en, one, who, when on tiptoe, sees
Her history running through a line of Kings:
In fame how excellent; in life how pure;
As though the virtues of her ancestry
Had found new utterance in her virtuous self.
As rain-drops, trickling through the hills of Time,
Commingling gather, till, in sparkling life,
They come, a streamlet, happy in the sun,
To gladden all with beauty, so the gems
That thickly fleck an old ancestral name
From time how distant, centre in the soul
Of her who comes this day with loving smile
To crown a husband with such wealth of worth
As 'tis her own to give. Thrice happy pair!
May cloudlets never dim the arc of light
That should engirdle all their lives, and make
Their home a paradise. If such should come,
May they be transient as a summer cloud
That mars but for a moment, yet to make
The sky more beautiful. May truest Love
Be with them ever, garnishing their lives
With bliss perpetual, and lighting up
Their footsteps o'er the earth, as when, of old,
God's angels walked with men. So shall they live
A life which loving hearts alone may know.

IMPROMPTU:

ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMAS KNEATH, A WELL-KNOWN
TEACHER OF NAVIGATION, AT SWANSEA.

He pupils taught to brave the gale
Secure on life's tempestuous sea;
Then, pupil he of Death, set sail
To navigate Eternity.

The students taught by him--return
In safety to their friends ashore;
But tutor Death, so cold and stern,
Brings back his pupils--never-more.

EXTRACTS FROM SOME UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT.

HUMILITY OPPRESSED.

Blame not the world:
But blame its law that makes it crime akin
To be of lowly birth--to lack the gold
Whereby to coat the mask to cheat the world
Of sterling merit. See yon beauteous fly
Breaking its plumage 'gainst the glassy pane,
Till spent and weary, yearning tow'rds the sun.
E'en so the lowly-born but large of soul
See not, but feel, the chilling barrier
Set up by Pride to mar their sky-ward flight
To liberty and life.

UPWARD STRIVINGS.

See, when the simple moth doth blindly rush
To reach the flame, its life oft pays the debt
Of folly. Yet 'tis nobler thus to die
Midst all the brightness of a waking life,
Than from the world ooze out through darkened ways
By beggarly instalments--none to feel
Thy life but thine own poor ignoble self:
And none to tell the moment of thy