TEN YEARS AGO.

TEN years ago-ten years ago—
Life was to us a fairy scene;
And the keen blasts of worldly woe

Had sered not then its pathway green;
Youth and its thousand dreams were ours,—
Feelings we ne'er can know again,-
Unwithered hopes-unwasted powers,
And frames unworn by mortal pain ;-
Such was the bright and genial flow
Of life with us-ten years ago!

Time has not blanched a single hair,
That clusters round thy forehead now;
Nor hath the cankering touch of Care
Left even one furrow on thy brow;
Thine eyes are blue as when we met,
In love's deep truth in earlier years;
Thy cheek of rose is blooming yet,

Though somewhat stained by secret tears;-
But where, oh where's the spirit's glow
That shone through all-ten years ago?

I too am changed-I scarce know why;-
Can feel each flagging pulse decay,
And youth, and health, and visions high
Melt like a wreath of snow away!—
Time cannot sure have wrought the ill!
Though worn in this world's sickening strife,
In soul and form-I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below-
Oh! how unlike-ten years ago!

But look not thus-I would not give

The wreck of hopes that thou must share,

To bid those joyous hours revive,

When all around me seemed so fair!

We've wandered on in sunny weather,

When winds were low, and flowers in bloom,
And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom,
Endeared by ties we could not know
When life was young-ten years ago!

Has fortune frowned? Her frowns were vain!
For hearts like ours she could not chill.
Have friends proved false? Their love might wane!
But ours grew fonder, firmer, still.

Twin barks on this world's changing wave,
Stedfast in calms-in tempests tried-
In concert still our fate we'll brave;
Together cleave life's fitful tide,

Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago!

Have we not knelt beside his bed,

And watched our first-born blossom die?
Hoped-till the shade of hope had fled,
Then wept till feeling's fount was dry?
Was it not sweet, in that dark hour

To think-mid mutual tears and sighs-
Our bud had left its earthly bower

And burst to bloom in Paradise?
What to the thought that soothed that woe
Were heartless joys-ten years ago?

Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright,
To share its sunny beams with thee!
But sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight,
To have thee near to weep with me.
Then dry those tears-though something changed
From what we were in earlier youth.

Time that hath friends and hopes estranged,
Hath left us love in all its truth ;—

Sweet feelings we would not forego
For life's best joys-ten years ago!

February 3, 1824.

A. A. W.

LINES

SENT WITH AN HOUR GLASS TO A LADY ON NEW YEAR'S DAY.

YES all things fade away

That the soul cherishes and seeks on earth ;Fair flowers! that do but bloom their summer's day, And are forgot--their being and their birth.

Youth hath its favoured hour,

Of fancies, and high hopes, and dazzling dreams; It flies and with it all the glittering dower That to young bosoms the securest seems!

And Manhood's hour comes next,

Fevered and filled with the world's active thought; Schemes, and ambitions ;-till the spirit vexed,Finds that its hour hath fled--and left it nought!

Shortest and last is thine,

Wasted in vain regrets and memories-Age! For while thy retrospects too brightly shine, The sand ebbs out-so doth thy pilgrimage!

Thus pleasure hath its hour!

And grief and pain and peril have no more; Hatred, and love, but the same transient power, Time but remains-ruling as heretofore!

On--conqueror of the earth!

And fold not yet thy world-destroying wing! Still reign--while scattering man's work and worth, Omnipotent! o'er each created thing!

Thy end will come, Oh Time!

When thou, a conqueror shalt conquered be; Thyself, thy victories, and thy power sublime, No more remembered-in Eternity!

Leeds Intelligencer.

M. J. J.

THE COVENANTER'S HEATHER-BED.

This poem, suggested by the picture representing the Temptation of St. Anthony, by Teniers, exemplifies the different aspect which the same subject and situation would assume when clothed in the images supplied by Scottish Puritanism.

A STORMY night and dark, had closed a gloomy day,
And couched upon the heath a Covenanter lay;

His feet were tired and damp, with the clays of many a hill,
And in his sleeping ear the wind was roaring still;

When the powers of darkness thronged with persevering spite,
To tempt his weary soul 'mid the visions of the night.

And first a black one came, and said, with scornful eye,
Come, Jonathan, get up, and your merits let us try;
If you be strong in faith, here take me by the hand,
Pull up while I draw down,-we'll see who best can stand ;-
When flames break out beneath us, and yawning earth is riven,
"Twill then be brought to proof what hold you have on heaven.

You boldly walk by day, while sunshine warms the ground; The breeze cheers up your heart, and the wild bee hums around, But when our dark hour comes, your songs and vaunts decrease, And, trusting to your works, you fain would sleep in peace ;— But if in works you trust, I have witnesses behind,

Who can speak of former deeds, and recall them to your mind,'

And then straightway the fiend for another fiend made room,
Who carried in his hand a sprig of yellow broom,

And said, 'This broom was cut in that glen of gowans fine,
Where you were wont in youth to drive a herd of kine;
For its crystal brook you deemed that glen beyond compare,
But more for a blue-eyed girl, who also herded there.

When with her you would sit, one plaid encircled both, You called yourself her true love to her you pledged your troth; But when you grew a man, and was master of some sheep, And saw some farmers' daughters, you left her there to weep;

Among the lonely knolls her heart sobbed out its pain,
And 'twas said her silken snood ne'er tied so well again.'

The one who next appeared, a tattered bible bore,
And said, 'when first in youth you left your mother's door,
With swimming eyes she came, this book she bade you take,
And keep it as her gift, and read it for her sake;
But scarce two days were past, ere at a drunken fair
You lost it in the streets, to be soiled and trampled there.'

A

The next who came to taunt, a piece of money showed,
And said, 'When paying last a neighbour what you owed,
He was an aged man, and somewhat thick of sight,
And you therefore slid this coin among others that were bright;
But the edge was partly worn, and the brass that glared behind
Disgraced its silver coat, like a secret sinner's mind.'

Tormented thus and stung by many a bitter word,

'The last,' he cries, is false !' and starts and grasps his sword.
Around on every side, his furious strokes he plies,
Among their flitting shapes, among their glaring eyes;
But laughing at his rage, on sooty wings they fled,
And a new rattling shower assailed his heather-bed.
Blackwood's Magazine.

1

LOVE.

NAY, pray thee, let me weep, for tears
Are Love's most fitting offerings;
I'll weep his smiles, I'll weep his sighs,
But, more than all, I'll weep his wings.

I'll weep his smiles, for first they taught
My young heart what his sighs could be;
I'll weep his wings, for they have borne
Away the truth you plighted me.

Literary Gazette.