The treasures of each loved recess,
The deep and tangled wilderness,
The upland way;

The furze-clad mountain, and the hill
Where votaries of joy may fill
Their chalice gay.

The sheltered homestead, whose repose
Might seem to promise to our woes
A healing balm ;

Where boughs of generous culture spread
Their canopy to guard our head,
And breathe a calm.

She pictured with her glowing pen,
The every-day pursuits of men,
The rural game ;

The mirthful children of the soil,
The sons of durance and of toil,
And youth's proud aim.

The sports, the pastimes wild and free
Of childhood in its frolic glee,

Its spring-tide morn ;

The bounding steps that lightly pass
Where level lawns of new-mown grass

THE VILLAGE QUEEN.

And she could picture, she could dress
The halls of state and courtliness,
The ladies fair;

The bachelors-but not of arts

Who bore in scenes like these, their parts-
Exotics rare!

With such a florist amateur

Each cherished blossom might secure

A favouring vote;

The cultured garden in her pale,

And blooms that scent the wild-wood gale,
In scenes remote.

She loved the homes of English ground,
Where flowers the fairest may be found,
Of varying dye;

Snowdrops, and larkspurs, and jonquilles,
Daisies, and pinks, and daffodils,

And rosemary.

And much she joyed her charge to tend,
She deemed herself their guardian friend
In sultry hour,

When cooling dew-drops of the sky
Locked up in nature's treasury,
Refused their dower.

She loved in woodland guise, to roam
Far from the mansion and the dome,

Those fields among,

Where nature's denizens agree

To pour in fullest harmony,

Their tides of song.

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And there with chapeau sur le bras,
She wandered with a loitering pas,
Through each lone dell

Where streamlets from their caverns rude,

Echo the name of solitude

With gurgling swell.

The cowslip and the primrose pale

Breathe their soft perfume in her tale,

With fragrant breath—

The breath of spring, the breath of joy,
Unsullied by the dark alloy

Of coming death.

Sweet" May-flower!" favourite of her hand! And subject of her mild command !

Thy bounding tread,

Thy frolic-and thy looks of love
A gentle mistress well could move
To stroke thy head,

And bid thee in her graces still,
To roam with her and roam at will-
Companion dear;

With hearts in closest bonds allied,
That fondly journeyed at her side
When home was near.

She pictured and she prized the while,
Each winning art, each gladdening smile-
Affection's boon;

The fond, the tender and the true—
The charms that brighten in our view,

Nor vanish soon.

THE VILLAGE QUEEN.

She sketched-but how shall I convey
Each penciled scene in fair array,
Each rural grace?

Each charm of country and of town,
Each fair attraction that we own,
In its due place.

She loved the solaces and charms
That circle us with willing arms,
Along life's road;-

But might her moral have exprest
What enemies disturb our rest
And lead from God,

Depicting to the mental eye,
The hidden depths of vanity,
The heart's deep ill;

The follies of this world of ours,
The fallacy of human powers,
Our stubborn will;

The curse that rests upon our sin,
The ambuscade of death within,

The treacherous mind;

Well might her genius then engage
The favour of a golden age,

By truth refined.

Thanks for thy tapestry of thought !

For sights and sounds to memory brought
By themes like thine;

Where pictured visions that supply

The charms of ideality,

Reflected, shine.

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Each kindling of superior sense,
Each spark of high intelligence
From heaven comes down ;-
Then may the wisdom of the wise,
The grace and glory of the skies,
Thy portion crown !

"Thou crownest the year with thy goodness: and thy paths drop fatness. They drop upon the pastures of the wilderness; and the little hills rejoice on every side. The pastures are clothed with flocks: the valleys also are covered over with corn; they shout for joy, they also sing."-Psalm lxv. 11-13.

"Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad; let the sea roar, and the fulness thereof. Let the field be joyful, and all that is therein: then shall all the trees of the wood rejoice before the LORD."-PSALM xcvi. 11-13.

THE "PRISONER OF PROVIDENCE," AND THE "PRISONER OF HOPE."

FULL many a year did Satan bind

In bonds of death, that deathless mind;
That prison-house-that house of clay
Retained a guest well plumed for day.

Those bounding pulses thrilled with pain,
And fever touched that throbbing brain,
And earth with conflict wild and high,
Held back its votary from the sky.