ALLHALLOW TIDE- 31! 



NOV. 6. St. Leonard, hermit and conf. 6lh age. 

 St. Leonard, hermit, 6th cent. 

 St.Winoc, abbot, 8th cent. St. Iltutus, ab. 6th cent. 



Obs. St. Leonard was a Frencli nobleman at the court of Clovis I., and was in the 

 rtower of his aj^e converted to the faith by St. Remiffius, and became lUs constant disci- 

 ple. He preached the faitli some time, but findin^: it difficult to resist the king's impor- 

 tunities, who would needs call him to court, he retired privately into the territory of 

 Orleans, where St. Maximin g-overned the monastery of Mice. In this house St.-Leonard 

 took the religious habit, but, aspirini? after a closer solitude, he left his monastery with 

 the leave of St. Maximin, and cliose tor his retirement a forest four leag-ues from 

 Limoges. Here in a place called Nobillac he built liimself an oratory, and lived on wild 

 herbs and fruits. When he had hlled up the measure of liis good works, his labours 

 were. crowned witli a happy death, about the year 559. St. Leonardos Day was formerly 

 a half holiday, with obligation of hearing mass. 



Yew Tree Taxus bnccata full fl. 



We insert the following parody on soni'' sinjilar lines among the German V'olkslieder, 

 which the decayed Howers of this time suggest to our memory ; 

 O how quickly, O how fleeting. 



Doth each flowery season pass ! 

 Time is always mortals cheating. 



Swiftly runs life's hourglass; 

 That which whylorae seem'd the morning, 



Present time, we now call night, 

 Soon another day '11 be dawning. 



Soon will set another light. 

 O how quickly, O how tieeting, 



Recreant Spring has passed away ; 

 Daffodillies, valley Lilies, 



And sweet Violets, all decay. 

 That which whylome seem'd the springtime, 



Budding Hedges, Hawthorn bloom, _ 

 All are gone, and who can bring time' 



Back, dispelling wintery gloom. 



O how quickly, O how fleeting. 



Glowing Summer rolled along, 

 Lilies, Posies, Pinks and Roses, 



Nightless days and milkmaid's song. 

 That which once was frolic haytime. 



Now is Winter's morning drear. 

 What was whylome Nature's daytime, 



Seems the evening of the year. 



O how quickly, O how fleeting. 



Autumn's golden fruits are fled. 

 Scarce they're tasted but they're wasted, 



And the bough that bore thera dead. 

 What just now was harvest feasting, 



When the Horn of Plenty blew. 

 Vintage mirth, and merry jestin^-, 



Ceas'd when brumal whirlwinds bleu, 

 O how quickly, O how fleeting, 



Will dark Winter's reign pass o'er; 

 Other springs, our senses cheating, 



Soon will bloom to bloom no more. 

 W hat now is, is always waning. 



Flying Time will no more fly. 

 But th' eternal self remaining. 



Seeks its mansion in the sky. 

 Ah while each successive season 



Steals some friend, till all are gone. 

 Time is spinning, we are sinning, 



Lifi 's pale lamp is burning on. 

 Cares oppressing, fools caressing, * 



Toiling till our span is spun ! 

 Hope we find the only blessing 



Waiting the eternal Sun. 



Hail then, Lady Star of Heaven, 



Hear thy pilgrim's 'votive prayer. 

 Balm of woes whom God has given 



To the mourner in despair : 

 That which once was giddy Pleasure's 



Passing time, shall now be thine ; 

 Thee I'll praise in deftest measures. 



Virgin, now thine ear incline. 

 For since changeable and fleeting 



Are all worldly pleasures here. 

 Spring and Summer always cheating. 



Autumn waning, Winter near. 

 Brightest Star, that's ever shining. 



Round whose feet bright Angels sing. 

 Help my soul, to God inclining. 



To obtain tU' eternal Spring. 



