presence of God and His holy angels; that eats and drinks because he needs it, not that he may serve a lust or load his belly: he that is bountiful and cheerful to his friends, and charitable and apt to forgive his enemies; that loves his country, and obeys his prince, and desires and endeavors nothing more than that he may do honor to God:" this person may reckon his life to be the life of a man, and compute his months, not by the course of the sun, but the zodiac and circle of his virtues; because these are such things which fools and children and birds and beasts can not have; these are therefore the actions of life because they are the seeds of immortality. That day in which we have done some excellent thing, we may as truly reckon to be added to our life as were the fifteen years to the days of Hezekiah.

THE LAND O' THE LEAL.

Caroline Oliphant, Lady Nairne.

I'm wearin' awa', John,

Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,

I'm wearin' awa'

To the land o' the leal.1

There's nae sorrow there, John,
There's neither cauld nor care, John,

The day is aye fair

In the land o' the leal.

Our bonny bairn's there, John,
She was baith gude and fair, John,

And oh! we grudged her sair

To the land o' the leal.

1 leal, loyal, true; the land o' the leal, the place of the faithful.

But sorrow's sel' wears past, John,
And joy's a-comin' fast, John,
The joy that's aye to last

In the land o' the leal.

Sae dear that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought

To the land o' the leal.

Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John,
My saul langs to be free, John,
And angels beckon me

To the land o' the leal.

Oh! haud ye leal and true, John,

Your day it's wearin' through, John, And I'll welcome you

To the land o' the leal.

Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John,
This warld's cares are vain, John,

We'll meet, and we'll be fain,2

In the land o' the leal.

TO THE MUSES.

William Blake.

WHETHER On Ida's shady brow
Or in the chambers of the East,
The chambers of the Sun, that now
From ancient melody have ceased;
2 fain, joyful.

Whether in heaven ye wander fair

Or the green corners of the earth, Or the blue regions of the air,

Where the melodious winds have birth;

Whether on crystal rocks ye rove,
Beneath the bosom of the sea
Wandering in many a coral grove,
Fair Nine, forsaking Poetry;

How have you left the ancient love
That bards of old enjoy'd in you!
The languid strings do scarcely move,
The sound is forced, the notes are few!

KUBLA KHAN.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree: Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round:

And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;. And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;

Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw :

It was an Abyssinian maid,

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.

The famous orators have shone,
The famous poets sung and gone,
The famous men of war have fought,
The famous speculators thought,
The famous players, sculptors, wrought,
The famous painters fill'd their wall,
The famous critics judged it all.
The combatants are parted now
Uphung the spear, unbent the bow,

The puissant crown'd, the weak laid low.
And in the after-silence sweet,

Now strifes are hush'd, our ears doth meet,