The Child of Earth. BY MRS. NORTON. FAINTER her slow steps fall from day to day; Make the warm air such luxury to breathe; Spare me, great God ! lift up my drooping brow! I am content to die-but oh! not now!" The spring hath ripened into summer-time ; The glorious sun hath reached its burning prime,- Greets my 883766A 100 THE CHILD OF EARTH. Pale sickness dims my eye, and clouds my brow, I am content to die-but oh! not now!” Summer is gone, and autumn's soberer hue I am content to die-but oh! not now!" The bleak wind whistles; snow-showers, far and near, The spring has come again, the joyful spring; Again the banks with clustering flowers are spread, The wild bird dips upon its wanton wing;- Death's silent shadow veils thy darkened brow- Sea-Weeds. One call no not! BY F. HEMANS. But flowers & the Он, call us not weeds, but flowers of the sea; flowers. Not nursed like the plants of the summer parterre, storms. "Chey that seek me early shall find me." BY W. G. CLARKE. COME while the blossoms of thy years are brightest, Thou youthful wanderer in a flowery mazeCome, while the restless heart is bounding lightest, And joy's pure sunbeam trembles in thy ways; Come, while sweet thoughts, like summer buds unfolding, Waken rich feelings in the careless breast, While yet thy hand the ephemeral wreath is holding, Come, and secure interminable rest. Come, while the morning of thy life is glowingEre the dim phantoms thou art chasing die— Ere the gay spell, which earth is round thee throwing, Fades like the crimson from a sunset ský. Life is but shadows, save a promise given, That lights the future with a fadeless ray Come-touch the sceptre-win a hope in heaven, Then will the shadows of this brief existence While o'er his dust the curtained grave is closing- How dear to this heart are the scenes of my child hood, When fond recollection presents them to view! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew; |