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A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
Taken from a Philadelphia magazine, where it appeared as the composition of the Rev. E. H. SEARS.
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
To touch their harps of gold :-
From Heaven's all-gracious King,"
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurld,
O'er all the weary world ;
They bend on heavenly wing,
The blessed angels sing !
Yet with the woes of sin and strife,
The world had suffer'd long,
Two thousand wrong;
The love-song which they bring,
And hear the angels sing !
And ye, beneath life's crushing road
Whose forms are bending low,
With painful steps and slow;
Come swiftly on the wing,
And hear the angels sing!
For lo, the days are hastening on
By prophet bards foretold,
Comes round the age of gold ;
Its ancient splendours fling,
Which now the angels sing !
Another extract from the new volumes of Poems by ROBERT BROWNING, entitled Men and Women. (Chapman and Hall.)
BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead
Sit and watch by her side an hour.
She pluck'd that piece of geranium-flower,
Little has yet been changed, I think-
Save two long rays through the hinge's chink.
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name-
Her life had many a hope and aim,
And now was quiet, now astir-
And the sweet white brow is all of her.
Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope ?
What, your soul was pure and true,
Made you of spirit, fire and dew=
And our paths in the world diverged so wide,
We were fellow mortals, nought beside ?
No, indeed! for God above
Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love,
I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delay'd it may be for more lives yet,
Through worlds I shall traverse, not a fewMuch is to learn and much to forget
Ere the time be come for taking you.
But the time will come—at last it will
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say, In the lower earth, in the years long still,
That body and soul so pure and gay ? Why your hair was amber I shall divine,
mouth of your own geranium's red, And what you would do with me, in fine,
In the new life come in the old one's stead.
I have lived, I shall say, so much since then,
Given up myself so many times, Gain'd me the the gains of various men,
Ransack'd the ages, spoil'd the climes ;
What is the issue ? Let us see.
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while;
My heart seem'd full as it could hold ; There was place and to spare for the frank young smile
And the red young mouth and the hair's young gold. So, hush, I will give you this leaf to keep;
See, I shut it inside the sweet cold hand. There, that is our secret! go to sleep ;
You will wake, and remember, and understand.
By BARRY CORNWALL.
The sparkling, bounding, breathless river-
And runs its glittering course for ever.
Its psalm at noon, its hymn at even ;
Some blessings of a bounteous Heaven.
Such joy as tends the herb and flower,
Yielding the rose its crimson dower ;
Confronts the storm, outlasts the thunder;-
O river! who dost wake no wonder,
Thou minglest with each joy and sorrow,
Bidding the thankless world “Good morrow !”
From a volume recently published in America, entitled National Miscellanies, by Mr. DUGANNE, containing much that is beautiful, amid more that is extravagant and incoherent.
I sit beside my gentle one:
Her band is laid in mine;
In golden haze decline.
the misty hill ;
At our own cottage-sill.
The distant brooklet's murmurs come,
Like bell-notes through the leaves ;
Its dreamy music weaves.
Upon the air departs ;
Is creeping to our hearts.
In clustering ringlets twines;
Gleams through the dusty vines ;
Amid the trellis-bars-
A glory like the stars.
Her eyes are bright with tears ;
half-breathed and half-represt, My listening spirit hears. Oh ! blessed be the changeless love
"That glorifies my life! All doubt, all fear, all guile above
My own true-hearted wife !
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
With solemn voice and slow.
No purple flowers, no garlands green,
Thick leaves of mistletoe.