HER MORAL.

Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold !

Bright and yellow, hard and cold,
Molten, graven, hammer'd, and roll'd;
Heavy to get, and light to hold;
Hoarded, barter'd, bought, and sold,
Stolen, borrow'd, squander'd, doled :
Spurn'd by the young, but hugg'd by the old
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold;
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold:

Good or bad a thousand-fold!

How widely its agencies vary—

To save-to ruin-to curse-to bless-
As even its minted coins express,

Now stamp'd with the image of Good Queen Bess,
And now of a Bloody Mary!

She went away with song,

With Music waiting on her steps,

And shoutings of the throng;

But some were sad and felt no mirth,
But only Music's wrong,

In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell,

To her you've loved so long.

VI.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines,
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before,—

Alas for pleasure on the sea,

And sorrow on the shore!

The smile that blest one lover's heart

Has broken many more!

BALLAD.

SPRING it is cheery,

Winter is dreary,

Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; When he's forsaken,

Wither'd and shaken,

What can an old man do but die?

Love will not clip him,

Maids will not lip him, Maud and Marian pass him by; Youth it is sunny,

Age has no honey,

What can an old man do but die ?

June it was jolly,

O for its folly!

A dancing leg and a laughing eye;
Youth may be silly,

Wisdom is chilly,—

What can an old man do but die ?

Friends they are scanty,
Beggars are plenty,

If he has followers, I know why;

Gold's in his clutches

(Buying him crutches!)

What can an old man do but die ?

RUTH.

SHE stood breast high amid tne corn,
Clasp'd by the golden light of morn,
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
Who many a glowing kiss had won.

On her cheek an autumn flush
Deeply ripened ;-such a blush
In the midst of brown was born,
Like red poppies grown with corn.

Round her eyes her tresses fell,
Which were blackest none could tell,
But long lashes veil'd a light,
That had else been all too bright.

And her hat, with shady brim,
Made her tressy forehead dim;—
Thus she stood amid the stooks,
Praising God with sweetest looks :-

Sure, I said, heav'n did not mean,
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean,
Lay thy sheaf adown and come,
Share my harvest and my home.