But, oh! there were hearts cherished far other feelings, Who drank from the scenery of beauty but sorrow, 'Twas the few faithful ones who with Cameron were lying, Their faces grew pale, and their swords were unsheathed, But the vengeance that darkened their brow was un breathed; With eyes turned to heaven in calm resignation, The hills with the deep mournful music were ringing, Though in mist and in darkness and fire they were shrouded, The muskets were flashing, the blue swords were gleaming, When the righteous had fallen, and the combat was ended, A seraph unfolded its doors bright and shining, On the arch.of the rainbow the chariot is gliding, Thomas Hood. { Born 1798 Died 1845 THIS poet, humorist, and accomplished writer, was born in London. his father being a bookseller there. Hood was sent to a merchant's office early in life, but his health failing, he was sent to Dundee to recruit, and on his return to London was apprenticed to an engraver, under whom he learned much of the art which was useful to him in his after career. In 1821 he adopted literature as a profession, and was appointed to the editorship of the London Magazine, which he held till its discontinuance. Hood was a busy writer, and enlivened the weeklies and monthlies with his wit and humour. He is the author of several volumes of poetry and prose; but the piece by which he is best known is "The Song of the Shirt," which first appeared in "Punch." It struck home to the sympathies of man's nature, and aroused the feelings of a benevolent public in favour of the poor seamstress. After a long and wasting illness, Hood died 3d May 1845. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. WITH fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt; "Work-work-work! While the cock is crowing aloof! And work-work-work! Till the stars shine through the roof! It's oh! to be a slave, Along with the barbarous Turk, "Work-work-work! Till the brain begins to swim; Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Seam, and gusset, and band, And sew them on in a dream! "O men, with sisters dear! O men, with mothers and wives, It is not linen you're wearing out! But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch-stitch! In poverty, hunger, and dirt; Sewing at once, with a double thread. A shroud as well as a shirt. "Work-work-work! My labour never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread, and rags. That shattered roof-and this naked floor A table a broken chair; And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank "Oh! but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet, "Oh, but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for love or hope, A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt; Would that its tone could reach the rich! She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON. THоU happy, happy elf! (But stop-first let me kiss away that tear) (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) In love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou cherub-but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) David Macbeth Moir. { Born 1798 Died 1851. THE well known Delta (A) of "Blackwood's Magazine" was born at Musselburgh, near Edinburgh, in 1798. He passed through the University with credit, and commenced practice as a surgeon in his native town, where he continued till his death. At the age of nineteen he sent his first verses to the press, and for thirty years he continued to enrich "Blackwood" with a series of poems, remarkable for their depth and purity of feeling. In the same magazine was first published "Mansie Wauch," a prose embodiment of Scottish character of the richest humour. He died in 1851. FROM "THE BIRTH OF THE FLOWERS." A VISION. ONCE on a time, when all was still, As pass'd a vision through his head: The snowy mountain-peaks explored, The daring eagle wheeled and soared; On which the orient radiance played, And formed a lattice-work of shade: And sempiternal forests, where Wild beasts and birds find food and lair; And verdant copse by river side, Which threading these-a silver line- Was seen afar to wind and shine Down to the mighty sea that wound And, like a snake of monstrous birth, |