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" / (la.i'l illtflllidn (III tlif sillrih: «•('»., .Il,:' Ihnllllit I Slir ilili'tltT hl'lllil h'')ir.'' — r,i:-r I'.'. ^mmmm^ ^. ■ ■♦ • • »»•'•>»•••• ••#••• •_••_• ■ ♦ • 6^ _ _ ejiii&l S.^-^- I.: j'.isi im: Horns A Sl-.l IXrioN nr sill »R r r< >i;.M^ lit 111 ^^"^ ii' 1^- ^■^^^ •! iVli5crUaurous .scraps, il, ^.)i^:.^ % 4}>3 If !;■, .1<. Ill\' A. 1. \Mi' \N'. • \"ii .;ii)iliu-! luici i-i|iii' I'. into." — ///;-.(0\ tji'. iii, O'li' 1. '■ I'lflioM ,11 ihrse \vli;it liisiire hmirs ili'iu (iiil. AllllKrllUMlt .lllil tl'Uf kllfl\vli/ilu(! haiiil ill liiii'l."--' '('■/" ' • 7, f ^ i)' ^^ ^^iMM-i^ii^-'€ M i'n;i.i>[ii.i) ]',\ rill. .\r ihok. c^|| r UNIVEF-ISITY MOUNT ALLISON LlBRAF^Y. "n J f Kntercd, according to Act of C ongress, A. D. 1870. Bv JOHN A. LANIGAN in the office of the Librarian of C o'lgress, at Washington, J), c. v'/,. «.«,*„.,. o.. .,,., ,v.,r. w .,//>,.,., ,;,,,,,,;^:^ •I() Thk rev. JAMES A. LANKiAN rilK SKCONl) KDirioN OF T" f ESE rOEMS IS MOST R KS I'KC 1' IT I.I.N 1 )K 1 ) I CA T I'. I » r. V HIS r.oviNc nkoTiiEk, l>s rHK AITHOR ? ^ 'Wl P R F. !•■ A C K . Ai/i'ilouoii it has of late heccjinc fashiunaljle among authors, to attribute the publication of their works to the ■ un'/icst (Diif repeated so/ieil(r/i(iiis of a /lost of friends, I regret that I cannot ccjnforni myself to the general rule eA etiquette on this |)oint. My only apology for intruding myself, or rather my woi'k, on the j)ublic is, that, a> the fust edition iA my poems met w iih ;. ■.. Misiderable success, tlie second, I, hope, may receive ec^iial, if not greater. fa\r)r from the public. Tastes (lifter wiih individual> ; one _Ielight> in the t be sati'-lied. a> I am at pioeni. with the coUNciousne^s that he has done all thiU laid in his power to plea>e himself. ( >f course, therein 1 ha^e not incurred censure, for >uch i> the jirecept ol wisdom. Jt ma) be asked \\\\\ neai^l}' all my poems relate in scmie way, either direcll}' or indirectly, to N true Nova Scotia is not ver} well known here, and there are some "• .o, on lieing introduced to a \ova Scotian, would be vei \ much surprised if hi> nasal orp-ans were no' greeted with the flavor of fisJi. \\\\\. belie\e me, this is a sad mistake. Xo place in America i-> blessed with a healthie- 'imate, none more abounding in >cenerv ecjual, ■*■ not >:'perior, to any part of the ihuKon or St. Lawrence, Xor must we imagine . covered \\ith -now, as some, either owing t(j the inrmdvr characlei- of their nature-, or the exuberance of their imaginations, have said; for. although there is a heallliy frost (juite sufficient to give a rosy appearance to the conii)lexion without the assistance of paint, vel the winter i-> not -o changeable as in other ])lace^, and hence more healthv. In a word, a trip to nii; i.vnp .m \\\y, M\v-tf,nwiR wouhl not be without interest. Thi^ l.ongk'lh,\v, in his "I'lvANtiKMNE," Mrs. — -. ill her •• I'm \\\\ r ihickley's " I'encilling.s by the Way,"" and Murdoch"- •• jlisi,,ry of Acadia,'" jjlainly demonstrate. To conclude; if in this blih' volume 1 can offer a tribute of lo\e which will repay, e\en in part, ilie debt of gratitude which I owe to my native hind, j will re-l satisfied; tlu' rest I lea\e to the iutiin^ic \alue of the ])oems themscKcs. AWV'.A' 7'c) lOIAWlE. I.NTI!Ol>l ( 'i loX. — ' Ai AlMA. M\ IIoMl' liV Till: S|:a."' lvissiN< l^iiiixi:, 'rin. W \\ni.;{i-.u'-> KinruN. LiM'S. AVKiTii N i'ri;i\(. A I'iirMii:i; M(.i;m. Tiir. Todu Hi.iNii Man, To MV <'l.l> N'lol.lN TiiiVK oi' Mi: OHK lo MV I [at, I>i:atii nj. A Pakkmi To Caimui , !'K('riii:( V, Tni'; Lk.h'i iiorsi: I i»l! i;\l:i! ANM Anon Canadian I{k\ ii:wi:i{s; a ! in Munmjkai, ('(»i.i,i:(.!:, . Links tix riih; Hiuninc oi Sika'^im i.m. (,'ai iikhkai. A Li; 1 I i.k. /'":/,■. 1.'! lo \^ l;i I'l 25 •2i\ 2S ;m ni .•!2 at 40 71 7!) Si> 90 ^ XI 1 Index to I 'o/iinic. MISCKLLAMlOl.S S( ILM'S. To Kl.r.A AnsWKI! to some Sa1!( ASIK \"i;i;vis \\\ .1. I» ( To l.i/zii:, ON in:ii Biutiidav, Impromi'Tu at an Evi:NiN- I'm To Anna Ili'iTAru ON .MV Si>ii:i:. IjInks Writti;n in an Ai.ium. Links to a Fimi:ni> To Annie <)I)K TO TIIIO Lii.v To Hannah, wkitii.n in iii;i; Ai.i:i \i. 'I'llE HuNTEH's Mo1{NIN<. S.l\(, Moral, I.AIJK. KE, . -V, Ki:T-li00K !»:; !)S \m 10(1 1(11 KIL' 108 KM 10.-, 10(J , . !»:; 9(5 . !»(J i)7 iOOK !)S . 99 10(1 . 10(1 101 . lOL' 108 . 101 lor. . 10(] A f:^ T^ LEISURE HOURS iNTRODic rrox ACAD/ A. MV HOME BY riTE SKA. A AV'A V o'er the l)liie rolling waters, ^ To Acadia's fair (lime tonight, i\[\ heart, with true natixe deNotioii, Wanders back, in its joyous delight, To the friends whom so tondK' [ cherish. To the scenes where 1 whispered irood-hye: And oh! sooner shall memory perish Than the thoughts of Acadia die. (2) 14 Lcism-c Jlours. "Out, out on thy calm waters rowing, Where I chanted thv sweet sono;s ])v niLdit, I gazed on each form 'mid tlie glowing '.rhat shone from the pJiospJioric light; Out. out on thv calm waters steerinti; ] am ( hanting thy sweet songs once more. And list lor vour frigate's wild cheerinii- As the anthem they loudly encore. •• When the moon o'er the waters is beaminu-. Do vou think of the one who 's awav, l)at whose heart on this eve in its dreamina'. Vax back to Acadia doth stra\? Oil! dear to m\ heart are thy places. A(^adia. thou gem of tlie sea ! Hut dearer liy far are the taces Of the friends wlio were comrades with me. "•And now in m\ lone ( liamber silting. As, des[)on(lent, 1 muse here to-night. Sweet visions of ])leasure are flitting Around in the evening's dim light: J.cisi/rr Ifoius. 15 Thcrt arc sit\vard, Where a streamlet ^j^entl)' i^lides. Stands an ancient little ^tone bridi-e, (Ireen by time and worn b\- tides. Here 1 '\e often stood an house, in the glen, Lay his hones in their cold bed to-day, Sir/>tc)n('i>\ 1806. /JA'AS WRii ii:n' dl kiNo a rniM)i:K >|()k\[. ''T^HFO sky, an hour ago, was clear. And brilliant was the sun ; 'idle earth and all around were sear, And so the da\- beiran. lUit now 'lis Clanged, and what a change! The whole of Hea\en is dark, .Vnd all along its mighty range '['he leaping thunders bark. 19 20 Leisure IJoi/rs. Sec how the busy Inim is hushed I A God lias spoken now, And by His word yon tree is crushed; He makes the i)roudest bow. Tile ( ity belles that flirting came Aw hour ago, are gone. And (ireat St. James and Notre Dame Are now both left alone. Hark! from its murky cavern roars The thunder through the skies; And see! the vi\id lightning pours New terror as it flies. The drunkard treml)ling seeks his home, Insensible with rum. And there he meets his ( hildrcn cold, His wife with terror dumb. ft! Roll on, thou mighty thunder, roll, Thy voice insi)ires my mind; I love to see thee thus control The spirit of mankind. Leisure Hours. 21 Ha! how he shrinks btMieath thv roar, And seeks some slieltering place: Roar on, brave thunder, as before, And terrifv man's race. -■'■■^"^^%?i^fe^— THE rOOR BLIND MAN. T3IM V', oh 1 pity a poor bhnd man. Having a child to look after; (iive me a copper, oh I give, if you can, It will do you a service hereafter. rity, oh I pit} a ])()()r blind man. Doomed for a li\ing to wander Along the cold streets, in the snow, pale and Avan, — Oh ! give me the mone\ you W S([uander. ]\liy do you turn from me thus, dear sir? Ha\e you no heart or no feeling? 'y '> Lrisitrc [fours. You feel not the cold while you're wrap'd in your fur, Like the child that you see by nie kneeling. Rememl)er, dear sir. Judgment Day has to pass, And all men shall get satisfaction, When the good and the bad shall be mixed in one mass, And all men shall be judged for each action. x% *M^m^^^ ! If LINES TO MY OLD VIOLIN. '"PHERE, in the corner, Sleeps my old sire. While I keej) watching The simmering fire. Once it was merrv, Poor little thinn, 1 Leisure Hours. 23 Now it 's forgotten, Though it 's a king. A king whose gay cliirpings First gained him renown, I'ut now he 's grown weak For the want of a crown. There he lays sleeping; Hushed are tlie strains That flowed o'er my soul Like the blood through my veins. When in the twilight. Mellow and gray, His loud, sihery notes Were heard far awav, Chirping like linnets. With music so sweet, Mocking each twist Of tlie (^hildren's feet. f i f ^-^ Leisure Hours. As they danced in a groii]:) Out on the beacli. Slowly I watched the Mana'iivres of each. 15ut ])ast are those days. And the viol is hushed, AMiile the heart that once leaped At its music is crushed. And the children are gone, Some are scattered h'ke grain; But deej) in my mind 'l^heir young figm-es remain. Once I thought, as I took up My viol to ])hiy, J'hat anuisemeiu and time Would soon hear ihc!n a\\a\-. ■'.if (I 4J •'"J those dioughts were mistaken; ->I\' \ iol 's no more : f^ Leisure Hours, And I see tlieir young visi(jns As brif^Hn as before. It lays there In want of A great many tilings, But the most of them all Is a set of new strings. .-- y , cT: '--^<$^^mm^ n I THINK OF MK. wuirrKx, wnKN lkavixc uosrox, ukc. i,S6:;. L'.ux' thoc well 1 aiul if forever, Still forever, fart: iliee well. — IJvi^ox. . l\n-e thee well ! as now we 're parting, Vou to wander o'er the sea : I'is sad to tlnnk that thou art startintr'; lUit, in sorrow, think of me. 1 '\\ If th\- heart siglis o'er the billow. ( )r th\ s|)irit, l)ra\e and free, I 26 Leisure I foil IS. Feels 110 rest upon its j)ill()\v. Wandering, weeping, think of nie. Thou hast friends, remember, dearest, And a liome wliere'er you be : Let all those who whis'per nearest. Slip aside and think of me. '^iUfM$.^^f^3^^J^ TO ^^y hat. /^OMK, hat: how fares it with thee? Thou art pale, — A ghastly thing, hung there u])()n a nail. Tell me thou wast made of goodl\ stuff. To fule awa\' from purest white to buff! 1 can't say mtu h ; but this 1 'm bound to sa)', We've had our share of har(lshi])s ; so, to-da)-, We '11 pull our Iik k together. This droll ])lanet Owes tis each a lixiuL"- : so we '11 ha\e it. j-> Leisure Hours. 27 Throw off that dull aj^pearance, and look bright : We both have youth before us, — there, that 's right. I'll brush thee more, perhaps it ser\es as food : They say a rubhiiii:;, now and then, is good. How oft did Uella J. knock thee about. And witli her everlasting throat cry out, '' Oh, what a donkey 1 why not get another, And gi\'e that played-out beaut)' to your brother. 1, with a sigh, said: Dearest, come to me. 1 did not mean tlie lad\ , l)ut to thee A\'ere those sweet words addressed ; so cheer uj) hat, I like thee all the better, then, for that : You've seen me through my troubles, toils, and pain. Now see me through ni) ha})})}' hours again. If sJic went through as much as \()u and I, She 'd laid herself down long ago to die. 1 -[!' /^ ■^^ ^^^ DEAril OF .1 iwRRcrr. WKIiri'.N 1 \1'KI:SS1A 1()K A iRii:xi), M1>S I,. lAMIKSON. A S 1 sat in xoiir kitclKMi talking. ^^^ With tlic tViL'nds that ,L;-at]icrc(l there, And watched "Poor Tolly" niocking Each word that (aught her ear, My tale was (|iii('kl\' ended, \\\ the change ^\r()nght in affairs; Vonr hearts liad all awakened, \'our e}es were filled witli tears: ■' Poor l\)lly'' had just fainted. And tell upon her head. Hut wh)- should I thus paint it : "Iwas death ; •■ Poor Poll " war. dead ! ':|J Leisure Hours. Her mistress then went rushing To Polly's prison door, Where its inmate lay quite senseless On the hay imbedded floor. Each one caressed it fonder, To relieve it from its pain : 15ut why our time thus squander. Poor Poll ne'er spoke again. We strove to make it utter Some words, and raise its head : It croaked, and then it fluttered, P)Ut not a word it said. 29 Wlien, with a rock for a i)illow, And the forest for my bed. The mem'ry of this story Annoyed my youthful head, I penned it down on paper. Ne'er to be defliced, Uy man or woman's (-aper. Without wit to replace. It's death, I mourned it sadl\ ; And would that t (ould gi\c <3) /! 3° Leisure Hours. It life, I then would gladly Have prayed for it to live. -^1 ' oTo *-? ro c E. \\ KITTEN lOR MASTER H. C. 15KI-T-. CAN it be that 1 'm forsaken ? Has mvlovc received that frown? Can 1 not one tear awaken In those eyes of glossy brown ? 1 did love thee, brown-eyed maiden, Love that lips can ne'er unfold ; But you scorned me ; and my soul, 1l'-iis very moment, has grown cold. Tell me, fair one, — T would know, that If this heart, though young it l)e, Must be crushed, then be it so; at Other times vou'U think of me. mmi^a PROPHRCY. J ;' A l)()L7r seven years sliall j)ass o'er Deco's ^^ head,— That is, if she 's alive, and I 'm not dead, — When her false heart, indignant though it be, Shall perish in its pride: and I shall see The once fiiir " Isabella" kneel in ])ain To sue, and beg this heart to love again ! But she shall see that this uncoiKjuered heart vShall ///("// refuse to give its /firanrsf part _; And every tear that falls from her brown eye vShall cause this heart another throb of jo)". Oh ! sic'ccf remorse, avenger of the right, Place her deceitful heart before the light ; Teach her to love the eve that 's bathed in blue, For it 's the window of a heart that 's true. ms^^.^x^-t^. ^r:s ^;i^:^i: Tff/^: LlGHrHOUSE. /^UT upon the surging ocean, ^-^ Stanch and firm, without a motion, Smiling on the waves' commotion, Stands the lighthouse on a rock. Ever watching, ever waiting There from time without a dating. There it hears the waves relating Stories of the stormy deep. Oh! how sweet to see it lighting, \Vhen the winds and waves are fighting, Midst their wild uproar, delighting 'J'he poor mariner at sea. Leisure Hours. 33 While their bark is homeward steering. And all men on deck are cheering As they fmd themselves anearing Nova Scotia's rockv shore. It seems to say, '^ 've heard the crying Of some wayworn sailor dying, When no other soul was nigh him Save his angel and his Ood." m Thus, when dangers hover near me, May I see some light to steer me, And some goodly bark to bear me Safe across the sea of life. ^ \ '4 FO/^ F.VRR AND ANON. I I TJARK: to the bell, From the distant tower, As it sounds so sweet At every hour. And the river flows Past its moss-fringed banks, And the people assemble To give Ciod thanks, For ever and anon. Look at the moon, With its silver hue, Asjt rides high o'er The waters blue. « Leisure Hours. 35 'I And from the waters A swelling breeze Complains in sorrow To the trees, For ever and anon. There, on the hill, With its long gray spire, The village chapel Stands a sire. And the people throng there, Both night and day, With their books and beads, That they may pray, For ever and anon. ■I CAiVADIAA^ RE I IJi WERS. A SAJTRK _ " (J, G(.d : inspire my pen tliat 1 may teach those hard-heartoil tools thatwliich sleepeth in my mind."— Anon. Prepare for rhyme— J 'II publish, right or wrong : Fools are my theme, h't satire be my song. A man must serve his time to every trade, Save censure, critics all are ready made."— IIykon. "Such shameless bards we have; and yet, 'tis true, 'J'here arc as mad, abandoned critics, too.'— Por'i:. ^NC^l-: upon a time 1 read a l)ook— On what, on whom, I'm sure I did n't look : And this contained a flood of youthful rhyme, Written by some young author in lus time; Leisure Hours. 37 And though his verse was empty, and some sax- It had not sense enough to throw away, Still there was food for critics' jjuny brains, Who, after having eaten all with pains, Si)oke out and said it had not sense, and whv? Because they ate it all. And, l)y-the-bv, 1, too, did write a book, not long ago. And even thought its verse was fit to show: For when I tried to write, and found 1 could, I read it o'er again and thought it good. I wrote some more, and wrote, and wrote again Another song, but in a different strain: So thus the book increased, and page by page I saw it grow cjuite stout, and thought by age I 'd see it go to print, and thus would gain The first step to the pyramid of fame. 1 1 A month passed by; I saw the book in print; And as I sold it here and there, like mint It spread around, and even men of care Pronounced the work as being pretty fair. '7 ' " r i ,?f^ [.cisiirc Hours. > !: lUit oh I sad thought I it (-ame to critics' view, So the /I to fortune and success, adieu. First, in his anticjue chair, with hair upright, John Dougall sits, and shouts with all his might ; Xot from his dee}) deep Noice, nor yet deep brain, — For brains he had none, — but with borrowed strain, He roars among the columns of a paper 'i'hat, like himself, is but a flickering taper. Men saw his tough review and thoughtful said '• Is this a whim of Dougall's crazy head? " Hiev laui»hed at him, and as from friends I've heard. That, like himself, 'twas utterly absurd. And shall such men as Cameron commence, ^^'ith()ut the smallest germ of common sense; \\'ho strains his nerves to write a line or two, Vet has the cheek to scribble a review? Poor, foolish would-be bard, how simply droll Are all \'our i)ennv essa\s ; vet vour soul Sighs for a place among the men of fame, ^\'here \et, the\ ha\e not even heard Nourname. 'I .1 Leisure Hours. 39 I r I '1 And thus it was when Byron first began To write in verse; he followed his own plan, And laughed and sneered at them, and wrote again, Until he made them reverence his name. 1 ftw^&w<>iiSB.iktta T \1 ! /•//A MA MIU.ER ( ! 1 I 1 A TAT,K OK NONA SCOTIA, lOl NJ)KD OX !• AC!'. [ AJ)\iiK risi'.Mi-Nr.] 'I'lic scene of the following poem is laid among tlic ni.mntains of Acadia, or, as it is nowcalkil, Nova Scotia. Time, commencing from about the latter end of Aj.ril, 1746, to the siege of ( Iran.l-l're, 11th Fel,.,j747. 'J'liis little work, in three cant(,s, is founded on fact, though iningled with romance ; and gives a short, but concise, description of the scen- ery, and cust..msaml manners of the Acadians ; together with a full accoiuu of tin: siege of Orand-Prc. The ••Rand.ler" is Kdwin J. Ruthvcn, a voung luuiter about 18 years of age, wuh whom the reader uill !„■ more acquainted dm-ing the coiu-se of the poem. The n.une "juan - is also, in several places, used Uir the same person. N. I!.— 1 am indebted to Murdnch\ Hisiorv of Nova . .coti.i for the dales of the siege of (Irand-i'n.. " Where'er 1 roam, w hatever realms to see, My heart, milraveiled, fondly turns to thee ; Still to my brother turns, with ceaseless pain, And drags at each remove a lengthening chain," Cioi-nSMITJl. t i I i Leisure Hours. 41 I c:ANr(J FIRS'L" T CROSSED thy stream, fair Sissibou, alone, ^ About the hush of niglit ; and all was still. Save the rip])ling of thy wat'.Ts 'gainst a stone That gilded thy gray beac h from hill to hill : And, as I plied my paddle 'gainst the wave, I heard the carol of some distant frog, And, turning towards the ruined tower, I gave One searching glance amid the neighboring l)Og. r>ut all is huslvd again ; and with one stroke Of my suspended oar [ reached the shore, And, jumping out, drew up my skiff of oak. And sat me down u[)on the nearest rock. ^'^lethought 1 saw, at times, a bird or two Fly out from midst the barrens, and then soar t'Sffj'* 42 Leisure Hours. i I 1' I ii \ 1 1 High above the eastle,, turn and view The ruined pile, from pinnacle to shore. Sh)\vly it descends, and slower still It glides along the surface of the lake ; Touches its wing, then, soaring past the mill, Returns in ])leasure to its native brake. I gazed intensely on the sylvan scene. And thought J saw another Heaven l^elow: A thousand stars " 11 sparkled on flie green, " And silver-tinted : . ds ])assed to :md fh,. 1 turned, and lookeci i.^ n that lurid scene. 1 stood midst fallen i)ilasters alone, b'pon my mind dread thoughts of Sc ri])ture gleam : ''There shall not remain a stone upon a stone.'" I i: .1 ill The moon is hid, and darkness covers all ; A mystics stillness chills mv very soul ; And through a moss-cover'd loop-hole' in the wall '\ KU'-gling rivulet from the castle stole. Ju'isurc Hours. 43 1 sat me down and wandered lar away liack into memory's bosom, and I thought 1 saw my many school-mates, light and gay, I'laying on the hill where oft 1 fought. IV. Dark grew the night, and darker still Grew everything, from mount to rill. Slumber hovered o'er my brow. And my thoughts were then, as now. Thoughts of hai)i)y hours gone b\- ; 'J o which I answered with a sigh, Then sank in deep lepose. ,/ J)REAM, (iold and silver si)arkle bright Tn the gaudy deej) : Ani-els cheer the mistv air, Whilst I lav in slee]). i , if'ry T 44 Leisure Hours. n And niethinks 1 see my niotlier, (Chanting with the rest ; And, with her a])pears my brother, T.eaning on her breast. Softly, gently, he arises, And with empty glance, Looks on all the different sizes \w the wide e.\[)anse. Ah. my mother! thou art pointing 'I o thy soii on earth, And my -.on! tlion art anointinji With thy heavenly mirth. •i' '!< :;: :!: :;: jjj All is done, and [ awaken From m\ glorious dream ; And, if I am ncH mistaken, I just heard a scream. Hark : it comes from yonder hill ; Here I cannot stay : 'I hough it be against my will, I must. 1 must away. 1 Leisure Hours. ^c Then bounding off at greatest si)ee(l, I reached the rock-gilt shore, And, plowing on through lake and weed, Resumed my chase once more. * -i= =i^ :i- :■' ;K :•< And then 1 saw a man in years, Bearing a maiden young ; C'old and week, as if through fears, The maiden's heart was wrumr. i "Will no one help me?" loud she cried. "Is no one near me now?" ''Silen(^el mad girl; you must abide IJy what I 've said, [ vow." He laid her down upon the ground, And tied her to a stake. [ sprang before him with one bound. Which caused his form to shake. ''(rive up! give uj) that maid: " I cried ; " Deliver her, foul man ! " t '' Never ! " the daring wretch re|)lied ; \ "Come, take her, if you can." (4) I (•^I !f'-^ 46 Leisure Hours. i i'l ]\I\ proud l)lood burned. I ( oiild not stand. And sec her thus desi)air: I grasped my sabre firm in liand. Then waved it in the air. Ifi I ^'< Loud claslied our swords at every stroke, And full two hours we fought. 1 watched him well: with one fierce poke To reach my breast he sought. And, fearing not his two-edged steel, I wrenched it from his hand; I5ut, turning cjuickly, with one wheel He threw me on the sand. He would have stabbed me to the heart, hor his was hard as stone, Had not my pistol played a part, And sent its death-note home. tj> I Leisure Hours. ^- CAXTO SKLONI) J'JIE ARR/WIL. The night was cold, the hour was late, And K\eline stood at her father's gate: And, by the moonbeam's misty aid. Was seen a cottage in the shade. She turned, and, with o'erwhelmini!- Ldee vSaid, "Come, Juan, come, follow me." Scarce had we entered upon the farm When the watch -dog gave a loud alarm. And bounded toward us. ]-:va (ried. " (lussaa, Carlo ! " 'J1ie dog complied. Soon after this we saw a lioht PJeaming through the cottage sight. Then came her lather to the door. And in his hand a candle bore. He called into the o])en air, ''S])eak out and tell me who (omes there?" i5 fT I i| 48 Leisure Hours. Scarce had those words been finished, when His daughter, rushing through the glen, Cried, ''Father! father, it is I ' " And lol the old man heaved a sigh. i / ti The man turned pale: '^'Tis hard to tell; And from his hand the candle fell. " I had a daughter once," he said, '' But she is gone; aye, she is dead! A serpent came and stole her away, And since that time my hair's turned gray. [ sought her long, but sought in vain ; No Eveline near my cottage came. Vet still I watched, watched every night. Until I nearly lost my sight. I am not blind, for I can see My daughter Eveline's face in thee. Come in and tell me who was he Who dared to take thee 'way from me. But stop: am I half mad with joy, Or is not that I see a bov?" » > J T i% n » J i Leisure Hours. 49 1 1 ] ''Oh, yes, dear father; yonder youth, If I must tell the very truth, Has saved my life, aye, he alone, And in the strife near lost his own. He is a hunter, bold and gay. Who braves the forest night and day." IV "Come, stay thee here," the old man said ; "Thou need'st repose, (io, lay thy head I'pon yon pallet: 'tis the best I Our humble cot affords for rest." Calmly, yet boldly, I followed him Into his cottage, neat and trim ; And then 1 saw the red flames' gleam * Upon the face of Eveline. I heard her tale: 'twas sad to hear. And from my eye-lids brought a tear : ] ! And then she turned and said to me, ^ , "Juan, I owe my life to thee: ' rr- ;o Leisure Hours. Yet, how can I repay that life?" [ answered, "If thou'lt be mv wife. i! M V. The maiden bhished, and hung her head. The old man, turning to her, said, With calm and aged tone of voice: *'Mv girl, thou canst make thy choice, I)e the brave young hunter's wife, And then live ha|)|)y all your life." \' 1 . V ': ') ! A tear fell from her mild blue eye, She answered me, through half a sigh. ''I'm yours, Juan, forever." She said, ''Oh! father, let us hear How times were when you chased the deer And how you haunted every nook, And signed your name to every brook. No doubt 'twill make Juan feel glad To think he 's such another lad." ^ ^ Leisure Hours. 5 i \ 1 1 Her father bowed his hoary head, And Eva made the fire gleam red. Then he said: " My nol)le youth, Remember all I say is truth ; For I was once a hunter bold, And cared not that for })uny gold. But hunted out in every gale." And thus commenced the old man's talc \- I I I . "•When I was young, and hearty too, A lithesome lad, so much like )ou, 1 loved to roam o'er hill and dale, And linger long in every vale; And when I 'd hear tlie liunter's horn, Sounding loud at early morn, I'P I 'd start at break of day. Off to the mountains I 'd away, ( And seek the summit of each rock, \ Vo watch the tbght of the frightened hawk j 52 Leisure Hours. I \ Soaring higli al)ove the trees, And floating with the mountain breeze. W I i!=l IX *' And when 1 'd hear the panting stag Bound o'er each alternate crag, I 'd lay nie down upon the ground To hear the bay of the distant hound; Then up I 'd spring with boyisli glee. And, like the hunter gay and free, \\\Mild hunt the stag through forest lair. And watch his every bound with care. Then when he'd stop to take a rest, ] 'd i)oint my rifle to his breast. And, when 1 'd fire, the stag would fidl, Then with exulting voice I 'd call: M 've gained the day! the chase is mine! Hurrah! hurrah! for Acadia's clime ! X . "At last the hunter's dogs would come. Running towards me one by one; "I Leisure Hours. 53 Then t)iey would scent, and off again. But I would wait till their master came. And when he'd ScW, 'Well, Ned, my boy/ (For that 's the name they knew me by, j I 'd say, 'What ails you all to-day? The stag has kei)t you far at bay. But, friend, there's time: if you will wait. You '11 see tiie rascal before late.' •'Why I have you seen him? where is he? Is he, Neddy, towards the Lee? I '11 give you half I get, if you Will show me where the stag is to.' XI . " ' Wha ho: old cha]); the stag is dead: Think you he could pass young Ned? No, no, he's gone; I 've shot him. See. Stretched on yonder cliff is he.' Say you so? why, Ned, my boy. You are the hunter's i)ride'and joy; Come on, my lad, take yonder nag. And lead him gently o'er the (rag.' ft 54 Leisure Jlours. \ I I "Then on we'd totter to our home, And leave the hounds to hunt idone ; lUit, «:cming- on the (lose of day, ^\'e 'd see the blood-hounds homeward stray. Merry passed the day: the ni«^iit ^Vould bring to me some new delight. J \1 list to the merry hunter's tale, As he ([ualTed and drank the warm brown ale. Thus slowlv would the iiours [)ass l)y. Until at length he'd sav "(lood-bv.'" I' ,'; i \ 1 I I . I could not stoj) to hear the rest ; My eves grew dim, — I needed rest. And Eveline knew it, and she said, '•Juan, dear. hurr\ off to bed: Say you not so, my lather dear? 'Tis time, I tliink : die morn is near." 1 smiled, and kissetl m\ fair one's < heek, .\n(l hud me down, for 1 was weak. Leisure Hours. 55 k XIV ay. ale. ik^ Next morn was May day. (rirl and l)()y All aronnd were mad with joy; May-flowers here and there were strewn, And from the woods the May-pole hewn. Ribbons of the brightest hue. With pretty girls, and flowers too : All deck'd the May-pole bright and gay. To crown the happy Queen of May. 'I'he hour had come: 't was time to see Who that happy girl should be. The bo}'s would cry, ''Let 's choose bv wit; The one who answers best is it." Soon the news got spread around. The little lost one had been found; 'Hie boys, in joy, all kissed the girls, And hoi)ped around bke merry stjuirrels: Hut boys and girls both would sa\ , "She shall be the Queen of May." XV. I'A'eline came to me and said, "Come and ha\e some breaktast, Ned. IT 56 Leisure Hours. T M. To-day the village will be gay ; Tliis is the merry month of Ma\ : The boys and girls dance and sing, And all the village Church bells ring: Hear them now; come, be gay, \\'e must see who's the Queen of May." XVI. II '.' ^\'e ate, and when our meal was done, And everything was cleared and gone, A youth came to the cottage door, And in his hand a letter bore. The letter was to Eveline, To meet her playmates on the green At nine o'clock that very day, And there be crowned the Queen of Ma\ X \' I I When Eva took the note and read, She ran up to the boy and said, ■4 Leisure Hours. "Tell my })laymates, 1 '11 be there, With a partner, do you hear? The one who saved my lite, — a lad, (ray and lively, never sad. Can you doubt me? 'I'here is he, ! Standing right before you, — see. He 's a hunter do you know, — Hunts the stag, the deer, the roe. Tell them all I said, and more, To form the boys in four by four. Off you go, now ; that 's the boy: A father's pride, a mother's joy." WIN. The feast commenced at nine that day. And FA'eline and I made way, In silence, towards the merry spot, And entered in the summer cot. Next came her (^ourtiers to her aid. And in her hand some May-flowers laid, Then kissed her twenty times or more, L'ntil they made her cheeks (|uite sore. 57 I I ii IT I, |i if ;S Leisure Hours. Tlie girls all gathered round the bower. And each one brought some pretty flower; The boys came marching in a band, And each one bearing in his hand vSome siut still the lad was handsome, and He was the Captain of the band: And he it was who bore the crown. And mantle made of softest down. Then, lastly, came the Parson, J\)es, With spe(^tacles thrown 'c ross his nose And cluhikw white as white could be. With coat as tight as tight could be: Thus solemn was the dress he wore. And in his hand a liible bore. I will not tell nou an\ more About what dress the others wore. IJecause my time I must not waste. They all were suited to their taste: Some wore dresses white as milk, Others wore the gayest silk. Thus they varied dress with fancy. Like the two names, Uess and Nancw nr ■MM I i H ft II i u i 1 > ? 60 Leisure Hours. XX . But the festival began, I said ; The crown was placed ui)on her head. And she was made the happy Queen, My own, my sweetest Eveline I And let me tell you she was gay, And well deserved to l)e Queen of Ma\' ; For when she rose before the crowd, And left the throne and to them bow'd, A shout of joy then filled the air. And she resumed the royal chair. The band struck uj) a lively tune, So sweet, — for me 'twas done too soon. We hunters seldom hear the like. Our drum and fife are in the dyke. Or on the mountain to})s or crags Searching for the moose and stags. Such to us would seem a show Of Heaven: it did to me, I know. XXI. The air was filled with music sweet. As they marched along the village street ; il Leisure Hours. 6i And Eveline called me to her side, — Of course I could not but abide. The march was short, and ended soon : 'I'he ceremony was done at noon, And, as the day was sere and fine. We sat ui)on the grass to diiie. The feast went on so well and LTtxjd — better than we thought it would: And then they ate and drank with 3 I'S, Soldiers meant to 'uianl tlieir flair. I refused to chase the stair. But sou^dit a sword among the rest. To ])lunLre into some l-renchman'^ breast. Many hunters from afar Came to join us in the war. 'J'lius excited, old and Nounsj- Armed themselves with sword and gun; All together marched awav 'J\) the beat of drum one da\ : And when l">\a saw me go. Fast her tears began to tlow. And her sobs were loud and w ild. Sobbing like a little child, Still 1 left her there behind. With my heart, my soul, and mind. But though 1 left her sobbing there, I was too weak to shed a tear: M\' heart was cold and dead. A\'e marched that night and all next day, 'J'hrough ])iles of snow that marr'd the wa\ . And e\er\' man Lo(jkM pale and wan When we stoi)])M on the fields of old (Irand- Pre. i 64 Leisure Hours. CANIO TH 1R1> SIEGE OE GRANJ^-PRE. ;' ■ ( . U Ami there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, The mustering siiuadnm, and ilie chittering car. Went i)oiu-ing fnrward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar ; And near, the beat of tlie alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the n\orning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror ihunh, ( )r whispering, with white lips. ' The foe I They come I tlicy Come : ' " — IUkon. " Hark I 'lis the suunil that i:harni> I'lie war-steed's wakening ears I — ( )h 1 many a mother folds her arms Round her hoy-soldier, when that call she hears, And though her fond heart sinks with fears. Is i)r(nid to feel his young pulse hound With valour's fervor at the sound ! See I from his native hills afar, 'i'lie rude Acadian tlies to war." — MociKi:. I. 'A The wind was higli, the snow fell dccj), And the soldiers all were hiish'd in sleep ir *-_- i J A' i sure Hon IS, H Save at tlic gate, (Icsjjite tlie cold. A sentrv stood, both voimix and bold: He watched with anxious eve around. And listened well to every sound: And so the niglit passed on. I I . lev "r was early morn, 'bout half-i)ast three, 'I'hat we the l''ren(hman's flag did see. Floating tree at musket range, M'hough it seemed to us (|uite strange. Our sentinels ne'er saw them, till Their banner tloated o'er the hill. Then all was still, l)ut tor a mimite: vSoon each heart told what was in it: And they heard our loud, long, c heer, Sounding in the startled air. II Our Colonel, 'wakened by the sound That filled the chillv air around. T 66 Lei sine J fours. ii ' l! t |l I Sprang like a tiger from his bed. And grasi)ed his sal)re firm, and said: " Renieml)er, lads, t()-da\- we fight With (rod tor freedom and the right." 'Then onward, through the fier\' field, IJrave Noble rushed with sword and shield, And fought his way far up the glen, 'Midst bayonets of three hundred men. Kight and left they felt his stroke: l"\)remost through the line he broke. Nor did he stop, to spare his life, Nor liinch a moment from the strife: l)Ut onward still he fought his wa\-. Though in his shirt he led the way And thinned their ranks. "Twas man to man Then the strife indeed began. I \ The\- stood ama/ed. and wondered win ( )ur little handful did not (ly liefore their axe and sabre stroke, Or perish in the tlame and smoke : Leisitrc J fours, <y and bv 'J'hey did so. and our leader (ame And cried, we hold the tort the same. \ I I . I I "Twas (la\d)reak, and the soldiers \\\\ Al)out the fields of old (irand-Pre. Here and there were soldiers King ; Some \\'ere dead and some were d\ ing Dreatl the scene, and sad to see. .l)Mt sadder \et it was lo be, I'or when the fiLiht resumed aijain How man\' more would thus be slain 1 J thus was thinking, when alone, J heard a gra\e unearthly moan ; And, tiu'ning round, I saw a man Rise a wliile and sink again. ^ Leisure Jlours. 69 I ran to liim and raised his head, l)iit lie was gone — yes, lie was dead ! \" 1 I I . Hark ! that bugle calls me on 'JV) battle, where the rest have gone : When hundreds rush at its connnand, Am 1 the oniv one to stand, 1 cannot I will not 1 must not stay — That sound, m\' comrades, I'll obe\ ! (Juick as lightning, off 1 ran. And joined m\' comrades in the \an. I \ . 'J'he fight commen( ed, — a deadl\ .slrile : Kvery man fought for his life — lafe in one hand, death in ih' other : 'I'hus we fought for one another : And oiu' swords were gleaming bright. Shining through the mist) light. A rush was made : they broke our iMuk. And (lro\e us to the ba>in's l)aid< : m ■ f •o Li'isuri- Hours. . r •I Some went one way and some the other; Some turned and fought, and fell together, But r was hemmed : L could not fight, Nor would I make es(:a[)e by thght. L then gave u[) my sword to them, But swore 1 'd take it up again : So [ was made a [)risoner — A [)risoner of war. X. \ .. eUNLlASlON. The b'renc hmen gained the day, And the fort of old (Irand-l're ( rave u[) to them the hlood-red cross of England : And they kei)t us [)()or lads there; But we never shed a fear. 'I'ill they said we'd never fight for bonny l-aigland "■5^^^1 Tnr. PRisoxi'.K. I'liis short poem is connected witli tlie last, inasmuch as Edwin kutiiven, having been made a prisoner, was taken to the Chateau e. Thou wert not born for that : those damp gra\ walls 'I'hat form thy church and dwelling place, Also form thy grave [// chirps a\^ain.'\ Hea\ensl how sweet it sing> to me. and sj)eak> As if to (-omfort me. \et all itN notes l'"all like mem'ry on ni}' sickened heart : lM)r when 1 think of all the hajipN hours I spent among those birds uj)on the mouniaius. ^\'aiting and watching tor the stars, it make>; My poor heart sink within m\ breast. \w(\ yet how strange: to think that at this houi' .\ bird should enter in m\ (cll. and sin^ Notes of comfort. e\en notes ol io\ ; but hiish — it sings again I [ Tlw l>irJ iliirps tlic tliird time and tlhii flies a-i^'a\\ T 76 Ldsurt' Hours, \ Can it l)c that (irod has sent it here 'l\) be the conitbrt of so low a l)eing? — A prisoner — despised by all that 's good. The tViend ot" misery, the sla\e of death. And must I heliese Ihat such a happy being would sink so low To \\his[)er words of comfort to a sla\e? [.7 /v/i^'/r soiiiii/s.^ Hark ! what sound is that ? It seems to me lake something I have heard before; it is 'L1u' trumpet of the midnight hour, and )et There's something in the (all that I ha\e heard When on the heights of Hlomidon ! Again — It s[)eaks a ( learer tone the second time — 1 know it now, it rings m\- \er\' heart. The bugle that once lured me on before Speaks out again, and calls me to m\ post. Rise! rise I my sullen soul, and gi\e me life; W'liy slumber, when you hear your ( ountr}- call For hell)? Rise, rise, 1 sav! and seize Nour nati\e frame. Leisure Hours. Ti Put life in every nerve that J may share The honor of our freedom: ah: well done, I feel another man; my feehle form Feels stronger by a thousand times, and \et [ cannot move beneatli these heavv chains: They cling so to my limbs, my arms, my waist. And bid me not dare move : and my proud heart Leaps with the thought of j)cing on. e more free. Onward, brave comrades, onward, for our cause [s good, and Heaven speaks for us : I '11 be free : The very birds sing freedom in their way. And so w ill I : oh (iod : would I were with them I IJut 't is vain to hoi)e. \^A great noise outside, J'ij'e I'Aeadie :^ ivind pity, how my heart jumps at those wonls: 'The very air around it grows (|uite chill. Hark ! how the trumpet sounds along the ^hore. The voice of freedom spreads itself afar! The ( hains that once were dead are now ali\e. And those who sank beneath them now are free. Save this cold piec e of clav : but ho! what 's that ^ (6) 7^^ Leisure Hours. 1 heard tlic v()i( e of some one call my name : My prison door is open,— thanks. But who's this? Speak, man: what want you here? I know you not : You are to me a stranger, and your clothes Denote you are not of our band; si)eak cpiiek, Or come not anear ! Stand off! stand back, 1 sav . t ^Hc is fircii at.'\ Oh Ood : I'm shot : My brain whirls round, I feel, my head grows light ; 1 die, I die a prisoner and a slave! ^\^.fg[\^J^ p MfDNIGHT MASS IX MOXTREAL COLLEGE. " lull ye the clnin li-l)ell sad and slow. And tread softly and speak low , For the old year lies a-dying." — 'i'i:NNVS(iN. I. T_T ARK to the silver)- tones of tlie ( himes as thev rini( from the belfrv: Hark to their mystical notes as they break on the liush of the evening. Softly they tell to the ])eoi)le the birth of the infant Redeemer, As the angel, in times gone by, to the Shei)her(U who watched on the mountains. Slowly, with reverend mien, the throng nears the College and C'hai)el, 8o Leisure Hours. , .1 Making tlicir way through the snow, as it tails in a mist by the wayside. There, at the foot of the mountain, surrounded l)v tVuit trees of all kinds, Covered with Hakes of snt)w, and o'erlooking the city beneath it, Stands, like "the K(hk of ages." the seat ot the holy Suipitians. Soon, from its antitjue windows, illumined with figures t)f angels. Streamed out a brilliant retlection that stretched itself half o'er the meadow, (living a silvery tint to the sp>)w. as it gleamed on the tree-tops ; When, from the sacred old Chapel, a gush of sweet music ascended. That struck to my heart like the sounil of a thousand of angels s- iphic, Slowlv I 'rose from my seat, and tm-ning my steps to tile College, I marched with the rest of the throng, and we entered the Chapel together. There, at the head of the aisle, stoocPthe ( ril), and around it were standing ♦ \ n Leisure Hours. 81 'J'hc men of tlic Kast, with tlic Shcj)licr(ls. an ass anil a couple of oxen, AN'liilc at the right sat the X'irgin, wlio ga/ed on the source of attrac tion. — (la/.ed on tliat object of lo\e, a Noung infant, tlie Saviour of mankind : Tlien 'rose tlie Priest to the ahar. and lifting his eyes u]) to Heaxen. He blessed us, " /// noiuine /\ifr/s, cf /•////. cf Spirifi/s Sitficfi. I I SI owl V the altard)o\s ( ame. two by two. in a line, and surrounded And knelt b\' tlv steps of the altar, vm \\ bcaiing a glimmering taper. Received ihey the hol\ Priest's blessing, and risii'g- the\ marclu'd to ihcir phu es. Making a low genulle«lion w lu-n jKissing the < rib of tile Infant. ( )h ! what a he;i\er,ly sound, when three hundred stentorian \oi( cs T 82 Li' i sure Hours. Mingled their martial at cords in the silvery Kyric K lei son ! Then did the strength of religion sink deej) in my heart as I listened, And heard, with a reverend awe, the voices that echoed in Heaven. Oh! who would not love to be there, 'mid such glory and music incessant : There, in the presence of (lod, with a thousand of lights burning 'round us; 'There, as a tribute of love, the odor of incense ascended ; There, in the ])resence of all, stood the Saviour Himself on the altar. 1 1 f-o! with a holy devotion rose the Priest, and he mounted the altar, And sang with a tremulous voice that sounded throughout the whole chajiel ; Slowly the choristers answered and sang the resiKjnses, an,e. and. Iea\ nig the Chajtel. proceeded Along through the ^now to the < it\ . and. turning. they scattered asunder. < )h ! man\ .1 lime ha\e 1 thought, as 1 sat all alone b\ the fu'eside. Lcisitrt' .I/(>itrs. 8s And gazeil on the fli( k'^ring l)lazt' tliat ascended part way up the chimney, or the cold, chilly Christmas eve. when ihe wind from the noble St. Lawrence Swept o'er the snow-covered fields, and fought with the trees in the forest. Kver, while UK-mory lasts me. the thoughts ot that night shall I < herish : Kver, as long as thi> world of (are will revolve on its axis ; Kver, as long as the >\\\\ will (ontinue to shine with its glory : So >hall my heart ever sigh for that night that 1 s])ent in the college. T /JX/n the mantel-piece. And its lonely Joch-iiic/^, Jock-iiick, Seems will never cease. So now 1 think 1 must conclude, The hours are slii)ping hy: Let this close my short interlude; N'our dear friend — John, ( lood-l)ve. May Jyf/t, 1870. I li^ > MISCELLANEOUS SCRAPS. ?3e§Sl!l5f^^ t> IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) h /- mo i/j ^ ^ 1.0 I.I 11.25 ^1^ i££ £ lis 110 U 11.6 Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT W8bSTIR,N.Y. MS80 (716) B73-4S03 iV iV 4 ■iP o 6^ fl fe i/.x ^ f il If i" ii II. iL \ TO ELLA, \ /^H, tell me, has al)sence o'ersliadowed the ^^ l)ast, Or the love that yuu once bore for me lleen commingled with jealousy, which, to the last. Hangs around thy soft heart once so free? (Jh, I cannot believe that a lady so fair As my Ella, could ever forget The one who has loved her till life could not tear The love which he bears for thee \et. February iJ^th, 1870. -"^V- )^ ^^-- JNSJVER TO SOME SARCASTIC VERSES BY J. P. CLARK. T THANK you, my friend, for that ])iece of '*• your mind, And assure you your muse was of extra fine kind ; (7) 1 (| >;1 M Mi 94 Leisure Hours, ^^'llen your i)en( il rolls over a few of those piec es, Your mind often sto[)s. but your heart never ceases 'I'o gras]) at sarcasm that indignantly flows From the seat of )()ur heart to the to]) of vour nose. "J' is no wonder you 've caused su( h a noise in the school : 1 '\e remarked it the way of most every fool : Your [)altry old poems are the rage for a time, ])Ut they soon die away for the want of good rhyme. As a friend 1 'd advise voii to (b-oi) off vour punning, And turn your ideas into something more cun- ning. Hi iii m TO Li/yjE, OX m:R iurthday. IMPROMl'l [•. TTIORI'/S to drink thy health, dear Ia'//ie, \\'ith a ghiss of ginger ale. Warm and, dear me, oh: how friz/\, Neither lets me weep nor wail. Man_\- men who drink their brandy, Do not feel so gay as 1, For my ginger ale, so handy. Rises 11]) and makes me spr\ . Now 'tis gone T feel so funnv: If you drank it so would vou : Next they ask me where 's m\- money : I tell them they can charge that too. 'Jo-day's your birthday, so you told me; l>ut what changes since that time! 1 've grown older, and behold me Floating into things divine. July \>^th, 1870. ! ^Ifi li S Hi •li m t>. '< IMPROMPTU AT AN FA' EN IN G PARTY. /^^OME, pass the wine around, my boys, ^^ * Before we go away, And have one glass at parting, boys, To greet the coming day. 'llien here 's a glass in friendship, boys, To soothe each other's pain, That we may live in peace, my ])oys, Until we meet again. LINES ON PRESENTING A LADY WITH MY PICTURE. ''X' IS a paltry affair ^ 1 1iat is offered you here, i Leisure Hours. 97 Though I wish in my heart it were better ; Yet still with a sigh, I must only reply, 'T would be hard to get more in a letter. tM^-^ L/XES WRITTEX ON A VALENTIXE TO MISS CARRIE R ]'. OUCH music as one hears from you, ^ Was never heard before From Coote or Hayden ; even, too. You've beat the milkv Moore. By rattbng 'mong your Hats and slKiri)s, 'I'hat sound so very Hue : They 've charmed full many a dozen hearts. l)Ut never will charm mine. i J i 'sN '^ .'£/ 1\ ii 't I n LINES, ON JiKIXd I'RKSKXTKI) Wl'IH AN IVORV SILVKR- :^I()rXlKl) l»OCKKT-15()OK. 'T^HIS present, dear sir, is a token which tells me You do not forget a good turn when 't is done, And believe me, ni)- friend, but your kindness comi)els me To show you 1 'm grateful in more ways than one. so Let this pocket-book, shining with silver ^ bright, Ever rest on my mind when I 'm far. tar away. And when opening its pages to draw or to write, May thy face be as fresh in my mind as to-daw TO ANNA. A"\mV fret, Anna? Tell me, truly, Is it kne that makes you wee})? [ 'm sure I never Thought }ou 'd e\er Sigh for him you couldn't keep. He was handsome, But what of it? There are many more as good : V'es, there 're many, liOvely Annie, That would love vou if the\ ( ould. Believe me, dearest, What I tell \'ou Is not meant to make you fret; But to warn you Those who scorn vou Will kneel down and crave vou vet. i 3 ft m.M&m^m m EPITAPH ON MY SISTEP. "[^''NEEL gently on this bed of clay, And offer up one little prayer; 'T will serve you at some future day, — A mother's love is buried here. The lily and the rose combine Their odors o'er this sacred bed, While nature makes a brother pine, For here the one he loved lies dead. L EVES J J PEPTEN IX AX A LB I \M iMPROMrri:. 'T^HLS album that you offer me, I take with great delight, I kit, on my word, there's [)Overty In every thing I w^ite ; Leisure Hours. lOT For when I look at its contents. And read each happy line, 'Tis with reluctance 1 assent To add a verse of mine. Still, dearest friend, with fortitude I write these lines to you. Hoping, though my verse be crude. You '11 find me ever true. There are two lines that I would write, Before 1 sign my name: That is, as friends we are to-night. We ever will remain. Noz't')nl ilogs. Page 66. Ihavc Xol'lc )-ns/icd. Colonel Noble, commandin..; the FJnglish. Page 68. Another Xo/>le at their feet. Knsign Noble fell shortly after his brother the Colonel. Page 69. To the lasin's hank. The basin of .Minas. Tin; Prisoner. Page 73. Where Bloiuido)i jioiv stands. Mount Blomidou, ,it tlie head of the basin of Minas. " And Blomidon, a sentry grim, Stands out to stud the deep." The Hunter's Morninc; Song. Page 105. Set to nuisic by the author. ^ , tin