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Here its calm strength her hillside rears

From heaving slopes of clover;
Here still the pewit pipes and flits
Within his furzy cover.

Here hums the wild-bee in the thyme,
Here glows the royal heather;

And youth comes back upon the breeze,

And youth's unclouded weather.

FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.

P

FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT.

RUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control
That o'er thee swell and throng;

They will condense within thy soul,

And change to purpose strong.

But he who lets his feelings run

In soft luxurious flow,

Shrinks when hard service must be done,

And faints at every woe.

Faith's meanest deed more favour bears,
Where hearts and wills are weigh'd,
Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
Which bloom their hour and fade.

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN.

PLEASURE AND PAIN.

HO can determine the frontier of Pleasure?
Who can distinguish the limits of Pain ?
Where is the moment the feeling to
measure?

Where is experience repeated again?

Ye who have felt the delirium of passion-
Say, can ye sever its joys and its pangs?
Is there a power in calm contemplation

To indicate each upon each as it hangs?

I would believe not ;-for spirit will lanquish
While sense is most blest and creation most bright;
And life will be dearer and clearer in anguish
Than ever was felt in the throbs of delight.

See the Fakeer as he swings on his iron,

See the thin Hermit that starves in the wild; Think ye no pleasures the penance environ,

And hope the sole bliss by which pain is beguiled?

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No! in the kingdom those spirits are reaching,

Vain are our words the emotions to tell;

Vain the distinctions our senses are teaching,

For Pain has its Heaven and Pleasure its Hell!
RICHARD, LORD HOUGHTON.

THE HIDDEN SELF.

KNOW not if a keener smart

Can come to finer souls than his
Who hears men praise him, mind or heart,
For something higher than he is ;-

Who fain would say: "Behold me, friends,
That which I am, not what you deem
A thing of low and narrow ends,

Sordid, not golden as I seem;

"See here the hidden blot of shame,

The weak thought that you take for strong,

The brain too dull to merit fame,

The faint and imitative song ;"

But dares not, lest discovery foul

Not his name only, but degrade

Heights closed but to the soaring soul,

Names which scorn trembles to invade ;

K

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