Earliest bud that decks the garden,
Fairest of the fragrant race,
First-born child of vernal Flora,
Seeking mild thy lowly place;
Tho' no warm or murmuring zephyr
Fan thy leaves with balmy wing,
Pleas'd we hail thee, spotless blossom,
Herald of the infant spring.
Thro' the cold and cheerless season
Soft thy tender form expands,
Safe in unaspiring graces,
Foremost of the bloomy bands.
White-robed flower, in lonely beauty,
Rising from a wintry bed;
Chilling winds, and blasts ungenial,
Rudely threat'ning round thy head.
Silv'ry bud, thy pensile foliage
Seems the angry blasts to fear;
Yet secure, thy tender texture
Ornaments the rising year.
No warm tints, or vivid col'ring,
Paint thy bells with gaudy pride;
Mildly charm'd, we seek thy fragrance,
Where no thorns insidious hide.
'Tis not thine, with flaunting beauty,
To attract the roving sight;
Nature, from her varied wardrobe,
Chose thy vest of purest white.
White, as falls the fleecy shower, Thy soft form in sweetness grows; Not more fair the valley's treasure, Not more sweet her lily blows.
Drooping harbinger of Flora,
Simply are thy blossoms drest;
Artless as the gentle virtues
Mansion'd in the blameless breast.
When to pure and timid virtue
Friendship twines a votive wreath,
O'er the fair selected garland
Thou thy perfume soft shall breathe.
TO A REDBREAST.
BY LANGHORNE.
LITTLE bird, with bosom red,
Welcome to my humble shed!
Daily near my table steal,
Whilst I pick my scanty meal.
Doubt not, little though there be,
But I'll cast a crumb to thee;
Well rewarded, if I
spy
Pleasure in thy glancing eye;
See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill,
Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill.
Come my feather'd friend again!
Well thou know'st the broken pane.
Ask of me thy daily store;
Ever welcome to my door!
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
BY KIRKE WHITE.
WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye:
Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem,
But one alone the Saviour speaks-
It is the star of Bethlehem!
Once on the raging seas I rode;
The storm was loud, the night was dark; The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed
The wind that tossed my foundering bark; Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose
It was the star of Bethlehem.
It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
And, through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace;
Now, safely moored, my perils o'er,
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
For ever and for evermore
The star-the star of Bethlehem!
THE GOLD DIGGER'S STORY,
Founded on fact.
BY LADY GEORGINA FULLERTON.
THE breeze was fair and the sea was calm,
And the day's last crimson gave
A burnished hue to the sunset sky
A light to the sparkling wave.
"Hurrah! for the Golden Gate!" the cry
Arose from a motley crew,
As the ship which bore them sailed along
O'er the ocean field of blue.
Wild as the waves were the hearts of those
Whom that crowded vessel bore,
The homeward-bound, who had left that morn
The rough Californian shore.
There were joys as keen, and hopes as fresh
As air from the mountain crests;
And griefs as deep as the deep, deep sea,
In those throbbing human breasts.
The sound of their chorus rose and fell,
The glee of the rover's lay;
The shouts of three hundred men were heard
Full many a mile away.
"We are off, we are off! San Francisco farewell! We return to old Europe thy wonders to tell, Farewell to the Sacrament river and plain,
We have hunted for gold, and not hunted in vain. We have worked, we have starved through the long scorching day,
We have slept like the tiger who lurks near his prey; We have toiled with one hand, with the other hand fought,
We have led a strange life, and have found what we sought.
The feeble in body, the cowards in heart,
Never know the wild joy of the gold digger's start, When the bright metal gleams on the smooth shining sand,
As he stands o'er his prize, a revolver in hand.
But now we're all gentlemen, living at ease,
And we sail like the ship with a favouring breeze,
We have dreamed of the future, the future is come;
Hurrah! for the gold digger's fortune and home:
Hurrah! and hurrah! for the Golden Gate's crew,
Hurrah! and hurrah! for her good captain too;
And thoughts came crowding fast and thick
As on the gangway's side he stood
Of those who dwelt at Keir Anna,
The home he left five years before;
Bewitched by stories, sailors told
Of San Francisco's golden shore.
He braved the dangers, liked the life
In those strange regions, those wide fields,
Where keen exciting breathless toils
A sense of wild enjoyment yields.
No heed the ardent stripling took
Of weeks and months and even years;
Each day increased his store of gold,
He knew no sorrows, felt no fears.
But letters came from France, which threw
A darkness o'er those golden dreams,
The French Conscription law recalled
The wanderer from his sunny dreams.
Alas! by strong temptation urged,
His young rebellious spirit rose;
And deaf to duty's stern behest,
To linger o'er the time he chose.
Unmindful of disgrace at home,
Forgetful of the pains which wait
On all who faithless to its call,
By absence dare to cheat the State. And then he sung: "Farewell to France! A brighter prospect woos me here Than service, call it bondage, there. One more, and then another year, And I have gold enough to fling, In any country like a king." And from that day, the reckless boy Became a man, and worked more hard, And though his spirits still were high His laugh was not so often heard.
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