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The wind-flower and the violet, they perished long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchis died amid the summer glow;
But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook, in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the clear, cold heaven, as falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.
And now, when comes the calm, mild day, as still such days will come,
To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home,
When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still,
And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore,
And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream
And then I think of one who in her youthful beauty died,
The fair, meek blossom that grew up and faded by my side:
In the cold, moist earth we laid her, when the forest cast the leaf,
And we wept that one so lovely should have a life so brief;
Yet not unmeet it was that one, was that one, like that young friend
So gentle, and so beautiful, should perish with the flowers.
THE CORAL GROVE.
THE CORAL GROVE. - Percival.
DEEP in the wave is a coral grove,
For the winds and the waves are absent there,
The purple mullet and gold-fish rove
A HAPPY LIFE. - Sir Henry Wotton.
How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill;
Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath ;
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Who hath his life from rumors freed;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.
This man is freed from servile bands
KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM.
KNOWLEDGE and Wisdom, far from being one, Have oft times no connection. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom, in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude, unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich ! Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much, Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
SINCE trifles make the sum of human things,
Old English Poetry.
THE sturdy rock, for all his strength,
With little drops of drizzling rain;
Yea, man himself, unto whose will
Doth fade at length, and fall away.
But Virtue sits, triumphing still,
Upon the throne of glorious Fame;
WHO is the honest man?
He that doth still and strongly good pursue, To God, his neighbor, and himself, most true; Whom neither force nor frowning can Unpin, or wrench from giving all their due.
Whose honesty is not
So loose or easy, that a ruffling wind
Who, when great trials come,
Nor seeks nor shuns them; but doth calmly stay