94 THE SHIPWRECK OF CAMOËNS. For still, while with his strong right arm He buffeted the wave, The other upheld that treasured prize Was, then, the love of pelf so strong, No! all earth's gold were dross to him, Through lonely years of changeless woe, For there was all the mind's rich wealth, That, in after years, he hoped might form Nobly he struggled, till o'erspent, His nerveless limbs no more Could bear him on through the waves that rose Like barriers to the shore; Yet still he held his long-prized wealth, He saw the wished-for land A moment more, and he was thrown Alas! far better to have died TO THE CRICKET. BY THE REVEREND THOMAS COLE. SPRIGHTLY Cricket, chirping still Those with whom thou dost reside. Nor shall thy good-omened strain Thou, a harmless inmate deemed, Thou art happier, happier, far, 96 96 TO THE CRICKET. For a summer month or two Every day and every night SONG. BY MISS LANDON. ARE other eyes beguiling, Love? Are other white arms wreathing, Love? Are other fond sighs breathing, Love? Ah, heed them not; but call to mind The arms, the sighs, you leave behindAll thine, Love. SONG. Then gaze not on other eyes, Love; All thine own, 'mid gladness, Love; 97 RECOLLECTIONS. I'VE pleasant thoughts, that memory brings, in moments free from care, Of a fairy-like and laughing girl, with roses in her hair; Her smile was like the starlight of summer's softest skies, And worlds of joyousness there shone from out her witching eyes. Her looks were looks of melody, her voice was like the swell Of sudden music, gentle notes, that of deep gladness tell; She came like spring, with pleasant sounds of sweetness and of mirth, And her thoughts were those wild, flowery thoughts, that linger not on earth. LYRE. K 98 RECOLLECTIONS. A quiet goodness beamed amid the beauty of her face, And all she said and did was with its own instinctive grace; She seemed as if she thought the world a good and pleasant one, And her light spirit saw no ill in aught beneath the sun. I've dreamed of just such creatures, but they never met my view, 'Mid the sober, dull reality, in their earthly form and hue. And her smile came gently over me, like springs first scented airs, And made me think life was not all a wilderness of cares. I know not of her destiny, or where her smile now strays, But the thought of her comes o'er me, with my own lost sunny days, With moonlight hours, and far-off friends, and many pleasant things That have gone the way of all the earth, on Time's resistless wings. |