140 



THE PAUPKK. 



The choicest blooms of spring tide 



hoars, 

 While the primrose pale and daisy fair 

 And a thousand star like sweets are 



there. 



I come, I come for the Cuckoo's note, 

 W ill soon be heard through the woods 



to float. 

 And the summer birds return again, 

 To warble each rich enchanting strain 

 They've brought from a laud that's 



far away, 

 \Vhere insects dance on the flow'rets 



gay, 

 And a host of lovely sweets repose, 

 Rich as the scent of the rirgin rose. 



I come, but my reigu will soon be 



past. 

 And the pearls I bring will fade at last ; 

 And the shorts-lived dream will soon 



be o'er- 

 And I shall go and be seen no more; 

 For summer will come and take my 



place, 

 And her gentle form my steps erase, 

 But her form like mine will droop 



and fade. 

 And all her sweets on the grass be laid. 



Wm. Heaton 



^Ut iJilttfi iaMp^v. 



Slowly and feebly breathing, 

 The dying pauper lay, 

 His wrinkled brow oershadow'd 

 With locks long since turned grey ; 

 And hisvoice was weak am', trembled 

 As he chaunted this mournful lay. 



" The winter wind is cold, 

 Yea cold in its lightest breath, 

 But colder still at my poor heart 

 Is the icy grasp of death ; 

 I feel it on me now, 

 Freezing in every vein, 

 And yet a heat is on my brow, 

 A burning on my brain." 



" I'm weary of this life, 



So full of care and grief. 



Midst turmoil sin and strife. 



In vain I seek relief. 



But oh! 'tis very cold, 



My heart's blood chills so fast. 



That ere this hour is told. 



Death's stream I shall have passed." 



His breathing faint and slow. 

 More faint, more feeble grew, 

 And his eyes so snnk and dull, 

 Assumed a leaden hue ; 

 And ere that hour departed. 

 All death reveals, he knew. 



R. D 



