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This morning you rose e'er the dawn,
appointment, perhaps—with Apollo;

fairy footprint on the lawn
tid not mistake, I determined to follow.

I tracked it, and, tripping above me,
glets flying and jeweled with dew,

r! Now, the truth, if you love me;
ald I question? I'm sure it was you.

mit deny you were met, in ascending,
ne, pursuing my truant by stealth-

young seraph, who turned, and, attending
said her name was the Spirit of Health.
ugh the mist of transparent vermilion
y flooded the brow of the hill,

gold rose Aurora's pavilion,
readow, and mountain, and rill.
ating up through the luminous air,
Ingers of snow in those clouds growing bright;
d dashed down o'er her votary fair
rose-beams that bathed her in light.
e at play, here and there, in your form,
ir fingers they steal to your white taper tips,
hat cheek its soft dimples to warm,

the crimson that lives in your lips. me again, with that scorn lighted eye,

not use paint, while such tinting is there? w still affirms what the glance would deny ? disclaim the sweet theft, if you dare !

MRS. F. S. OSGOOD

LESSON X XVII.

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THE TWO MAIDENS.
ONE came—with light and laughing air,

And cheek like opening blossom,
Bright gems were twined amid her hair,

And glittered on her bosom ;
And pearls and costly bracelets deck
Her round, white arms, and lovely neck.

Romans thrived. When your children have these possessions, you may go down to the grave in peace, as regards their temporal fortunes.

T. FLIXT.

LESSON X X V.

REFLECTIONS OF A BELLE.
I'm weary of the crowded ball; I'm weary of the mirth,
Which never lifts itself above the grosser things of earth;
I'm weary of the flatterer's tone ; its music is no more,
And eye and lip may answer not its meaning as before;
I'm weary of the heartless throng; of being deemed as one,
Whose spirit kindles only in the blaze of fashion's sun.

I speak in very bitterness, for I have deeply felt
The mockery of the hollow shrine at which my spirit knelt;
Mine is the requiem of years, in reckless folly passed,
The wail above departed hopes, on a frail venture cast,
The vain regret, that steals above the wreck of squandered hours,
Like the sighing of the autumn wind above the faded flowers.

Oh! it is worse than mockery to list the flatterer's tone,
To lend a ready ear to thoughts the cheek must blush to own,
To hear the red lip whispered of, and the flowing curl and eye,
Made constant themes of eulogy, extravagant and high ;
And the charm of person worshiped, in a homage offered not
To the perfect charm of virtue, and the majesty of thought.

Away! I will not fetter thus the spirit God hath given,
Nor stoop the pinion back to earth that beareth up to heaven;
I will not bow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule,
Nor welcome, with a smile, alike, the gifted and the fool;
No: let the throng pass coldly on; a treasured few may find
The charm of person doubly dear beneath the light of mind.

ANONYMOUS.

LESSON XXVI.

THE STOLEN BLUSH.
Never tell me that cheek is not painted, false maid !

'Tis a fib, though your pretty lips part while I say it; And if the cheat were not already betrayed,

Those exquisite blushes themselves would betray it.

these met regarded

But listen! This morning you rose e'er the dawn,

To keep an appointment, perhaps—with Apollo;
And, finding a fairy footprint on the lawn

Which I could not mistake, I determined to follow.

T.

To the hillside I tracked it, and, tripping above me,

Her sun-ringlets flying and jeweled with dew,
A maiden I saw ! Now, the truth, if you love me;

But why should I question? I'm sure it was you.

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And you cannot deny you were met, in ascending,

-I, meanwhile, pursuing my truant by stealth-
By a blooming young seraph, who turned, and, attending

Your steps, said her name was the Spirit of Healthi.
Meantime, through the mist of transparent vermilion

That suddenly flooded the brow of the hill,
All fretted with gold rose Aurora's pavilion,

Illumining meadow, and mountain, and rill.
And Health, floating up through the luminous air,

Dipped her fingers of snow in those clouds growing bright;
Then turned and dashed down o'er her votary fair

A handful of rose-beams that bathed her in light.
Even yet they're at play, here and there, in your form,

Through your fingers they steal to your white taper tips,
Now rush to that cheek its soft dimples to warm,

Now deepen the crimson that lives in your lips.
Will you tell me again, with that scorn lighted eye,

That you do not use paint, while such tinting is there?
While the glow still affirms what the glance would deny ?
No, in future disclaim the sweet theft, if you dare !

Mrs. F. S. OSGOOD

LESSON XXVII.

THE TWO MAIDENS.
One came—with light and laughing air,

And cheek like opening blossom,
Bright gems were twined amid her hair,

And glittered on her bosom;
And pearls and costly bracelets deck
Her round, white arms, and lovely neck.

Like summer's sky, with stars bedight,

The jeweled robe around her, And dazzling as the noontide light

The radiant zone that bound her;
And pride and joy were in her eye,
And mortals bowed as she passed by.
Another came-o'er her mild face

A pensive shade was stealing,
Yet there no grief of earth we trace,

But that deep, holy feeling,
Which mourns the heart should ever stray
From the pure fount of Truth away.
Around her brow, as snow-drop fair,

The glossy tresses cluster,
Nor pearl, nor ornament was there,

Save the meek spirit's luster;
And faith and hope beamed from her eye,
And angels bowed as she passed by.

MRS. S. J. HALE.

LESSON X X VIII.

THE PEBBLE AND THE ACORN.
“ I am a Pebble! and yield to none !"
Were the swelling words of a tiny stone;
“ Nor time nor seasons can alter me;
I am abiding while ages flee.
The pelting hail and the drizzling rain
Have tried to soften me, long, in vain;
And the tender dew has sought to melt
Or touch my heart; but it was not felt.
There's none that can tell about my birth,
For I'm as old as the big, round earth.
The children of men arise, and pass
Out of the world, like blades of grass,
And many a foot on me has trod,
That's gone from sight, and under the sod!
I am a pebble! but who art thou,
Rattling along from the restless bough ?"

The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute,
And lay for a moment abashed and mute;
She never before had been so near
This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere;
And she felt, for a time, at a loss to know
How to answer a thing so coarse and low.
But to give reproof of a nobler sort
Than the angry look, or keen retort,
At length, she said, in a gentle tone:
“ Since it has happened that I am thrown
From the lighter element, where I grew,
Down to another, so hard and new,
And beside a personage so august,
Abased, I will cover my head in dust,
And quickly retire from the sight of one
Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun,
Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel,
Has ever subdued, or made to feel !”
And soon, in the earth, she sunk away
From the comfortless spot where the pebble lay.
But it was not long ere the soil was broke
By the peering head of an infant oak!
And as it arose, and its branches spread,
The pebble looked up, and wondering said :
A modest acorn! never to tell
What was inclosed in its simple shell!
That the pride of the forest was folded up
In the narrow space of its little cup!
And meekly to sink in the darksome earth,
Which proves that nothing could hide its worth !

And oh ! how many will tread on me,
To come and admire the beautiful tree,
Whose head is towering toward the sky,
Above such a worthless thing as I!
Useless and vain, a cumberer here,
I have been idling from year to year.
But never, from this, shall a vaunting word
From the humble pebble again be heard,
Till something, without me, or within,
Shall show the purpose for which I have been."
The pebble its vow could not forget,
And it lies there wrapped in silence yet.

Miss H. F. GOULD.

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