ot at their call.

RURAL PEACE.

Much mirth was theirs--war was no wonder then;
Dread fled with danger, and the cottage cocks,
The shepherd's war-pipe, called the sons of men
When morning's wheel threw bright dew from its spokes,
To pastures green to lead again their flocks;
The horn of harvest followed with its call;
Fast moved the sickle, and swift rose the shocks,
Behind the reapers like a golden wall--
Gravely the farmer smiled, by turns approving all.

The ripe corn waved in lone Dalgonar glen,
That, with its bosom basking in the sun,
Lies like a bird; the hum of working men
Joins with the sound of streams that southward run,
With fragrant holms atween: then mix in one
Beside a church, and round two ancient towers
Form a deep fosse. Here sire is heired by son,
And war comes never; ancle deep in flowers
In summer walk its dames among the sunny bowers.

He rose, find homeward by the slumbering stream
Walked with the morn-dew glistening on his shoon.
The sun was up, and his outbursting beam
Touched tower and tree and pasture hills aboon;
The stars were quenched, and vanished was the moon;
Loud lowed the herds and the glad partridge' cry
Made corn-fields musical as groves at noon;
Birds left the perch, bee following bee hummed by,
And gladness reigned on earth and brightness claimed the sky.

MINSTRELSY.

I sing of days in which brave deeds of arms
And deeds of song went hand in hand: our kings
Heroic feelings had and owned the charms
Of minstrel lore--they loved the magic strings
More than the sceptre; still their kingdom rings
With their gay musings and their harpings high.
To noble deeds fair poesie lends wings;
She lifts them up from grovelling earth to sky,
And bids them sit in light, and live and never die.

FAME.

Fame, fame--thou warrior's wish, thou poet's thought,
Thou bright delusion; like the rainbow thou
Glitterest, yet none may touch thee; thing of naught,
Star-high with heaven's own brightness on thy brow,
Blazoned and glorious I beheld thee grow--
Vision, begone,--for I am none of thine.
Of all that fills my heart and fancy now,
From dull oblivion not one word or line
Wilt thou touch with thy light and render it divine.

Even be it so. I sing not for thy smiles--
I sing to keep down sighs and ease the smart
Of care and sadness, and the daily toils
Which crush my soul and trample on m