I would that thus, when I shall see MY DOVES. — Miss Barrett. My little doves have left a nest Whose leaves fantastic take their rest Or motion from the sea; With sunlit faces, to and fro. The tropic flowers looked up to it, And glittering eyes, that showed their right And God them taught, at every close Of water far, and wind, And lifted leaf, to interpose Fit ministers! of living loves Theirs hath the calmest sound, In such sweet monotone as clings MY DOVES. My little doves were taken away The sky and wave by warmth and blue And now, within the city prison The stir without, the glow of passion,- The gold and silver's dreary clashing The wheeléd pomp, the pauper tread, – Yet still, as on my human hand Their chant is soft as on the nest For love, that stirred it in their breast, And, 'neath the city's shade, can keep The well of music clear and deep. 105 106 TROUBADOUR SONG. And love, that keeps the music, fills So teach ye me the wisest part, And vocal with such songs as own To me fair memories belong Of scenes that erst did bless; I will have hopes that cannot fade, My spirit and my God shall be TROUBADOUR SONG. — Mrs. Hemans. THE warrior crossed the ocean's foam HUMAN FRAILTY. His voice was heard where javelin-showers Her step was 'midst the summer-flowers, His shield was cleft, his lance was riven, Yet a thousand arrows passed him by, That perish with a breeze. As roses die, when the blast is come HUMAN FRAILTY.- Couper. WEAK and irresolute is man, The bow well bent and smart the spring, Vice seems already slain; But passion rudely snaps the string, And it revives again. 107 108 THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. Some foe to his upright intent But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise, Bound on a voyage of awful length, A stranger to superior strength, But oars alone can ne'er prevail To reach the distant coast; The breath of heaven must swell the sail, Or all the toil is lost. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. — Pope. FATHER of all! in every age, In every clime, adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Thou great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, Yet gave me, in this dark estate, |