THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice
Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;

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And with his hard, rough hand he wipes eyes.

A tear from out his

Toiling, rejoicing,-sorrowing,-
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earn'd a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life,
Our fortunes must be wrought,
Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped
Each burning deed and thought.

LONGFELLOW.

WHO LIVES FOR SELF?

"NOT for myself alone I live," Exclaimed a dew-bespangled flower; "To bee and insect food I give,

And earth with fragrant beauty dower."

""Tis not to self I

pay my vows,"

Rejoin'd the widely-branching tree; "The birds are lodged amid my boughs, And 'neath my shade man hastes with glee."

"Not for myself I sparkle clear,"

The mountain-streamlet laughing cried; "Man, beast, and fish, my waters cheer, And add their mite to ocean wide."

"I live not for myself alone,"

So warbled forth the soaring bird; "God's praise inspires my every tone, While man to hope and joy is stirr'd."

Then not to self, ah! not to self,

Let thinking souls devote their powers But, spurning folly, ease, and pelf,

For God and man employ their hours.

THE ASPEN-LEAF.

I WOULD not be

A leaf on yonder aspen-tree;
In every fickle breeze to play,
Wildly, weakly, idly, gay,

So feebly framed, so lightly hung,

By the wing of an insect stirred and swung; Thrilling even to a redbreast's note,

Drooping if only a light mist float,

Brightened and dimmed like a varying glass,
As shadow or sunbeam chance to pass;-
I would not be

A leaf on yonder aspen-tree.

It is not because the autumn sere

Would change my merry guise and cheer,-
That soon, full soon, nor leaf nor stem
Sunlight would gladden, or dew-drop gem,-
That I, with my fellows, must fall to the earth,
Forgotten our beauty and breezy mirth,
Or else, on the bough where all had grown,
Must linger on, and linger alone :-
Might life be an endless summer's day,
And I be for ever green and gay,

I would not be, I would not be
A leaf on yonder aspen-tree.

Proudly spoken, heart of mine,

Yet weakness and change, perchance, are thine,
More, and darker, and sadder to see,
Than befall the leaves of yonder tree.
What if they flutter-their life is a dance!
Or toy with the sun-beam-they live in his
glance!

To bird, breeze, and insect, rustle and thrill,
Never the same, never mute, never still,
Emblems of all that is fickle and gay,

But leaves in their birth, but leaves in decay— Chide them not!-heed them not!-spirit away!

In to thyself, to thine own hidden shrine! What there dost thou worship? what deem'st thou divine?

Thy hopes, are they steadfast, and holy, and high?

Are they built on a rock? are they raised to the sky?

Thy deep secret yearnings,-oh! whither point they?

To the triumphs of earth? to the toys of a day?

THE ASPEN-LEAF.

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Thy friendships and feelings,-doth impulse

prevail

To make them and mar them, as wind swells the sail?

Thy life's ruling passion,-thy being's first aim,

What are they? and yield thee contentment or shame?

Spirit, proud spirit, ponder thy state,

If thine the leaf's lightness, not thine the leaf's fate!

It may flutter, and glisten, and wither, and die, And heed not our pity, and ask not our sigh; But for thee, the immortal, no winter may throw

Eternal repose on thy joy or thy wo!

Thou must live-live for ever-in glory or gloom,

Beyond the world's precincts, beyond the dark tomb.

Look to thyself, then, ere past is Hope's reign, And looking and longing alike are in vain; Lest thou deem it a bliss to have been or to be But a fluttering leaf on yon aspen-tree!

MISS JEWSBURY.