146 
Stork. 
The lily may die on thy cheek, 
With freshness no longer adorning; 
The rose that envelopes its whiteness may seek 
To take back her mantle of morning; 
Yet still will Love’s tenderness beam from thine eye, 
And ask for that homage no heart can deny. 
Dawes. 
The glory of the human form 
Is but a perishing thing, and Love will droop 
When its brief grace hath faded. But the mind 
Perisheth not, and when the outward charm 
Hath had its brief existence, it awakes, 
And is the lovelier that it slept so long. 
Willis. 
Beauty lies 
As naturally upon his cheek as bloom 
Upon a peach. Like morning vapour, flies 
Before his smile my mind’s infrequent gloom. 
We tremble when we think that many a storm 
May beat upon him in the time to come,— 
That his now beautiful and fragile form 
May bear a burden sore and wearisome. 
Yet, so the stain of guiltiness and shame 
Be never placed upon his soul and name,— 
So he preserve his virtue though he die,— 
And to his God, his race, his country prove 
A faithful man, whom praise nor gold can buy, 
Nor threats of vile, designing men can move,— 
We ask no more. 
MacKellar. 
