POETRY.

THE FIRST RIDE.
(See the Engraving.)

O! happy, happy childhood,
When all was bright above;

When every thought was kindness,
And every look was love;

When all a father's pity

Would chase the starting tear;
And nearness to a mother's heart,
Made summer all the year!

The fresh and sunny morning
Brought then no fev'rish noon,
All hopes were hopes without a cloud,
And every season-June.

Then, the young heart unfettered,
Though little prone to roam,

Found in the flowers companionship,
And every where--a home.
Oft in the breezy meadow-
Oft by the silent stream-
We conjured up the future
In many a gorgeous dream :
A dream without its treachery,
A spell that never brake:

For then, the hues that come in sleep
Tinged all our thoughts awake.

Ah! then the common's ample sward,

The chequered hills beyond;

The twittering trees whose every leaf

Gleamed in the darkling pond;

The noisy geese, th' untiring bee,

The clover's bossy flower,

Seemed to our yet undoubting hearts

A more than queenly dower.

Those happy trees! we see them still

But ah! how dwindled now!

The practised hand could hurl a stone

Above their topmost bough

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Elysium of the patient race,
In solemn stupor laid

Beneath their fragrant whisperings;

Or wincing in their shade.

Ho! to the coming pageant!
For lowly though it be,

We hail the false or faltering step
That but augments the glee;

Joy to those sun-lit faces!

Joy to that infant call!

The spirit of our earlier days

Revives, and lives through all.

Yet, to the riper vision,

'Tis well these scenes should fade

We would forego "the happiness

That makes the heart afraid "-
The dreams that must be broken-
The loves that will depart:--
We want an ever-living hope
Wherewith to fill the heart.

WHO IS ALONE?

How heavily the path of life

Is trod by him who walks alone; Who hears not, on his dreary way, Affection's sweet and cheering tone. Alone, although his heart should bound With love to all things great and fair, They love not him,-there is not one His sorrow or his joy to share.

The ancient stars look coldly down
On man,
the creature of a day;
They lived before him, and live on

Till his remembrance pass away.
The mountain lifts its hoary head,

Nor to his homage deigns reply ; The stormy billows bear him forth,

Regardless which-to live or die.

The flow'ret blooms unseen by him,

Unmindful of his warmest praise;
And if it fade, seeks not his hand
Its drooping loveliness to raise.
The brute creation own his power,

And grateful serve him, though in fear;
Yet cannot sympathise with man,
For if he weep, they shed no tear.
Alone, though in the busy town,
Where hundreds hurry to and fro,
If there be none who for his sake

A selfish pleasure would forego;
And oh! how lonely, among those

Who have not skill to read his heart, When first he learns how summer friends At sight of wintry storms depart.

My Saviour! and didst thou too feel

How sad it is to be alone,

Deserted in the adverse hour

By those who most thy love had known?
The gloomy path, though distant still,
Was ever present to thy view;
Oh! how couldst thou, foreseeing it,
For us that painful course pursue.

Forsaken by thy nearest friends,
Surrounded by malicious foes;
No kindly voice encouraged thee,
When the loud shout of scorn arose.
Yet there was calm within thy soul,
Nor Stoic pride that calmness kept,
Nor Godhead, unapproached by woe,-
Like man thou hadst both lov'd and wept.

Thou wert not then alone, for God

Sustained thee by his mighty power; His arm most felt, his care most seen,

When needed most in saddest hour; None else could comfort, none else knew How dreadful was the curse of sin;He who controll'd the storm without, Could gently whisper peace within.

MARY! why weepest thou? what makes thee sad?
What brings thee to this spot at early dawn?
When all around thee is in darkness clad-
Tell me thy heart; and bid thy griefs begone.

"With hasty step I come to seek my Lord;
"But find him not, for he is borne away.

"Oh, ease this throbbing breast with some kind word, "Show me where Jesus rests, without delay."

Thy Lord is risen; he hath left the tomb,

The massy stone is gone-he is not here,
Fear not, though joys at present cannot bloom,
Thou shalt behold thy Lord! dismiss thy fear.

"Mary! whom seekest thou? Say whence these tears ?"
"What! can it be my Master's voice that sounds!
"My anxious thoughts I'll chase, dispel my fears,
"My hope revives, my joy again abounds.

"Thy resurrection-morn I knew would come,

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Thy deathless Godhead soon would burst the grave,
Humanity was touched, and that alone,

"Nor death nor hell thy mighty power could brave."

-"Go tell my brethren, thou hast seen the Lord,
"Soon from this earth to heaven I re-ascend

"Unto my Father and your faithful God,
"Who peace will give, and love them without end."

M. S. COPE.