He that gets patience and the blessing which He that loves God's abode, and to combine March 13. ON STELLA'S BIRTHDAY, 13th March 1718. STELLA this day is thirty-four With half your wit, your years, and size. (That either nymph might have her swain) SWIFT. March 14. THERE'S not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull decay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess; The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shiver'd sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And tho' the eye may sparkle still, 'tis when the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours, that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruin'd turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray beneath. Oh, could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, Or weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be, So midst the wither'd waste of life those tears would flow to me! BYRON. ARCH 16 Sunday. Remains to make our own time glad, Our common daily life divine, THE CHAPEL OF THE HERMITS. asting fire, e next was death. As gentle dreams our waking thoughts pursue, She did but dream of Heaven and she was there. Her soul was whisper'd out with God's still voice. He took her as He found, but found her so, DRYDEN. March 17. THE STARLINGS. EARLY in spring time, on raw and windy mornings, Beneath the freezing house-eaves, I heard the starlings sing "Ah, dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily? Sad, sad, to think that the year is but begun." Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless evenings Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing "Ah, that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting merrily; Sad, sad, to think that the year is all but done." CHARLES KINGSLEY. March 18. BROTHER AND SISTER. I. I CANNOT choose but think upon the time He was the elder, and a little man I held him wise, and when he talked to me If he said “Hush!" I tried to hold my breath, V. Thus rambling we were schooled in deepest lore, Those hours were seed to all my after good; |