Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps; She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, Smiles on her slumbering child with pensive eyes,

And weaves a song of melancholy joy

Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy: No lingering hour of sorrow shall be thine; No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine;

Bright as his manly sire the son shall be In form and soul; but ah! more blest than he!

Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe this aching heart for all the

past

With many a smile my solitude repay,
And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away.
Campbell.

MOTHER-Joy of a.

As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,
What answering looks of sympathy and joy!
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word,
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard;
And ever, ever to her lap he flies,

When rosy sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Lock'd in her arms, his arms across her flung
That name most dear, for ever on his tongue),
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How bless'd to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss
impart:

Watch o'er his slumbers, like the brooding dove, And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love.

MOTHER AND HER INFANT.

Rogers.

There is a sight all hearts beguiling, -
A youthful mother on her infant smiling,
Who, with spread arms and dancing feet,
And cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
Who does not love to see the grandame mild
Lesson with yearning looks the listening child?
But 'tis a thing of saintlier nature,
Amidst her friends of pigmy stature,
To see the maid, in youth's fair bloom,
A guardian sister's charge assume,
And, like a touch of angel's bliss,
Receive from each its grateful kiss.
To see them, when their hour of lore is past,
Aside their grave demeanour cast;

MOUNTAINS.

With her in mimic war they wrestle;
Beneath her twisted robe they nestle;
Upon her glowing cheek they revel,
Low bended to their tiny level;
While oft, her lovely neck bestriding,
Crows some arch imp, like huntsman riding.
This is a sight the coldest heart may feel, -
To make down rugged cheeks the kindly tear
to steal.
Joanna Baillie.

MOTION.

MOTIVES-the Result of Weakness.

Motives imply weakness, and the reasoning powers imply the existence of evil and temptation. The angelic nature would act from impulse alone. Coleridge.

MOUNTAIN-Physical Aspect of the.
His proud head the airy mountain hides
Among the clouds; his shoulders and his sides
A shady mantle clothes; his curling brows
Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly
flows;

While winds and streams his lofty forehead
beat,-
The common fate of all that's high and great.
Nigh the dull shore a shapeless mountain stood,
That with a dreadful frown survey'd the flood.
Its fearful brow no lively green put on;
No frisky goats bound o'er the ridgy stone.

Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then put out the light:
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me:-but once put out thine,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature,
I know not where is that Promethean heat
That can thy light relume. When I have
pluck'd thy rose,

I cannot give it vital life again,
It needs must wither: - I'll smell it on the tree,-
O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword! -one more, one

Our course will seem too bloody,
To cut the head off, and then hack the limbs;
Like wrath in death, and envy afterwards:
Let us be sacrificers, but no butchers.

The muse, by fate's eternal plan, designed
To light, exalt, and humanize the mind;
To bid kind pity melt, just anger glow;
To kindle joy, or prompt the sighs of woe;
To shake with horror, rack with tender smart,
And touch the finest strings that rend the
heart.
Blacklock.

MUSIC-Associations of.

Once upon a time we knew a school-boy who, if he but chanced on the street to hear an urchin blowing a whistle, or playing on a Paris pipe, would forthwith conjure up Sicily, Theocritus, Mount Ida, and the Muses in a ring; wild thyme and the drowsy hum of Hyblæan bees, Syrinx, and the old mythologies, with many a sweet old pastoral. Then he would hear the little boy piping sweetly under the great plane tree by the fountain of Callirhoë the boy who, when asked where he learnt to play so well, answered with a look of wondering simplicity, that "it piped itself!" He would also listen in reverie to the Genius in the vision of "Mirza," or to the sweet melodies of the Good Genius in "Vathek." He would hear Blake's happy "Songs of Innocence," or the child piping in Sir Phillip Sydney's "Arcadia," as if he would never grow old. Each or all would visit him by turns; for then every sound, present or remembered, had its instant and vivid association. Thus for years he walked, continually surrounded by a bright world of enchantment and delight, sweet sounds and visions haunting him, till at times it became difficult to say whether his waking or sleeping dreams were the more real.

That which I have found the best recreation both to my mind and body, whensoever either of them stands in need of it, is music, which exercises at once both my body and soul; especially when I play myself; for then,

MUSIC.

methinks, the same motion that my hand makes upon the instrument, the instrument makes upon my heart. It calls in my spirits, composes my thoughts, delights my ear, recreates my mind, and so not only fits me for after business, but fills my heart, at the present, with pure and useful thoughts; 80 that when the music sounds the sweetliest in my ears, truth commonly flows the clearest into my mind. And hence it is that I find my soul is become more harmonious, by being accustomed so much to harmony, and so averse to all manners of discord, that the least jarring sounds, either in notes or words, seem very harsh and unpleasant to me.

MUSIC-Definition of.

Bishop Beveridge.

The soul of art best loved when love is by.

Brown.

MUSIC-Delights of.

strings,

I seem through consecrated walks to rove,
I hear soft music die along the grove:
Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade,
By godlike poets venerable made.

As rich a swell as ever minstrel drew.

L. E. Landon.

Pope.

MUSIC-Discovery of.

I'm never merry when I hear sweet music; The reason is your spirits are attentive. Shakspeare.

When Jubal struck the chorded shell,

MUSIC-Gentle Influence of.

His listening brethren throng'd around,

And, wondering, on their faces fell

To worship that celestial sound;