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A CENTURY OF VERSES.

'Twas joy to hear thy solemn voice descant

Of Fathers, Councils, and the page Divine:

For then thy words were precious and well weighed,
Oracular with wisdom. Or if men

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And manners were thy theme,-scholars and wits,
The idols of past years,-how rich thy vein!
Thy speech how courteous, classical, and kind!
Each story new because so wondrous old:
And each particular exactly given,

The name, the place, the author, yea the page,

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Nought was forgotten. "But I tire you, Sir,"

So would he say,—“ I fear I tire you, Sir?

An old man, Sir!" while one's heart danced for joy.

He sleeps before the altar, where the shade
He loved will guard his slumbers night and day;
And tuneful voices o'er him, like a dirge,
Will float for everlasting. Fitting close
For such a life! His twelve long sunny hours
Bright to the edge of darkness: then, the calm
Repose of twilight, and a crown of stars.

Beati mortui qui moriuntur in Domino.

ORIEL COLL., Oxford.

J. W. B.

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Lechmere Lea.

ERY bright with golden glory Shines the sun on Lechmere Lea, As the early dawn is breaking Over grass and flower and tree.

Beam with light the distant mountains;

Sparkles gay the stream below;

And from every wakening cottage,
See the smoke uprises slow.

In the thicket's leafy cover,

Hark! the thrush is singing clear; And the wild dove's tender cooing

Falls upon the listener's ear:

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LECHMERE LEA.

And the cock, his clarion sounding,
Seems to bid the world rejoice,
As the messenger of morning,
With his thrilling trump-like voice.

At his call the village waketh—
Wakes to toil and labour's strife;
But there's one who never, never,
Will awake again to life.

Where the stream with windings myriad
Flows 'midst flowers on Lechmere Lea,
Where the willows downward drooping
Kiss the waters as they flee,

There, within the stillest corner,

'Midst the sedge and 'midst the reeds, Floats a form, whose golden ringlets Tangled mingle with the weeds.

And the face, with pallid features,
Gazes from its eyes of blue

On the pitying vault of heaven,
Cloudless with its azure hue.

LECHMERE LEA.

For that form no more the morning
Beams with all its cares and joys:
All forgotten is the village,

With its stir and busy noise.

All is past! life's joy and sorrow
Now are ended in the stream;
All is past life's joy and sorrow
Now are only as a dream.

Ah! forgive that form that sleepeth
In the stream on Lechmere Lea-
One whom sin and shame and madness
Hurled into eternity.

OXFORD.

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C. T.

S, when the wind is high, with fearful roar The booming breakers wake the shingly shore, When lightnings dance abroad, and air is rent; A few short hours,-and all their rage is spent: Without a ripple sleeps the peaceful brine, And on its dimpled face the sunbeams shine: So come misfortunes: o'er the heads of men With fearful force they break ofttimes, but then Subside, and leave him placid as before,

And roll away to shake another shore.

EXETER COLL., Oxford.

P. W. L.