

JAMES GRAHAME, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

TOO LATE I STAYED.

Too late I stayed-forgive the crime;
Unheeded flew the hours:

How noiseless falls the foot of Time

That only treads on flowers!

And who, with clear account, remarks

The ebbings of his glass,

When all its sands are diamond sparks,
That dazzle as they pass?

SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE.

Ah! who to sober measurement

Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of paradise have lent

Their plumage to his wings?

ROBERT WILLIAM SPENCER.

SHE IS A MAID OF ARTLESS GRACE.

SHE is a maid of artless grace,

Gentle in form, and fair of face.

Tell me, thou ancient mariner,
That sailest on the sea,
If ship, or sail, or evening star,
Be half so fair as she!

Tell me, thou gallant cavalier,
Whose shining arms I see,

If steed, or sword, or battle-field,

Be half so fair as she!

Tell me, thou swain, that guard'st thy flock

Beneath the shadowy tree,

If flock, or vale, or mountain-ridge,

Be half so fair as she!

Translation of HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

GIL VICENTE. (Portuguese.)