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WHO IS THE MAID ?
ST. JEROME'S LOVE.*
Through cold reproof and slander's blight? Has she Love's roses on her cheeks?
Is her's an eye of this world's light?
Are the pale looks of her I love,
Its beam is kindled from above.
From those who seek their Maker's shrine
it shall no more be called Tophet, nor the Valley of the Son of Hinnom, but the Valley of Slaughter; for they shall bury in Tophet till there be no place.”—Jer. vii. 32.
* These lines were suggested by a passage in St. Jerome's reply to some calumnious remarks that had been circulated upon his intimacy with the matron Paula :~" Numquid me vestes sericæ, nitentes gemmæ, picta facies, aut auri rapuit ambitio ? Nulla fuit alia Romæ matronarum, quæ meam possit edomare mentem, nisi lugens atque jejunans, flelu pene cæcata.”—Epist.“ Si tibi putem.”
In gems and garlands proudly deck'd,
As if themselves were things divine!
That beats beneath a broider'd veil;
And love, because its bloom is gone;
Is all the grace her brow puts on.
So touching as that form's decay,
In holy lustre wastes away!
* Ou yag xev od poguts. The dangerous dr.- Chrysost. Homil. 8. in Epist. ad Tim.
The bird, let loose in eastern skies,*
When hastening fondly home,
Where idle warblers roam.
Above all low delay,
And stain of passion free,
To hold my course to Thee !
My Soul, as home she springs;Thy Sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy Freedom in her wings! * The carrier-pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in order to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined.
OH! THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S
“ He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.”—Psalm cxlvii. 3.
How dark this world would be,
We could not fly to Thee.
When winter comes, are flown;
those tears alone.
Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.
And even the hope that threw
A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimm'd and vanish'd too!
Did not thy Wing of Love
Our peace-branch from above ?
With more than Rapture's ray;
We never saw by day!
WEEP NOT FOR THOSE.
I. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb,
In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or Earth had profaned what was born for the
skies. Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow bad
stain'd it, 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course,