Greedily he sought, and seeking found, the patroniz

ing notice of the great;

He thirsted for emoluments and honours, and counted rich men happy :

So he flattered, so he preached; and gold and fame flowed in ;

They flowed in, he was reaping his reward,-and felt himself a fool.

Alas, what a shadow was he following,-how precious was the substance he had left!

Man for God, gold for good, this was his miserable bargain.

The village church, its humble flock, and humbler parish priest,

Zeal, devotion, and approving heaven,-his books, and simple life,

His little farm and flower-beds,-his recreative rambles with a friend,

And haply at eventide the leaping trouts, to help their humble fare,—

All these wretchedly exchanged for what the world called fortune,

With the harrowing conscience of a state relapsed to vain ambitions.

Then, for God was gracious to his soul,-his better thoughts returned,

And better aims with better thoughts, his holy walk

of old.

Sickened of style, and ostentation, and the dissipative fashions of society,

He deserted from the ranks of Mammon, and renewed his allegiance to God:

For he found that the praises of men, and all that gold can give,

Are not worthy to be named, against godliness and calm contentment.

157

Of Life.

A child was playing in a garden, a merry little

child,

Bounding with triumphant health, and full of happy

fancies;

His kite was floating in the sunshine,-but he tied the string to a twig

And ran among the roses to catch a new-born but

terfly;

His horn-book lay upon a bank, but the pretty truant

hid it

Buried up in gathered grass, and moss, and sweet wild-thyme ;

He launched a paper boat upon the fountain, then

wayward turned aside,

To twine some vagrant jessamines about the dripping marble:

So, in various pastime, shadowing the schemes of

manhood,

That curly-headed boy consumed the golden hours: And I blessed his glowing face, envying the merry little child,

As he shouted with the ecstasy of being, clapping his hands for joyfulness :

For I said, Surely, O Life, thy name is happiness and

hope,

Thy days are bright, thy flowers are sweet, and pleasure the condition of thy gift.

A youth was walking in the moonlight, walking not

alone,

For a fair and gentle maid leant on his trembling

arm:

Their whispering was still of beauty, and the light of love was in their eyes,

Their twin young hearts had not a thought unvowed to love and beauty:

The stars, and the sleeping world, and the guardian eye of God,

The murmur of the distant waterfall, and nightingales warbling in the thicket,

Sweet speech of years to come, and promises of fondest hope,

And more, a present gladness in each other's trust; All these fed their souls with the hidden manna of

affection,

While their faces shone beatified in the radiance of

reflected Eden :

I gazed on that fond youth, and coveted his heart, Attuned to holiest symphonies, with music in its

strings;

For I said, Surely, O Life, thy name is love and

beauty,

Thy joys are full, thy looks most fair, thy feelings pure and sensitive.

A man sat beside his merchandize, a careworn altered

man,

His waking hope, his nightly fear, were money and its losses:

Rarely was the laugh upon his cheek, except in bitter

scorn,

For his foolishness of heart, and the lie of its romance,

counting Love a treasure.

His talk is of stern Reality, chilling unimaginative

facts,

The dull material accidents of this sensual body; Lucreless honour were contemptible, impoverished affection but a pauper's riches,