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The gauds of earth are frail as fair
Fix then thy warm affections there
To him thy hopes immortal raise,
And win the love that angels praise.

WOMAN.

WOMAN! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and ill to please,
And variable as the shade,

By the light quivering aspen made,
When pain and anguish ring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!

WOMAN.

DALE.

SCOTT.

HE very first

Of human life must spring from Woman's breast; Your first small words are taught you from her lips; Your first tears quenched by her, and your last sighs Too often breathed out in a woman's hearing, When men have shrunk from the ignoble care Of watching the last hour of him who led them.

BYRON.

WOMAN.

OMAN! experience might have told me,
That all must love thee who behold thee;

Surely experience might have taught

Thy firmest promises are nought;

But, placed in all thy charms before me,

All I forget but to adore thee.

Oh memory, thou choicest blessing,

When joined with hope, when still possessing;

But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls to glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand."

BYRON.

WOMAN.

To a woman I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship, without receiving a decent and friendly answer. If I was hungry or thirsty, wet or sick, they did not hesitate, like men, to perform a generous action; in so free and kind a manner did they contribute to my relief, that if I was dry, I drank the sweeter draught; and if hungry, I ate the coarsest morsel with a double relish.”— LEDYARD.

LACE the white man on Afric's coast,

Whose swarthy sons in blood delight,
Who of their scorn to Europe boast,
And paint their very demons white:
There, while the sterner sex disdains
To soothe the woes they cannot feel,
Woman will strive to heal his pains,
And weep for those she cannot heal:
Hers is warm Pity's sacred glow;

From all her stores, she bears a part,
And bids the spring of hope re-flow,
That languished in the fainting heart.

Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast,
Long watched the streaming signal from the mast;
Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye,
And fairy forests fringed the evening sky.
So, Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawned the day,
Rose on her couch, and gazed her soul away.
Her eyes had blessed the beacon's glimmering height,
That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light;
But now the morn with orient hues portrayed
Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade;
All touched the talisman's resistless spring,
And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing!

ROGERS

A VISIONARY HOME.

AY, dearest, nay; if thou wouldst have me paint The home to which, could love fulfil its prayers, This hand would lead thee, listen!-A deep vale, Shut out by Alpine hills from the rude world, Near a clear lake, margined by fruits of gold And whispering myrtles; glassing softest skies, As cloudless, save with rare and roseate shadows, As I would have thy fate!

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A palace lifting to eternal summer

Its marble walls, from out a glossy bower
Of coolest foliage musical with birds,

*

Whose songs should syllable thy name! At noon
We'd sit beneath the arching vines, and wonder
Why earth could be unhappy, while the heavens
Still left us youth and love! We'd have no friends

That were not lovers; no ambition, save

To excel them all in love! We'd read no books
That were not tales of love-that we might smile
To think how poorly eloquence of words
Translates the poetry of hearts like ours.

And when night came, amidst the breathless heavens
We'd guess what star should be our home when love
Becomes immortal; while the perfumed light
Stole through the mist of alabaster lamps,
And every air was heavy with the sighs
Of orange-groves and music from sweet lutes,
And murmurs of low fountains that gush forth
I' the midst of roses!-Dost thou like the picture?

BULWER.

COME HOME.

SOME home! there is a sorrowing breath
In music since ye went,

And the early flower scents wander by

With mournful memories blent.

The tones in every household voice

Are grown more sad and deep;

And the sweet word-brother-wakes a wish

To turn aside and weep.

O ye beloved! come home! The hour

Of many a greeting tone,

The time of hearthlight and of song

Returns-and ye are gone!

And darkly, heavily it falls

On the forsaken room,

Burdening the heart with tenderness,
That deepens midst the gloom.

Where finds it you, ye wandering ones!
With all your boyhood's glee
Untamed? Beneath the desert's palm,

Or in the lone mid sea?

By stormy hills of battles old?

Or where dark rivers foam?

Oh! life is dim where ye are not-
Back, ye beloved, come home!

Come with the leaves and winds of spring,
And swift birds o'er the main!
Our love is grown too sorrowful-
Bring us its youth again!

Bring the glad tones to music back!

Still, still your home is fair,

The spirit of your sunny life
Alone is wanting there!

MRS. HEMANS.

OUR COUNTRY AND OUR HOME.
HERE is a land, of every land the pride,
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside;
Where brighter suns dispense serener light,

And milder moons emparadise the night:
A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth:
The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air:

In every clime the magnet of his soul,

Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole ;
For in this land of heaven's peculiar grace,
The heritage of nature's noblest race,
There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wise,
Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

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