Part 49 (1/2)

FREDERICK LOCKER--1821-

And this was your Cradle? Why, surely, o clearly to show You were an exceedingly so

Your baby-days flow'd in a much-troubled channel; I see you, as then, in your i and flannel, Perplex'd with the newly-found fardel of Life

To hint at an infantile frailty's a scandal; Let bygones be bygones, for somebody knows It was bliss such a Baby to dance and to dandle,-- Your cheeks were so dimpled, so rosy your toes

Ay, here is your Cradle; and Hope, a bright spirit, With Love noatching beside it, I know

They guard the wee nest it was yours to inherit Soilds the future, Love welcos this old world, therefore stay not to ask, ”My future bids fair, is ?”

If mask'd, still it pleases--then raise not its ?

He is riding post-haste who their wrongs will adjust; For at most 'tis a footstep from cradle to coffin-- From a spoonful of pap to a , my Jenny; I see you, except for those infantine woes, Little changed since you were but a small pickaninny-- Your cheeks were so dimpled, so rosy your toes!

Ay, here is your Cradle,winters have sped

Hark! As I',-- It is time JENNY'S BABY should be in its bed

XC RUGBY CHAPEL

NOVEMBER, 1857

MATTHEW ARNOLD--1822-

Coldly, sadly descends The autu The field Streith its dank yellow drifts Of wither'd leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, Silent;--hardly a shout Frohts come out in the street, In the school-rooathering darkness, arise The chapel-walls, in whose bound Thou, loolooht Of thy radiant vigor again: In the gloom of November we pass'd Days not dark at thy side; Seasons impair'd not the ray Of thy buoyant cheerfulness clear

Such thou wast! and I stand In the autuone autuone round Since thou arosest to tread, In the su, the road Of death, at a call unforeseen, Sudden For fifteen years, We who till then in thy shade Rested as under the boughs Of a ht, Bare, unshaded, alone, Lacking the shelter of thee

O strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain!

So labor-house vast Of being, is practis'd that strength, Zealous, beneficent, fir sphere, Conscious or not of the past, Still thou performest the word Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live-- Prompt, unwearied, as here!

Still thou upraisest with zeal The huround, Sternly repressest the bad!

Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse Those ith half-open eyes Tread the border-land dim 'Twixt vice and virtue; reviv'st, Succorest!--this was thy work

This was thy life upon earth

What is the course of the life Of mortal men on the earth?-- Most men eddy about Here and there--eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are rais'd Aloft, are hurl'd in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving Nothing; and then they die-- Perish--and no one asks Who or what they have been, More than he asks aves, In the moonlit solitudes mild Of the one

And there are some, whom a thirst Ardent, unquenchable, fires, Not with the crowd to be spent, Not without ai and vain

Ah yes! some of us strive Not without action to die Fruitless, but so to snatch Frorave!

We, we have chosen our path-- Path to a clear-purpos'd goal, Path of advance!--but it leads A long, steep journey, through sunk Gorges, o'er mountains in snow

Cheerful, with friends, we set forth-- Then, on the height, comes the storm