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Farewell, farewell, whate'er of thee
The kindly sacred soil may claim!
The hand, in giving free;
And ah, thy tender frame;
Pure lip, and patient brow,
Farewell-not thou;

For where the holy fount is set,
That eye of flesh did never see,

From fears delivered, yet
May we rejoice with thee!
With pulses thrilling far
Past sun and star.

J. R. Mozley.



Voltaire, O Christian souls! for this was sent,
To break the slumber of our vain content.
Whate'er his faults in conduct or in creed,
He taught a truth whereof the world had need;
That cruelty, howe'er begirt with awe
By conqueror's pride or customary law,
Or by religion's sacred seeming name,
Affixes on its doer guilt and shame;
And that howe'er the crown of endless life
Excels the baubles of our earthly strife,
Yet plain and visible experience still
Must be to us the test of good or ill;
We may be doubtful of the seed when sown ;
The fruit's true flavour surely shall be known.
He erred, opposing error; deep disguise
Had veiled the true from truth-pursuing eyes.
He erred against the strong; the weak oppressed
Found him a helper, and their wrongs redressed.

7. R. Mozley.

ergo iubemus, quod sibi vindicat
sacrata de te terra, novissimum
valere: largiri valeto

prompta manus, tenera ista forma labrumque castum et frons patiens mali: tu tu superstes: namque oculos ubi celata mortales origo

fallit, alens elementa vitae, speramus et nos deposito metu gaudere tecum, sanguine plenius fervente vena, Solis ultra limina sidereosque tractus.


E. D. S.


Missus ad hoc Voltur, qui vanae insomnia mentis—
credite Christicolae-securaque rumperet oti
vincula; iudicia et mores culpaveris: esto:
verum illud tamen edocuit, quod oportuit omnes
discere, saevitiam, quam majestate superbus
munierit victor, lex sanciat, ipsaque honesto
nomine Relligio perversa sacraverit, ingens
flagitium sonti, causamque pudoris habendam.
sit potior nugis quas nos sectamur avari
immortalis honos aeternaque gloria palmae,
quid noceat tamen et prosit, nos edocet usus
communis iudex: semen commiseris arvo
quale sit ignorans, maturos poma sapores
monstrabunt satis; erravit, dum erroribus obstat
noster, et offusa est oculis qui vera petebant
caligo vera involvens; erravit, in hostes
arma gerens validos: at si quem iniuria laesit
oppressum, vindex acerrimus exstitit idem.


Go away, Death!

You have come too soon.

To sunshine and song I but just awaken

And the dew on my heart is undried and unshaken;

Come back at noon.


Go away, Death!
What a short reprieve!

The mists of the morning have vanished, I roam
Through a world bright with wonder, and feel it my home;

Come back at eve.


Go away, Death!
See, it still is light.

Over earth broods a quiet more blissful than glee,
And the beauty of sadness lies low on the sea;

Come back at night.


Come to me, Death!
I no more would stay.

The night-owl hath silenced the linnet and lark,
And the wailing of wisdom sounds sad in the dark;
Take me away.

A. Austin.


The sun is not abed when I

At night upon my pillow lie,
Still round the earth his way he takes
And morning after morning wakes.
While here at home in shining day
We round the sunny garden play,
Each little Indian sleepy-head
Is being kissed and put to bed.
And when at eve I rise from tea
Day dawns beyond the Atlantic sea,
And all the children in the west
Are getting up and being dressed.

R. L. Stevenson.


Hinc, hinc abi Mors! cur properas nimis?
vixdum sopores carmine sol novus
dissolvit, intactique rores

corda lavunt: medio reverti

aestu licebit: quid? spatium breve concedis: hinc te corripe; vanuit qui rura matutinus umor condiderat ; nitidum pererro

miratus orbem: dat propriam domum tellus; reversam vespere nil moror :nunquamne, Mors, absistis? almam cernis adhuc superesse lucem;

porrecta terris laetitiam quies evincit, undas dulce crepusculum tristes serenat: tu redibis

nocte :-veni! reducem saluto:

nam strix alaudae strix acalanthidis
pressit querellas; et monitus gemens
instillat horrendos per umbram;
ire volo capias volentem.


τοῖσι λάμπει μὲν μένος ἀελίου

E. D. S.

Sol non dormit, ubi meum pulvinar tacita nocte levat caput. circum orbem ruit impiger aurorasque facit perpetuum novas. claro dum fruimur die apricoque domi ludimus hortulo, nutrix sedula languidis Indorum pueris oscula dividit.

mensam ut vespere desero,

lucet prima dies trans mare Atlanticum, et quicunque Hesperiam colit,

tum surgit tunicamque induitur puer.



[A ragged girl in Drury Lane was heard to exclaim, "Dickens dead? Then will Father Christmas die too?" June 9th, 1870.]

"Dickens is dead!" Beneath that grievous cry London seemed shivering in the summer heat; Strangers took up the tale like friends that meet, "Dickens is dead," said they, and hurried by ; Street children stopped their games-they knew not why, But some new night seemed darkening down the street. A girl in rags, staying her way-worn feet,

Cried "Dickens dead? Will Father Christmas die?"

City he loved, take courage on thy way!

He loves thee still, in all thy joys and fears.

Though he whose smile made bright thine eyes of grey-
Though he whose voice, uttering thy burthened years,
Made laughter bubble through thy sea of tears-
Is gone, Dickens returns on Christmas Day!

Theodore Watts-Dunton.



Oh, like a queen's her happy tread,
And like a queen her golden head!
But oh, at last, when all is said,
Her woman's heart for me!

We wandered where the river gleamed
'Neath oaks that mused and pines that dreamed.

A wild thing of the woods she seemed,
So proud, and pure, and free!

All heaven drew nigh to hear her sing,
When from her lips her soul took wing;
The oaks forgot their pondering,
The pines their reverie.

And oh, her happy queenly tread,
And oh, her queenly golden head!
But oh, her heart, when all is said,

Her woman's heart for me!

W. Watson.

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