All that's bright must fade.
All that 's bright must fade,

The brightest still the fleetest;
All that's sweet was made

But to be lost when sweetest.

Farewell! But whenever you welcome the hour. You

may break, you may shatter the vase, if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.

Ballad Stanzas.
I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled

Above the green elms, that a cottage was near,
And I said “if there's peace to be found in the world,

“ A heart that was humble might hope for it here."

The Blue Stocking.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,

To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,

Then throw it idly by.

This World is all a Fleeting Show.
This world is all a fleeting show,

For man's illusion given;
The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe,

Deceitful shine, deceitful flow
There's nothing true but Heaven.

Oft in the Stilly Night.
Oft in the stilly night

E'er slumber's chain has bound me,
Fond memory brings the light

Of other days around me.

REGINALD HEBER.

1783-1826.

Palestine. No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung ; Like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung. Majestic silence !

Christmas Hymn. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid.

First Sunday after Epiphany.

No. ii.

By cool Siloam's shady rill

How sweet the lily grows.

Seventh Sunday after Trinity. When spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing

soil.

At a Funeral.

a
Death rides on every passing breeze,
He lurks in

every

flower.

No. ii. Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb.

On heavenly hope and earthly hope.
Thus heavenly hope is all serene,

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er,
Still fluctuates o'er this changing scene

As false and fleeting as ’t is fair.

Missionary Hymn.
From Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand.

JONATHAN M. SEWALL.

Epilogue to Cato.
WRITTEN FOR THE BOW STREET THEATRE, PORTSMOUTH, N. H.

1778.
No pent up Utica contracts your powers,
But the whole boundless continent is yours.

SAMUEL WOODWORTH.

1785-1842.

The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well.

LORD BYRON.

1788-1821.

CHILDE HAROLD.

Canto i. St. 9.
Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might de-
spair.

Stanza 15.
Oh, Christ ! it is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land.

Canto ii. St. 2.
A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour !

Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.

Stanza 6.
The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul.

Stanza 23. Ah! happy years ! once more who would not be a boy ?

Childe Harold - Continued.

Stanza 40.
By Heaven! it is a goodly sight to see
For one who hath no friend, no brother there.

Stanza 73.
Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth!
Immortal, though no more; though fallen, great !

Stanza 76. Hereditary bondsmen! know ye not, Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow?

Stanza 88.
Where'er we tread, 't is haunted, holy ground.

Age shakes Athena's towers, but spares gray Marathon.

Canto iii. St. 1.
Ada! sole daughter of my house and heart.

Stanza 21.
There was a sound of revelry by night.

Music arose with its voluptuous swell.

And all went merry as a marriage-bell.

Stanza 28. Battle's magnificently-stern array!

Stanza 55.
The castled crag of Drachenfels
Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine.