gg " MEDITATIONS AT THE FOOT OF THE BEACON." 



Not such, — more heart-expanding still than they ; 



More cause for present pride ; not bleared and blotched 



By wasting years, — nor owe they to decay 



The veneration which their forms inspire. 



Beneath those high pitched roofs repose the poor, 



Secure from want, there to enjoy in peace 



The bounty of the rich benevolent. — 



One, nobler still, on far ofE rising groimd 



(Raised in a style, fit palace for the queen 



Whose name it bears) the Orphanage towers high ; 



A mighty parent for the parentless. — 



(Oh I how the admiration sinks to naught, 



How droops the contemplative pride we feel. 



When gazing on the halls whose only tise 



Is luxury affording to the few 



Of favoiu-'d fortune ; when compared with those 



Around which the air seems thick with blessings, 



As holy incense, from o'er bm-dened hearts, 



That breathe their gratitude in thankful sighs 



Of fervent Avordless prayers, for God to bless 



The benefactors of the fatherless. — 



And one green sj^ot like an oasis set, 

 Amidst the Avilderness of parched streets. 

 Where Art and Nature wedded, blend in one, 

 And offer jointly of their charms to all. — 

 Nor was it the accumulated mass 

 Of some great city's wealth, that there bestowed, 

 In lavish beauty such a costly gift; — 

 No ! Halifax it was a son of thine, 

 Who blessed with fortune, shared rmgrudgingly, 

 With rich and poor from out his private store. 



These are but few old Town of what thou hast 

 Which offer charms, and bind me closer still ; — 

 Thy skirting woods, and little babbling brooks, 

 The rustic lanes, whose homely flowering weeds 

 Gladden the sight of the observing eye : — 

 All, all have charms, which make me bless the fate 

 That cast my lot amongst thy just proud sons, 

 And tho' the unlettered bard they may despise, 

 They cannot rob me of the privilege, 

 To walk thy fields, and muse amidst thy woods, 

 To lave my throbbing temples in thy streams, 

 To gaze upon the monuments they raise, 

 Or blind me to the soul solacing truth, 

 That though the distance ' twixt themselves and me 

 Be e'er so great, — still am I one of them. 



J. H. 



