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STANZA S.

BY T. RAGG,

AUTHOR OF "THE DEITY," AND OTHER POEMS.

HIGH on a rocky precipice,

A heedless child was playing;
And in pursuit of every toy,
That promised him a moment's joy,
Still near its margin straying.

Some hundred fathoms deep below,
A fearful gulf was yawning;
And night came on in sables drest,
Yet reckless still the earth he prest,
And slept till break of morning.

The rock a pillow for his head;

The tempest roaring round him, Awhile he lay, for all their rage, The wind and thunder seemed to engage, Combining to astound him.

Yet heedless of their mingled roar,

Of safety fondly dreaming; He saw not the electric's train, Nor felt the heavy beating rain,

From heaven in torrents streaming.

At length with louder, deeper sound,
A sudden peal burst o'er him;

He woke—all heaven seemed wrapt in light,
So wide the lightning's fitful flight,

That spread its wings before him.

Roused from his torpor, he arose,
And flew he knew not whither;
Heaven's black artillery gathered near,
The margin of the steep seemed clear,
And impulse urged him thither.

At length the utmost edge he gained,
And trembled at beholding;
Behind the tempest's gathering power,
The dreadful dark abyss before,
Sad choice of fate unfolding.

His head turned giddy at the sight,
A chilling sweat came o'er him;
When from behind, his father's arm
Snatched the poor trembler safe from harm,

And thence securely bore him.

"Tis thus we gaily dance along;
And sinful pleasures follow;
And sleep secure on danger's brow,
Regardless of the gulf below,

That opens wide to swallow.

Thus when Mount Sinai's thunders roar,
And heaven's just laws confound us,
From that condemning scene we fly
Still to destruction rushing nigh,

Till woes on all sides bound us.

And when our every hope is lost,

Nor one bright charm can ease us; Our Father's voice soft whispers peace, Bids all our sad forebodings cease,

And leads us safe to Jesus.

DE ADVENTU HYEMIS.

M. A. FLAMINIUS.

JAM brumâ veniente præterivit
Estas mollior, et cadunt ab altis
Frondes arboribus: tepor Favonî,
Immanes Boreæ furentis iras

Formidans, abit. Illum, agri voluptas,
Canoræ volucres sequuntur. Ergo
Et nos dulcia rura deseramus,
Dum Ver purpureâ comâ decorum
Reducat Zephyri tepentis auram.

Horti, deliciæ meæ, valete!
Fontes luciduli, valete! Salve,
Mihi villula carior superbis

Regum liminibus! Recedo; sensum

Sed meum hic animumque derelinquo.

TRANSLATION.

ON THE APPROACH OF WINTER.

BY ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.

SUMMER'S last lingering rose is flown,
The leaf has wither'd on the tree;

I hear the coming winter moan
Through the sad forest sullenly.

The North wind's rage soft Zephyr flies;
And all the songsters of the grove,
Borne on his wing, 'mid brighter skies
Trill their sweet lays of joy and love.

Then quit we, too, the rural plain;
Till Spring, with coronal so gay,
Woo young Favonius back again,
And chide his coy, his cold delay.

Farewell, ye flowers! ye streams! and thou, Sweet home, than princely hall more dear! Seat of my soul's delight, adieu!

I go-but leave my spirit here.

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