188 SELECT POETRY

Through the deep winter’s dreary day,
Here, dull and shivering, shalt thou stay,
Whilst we, who make the world our home,
To softer climes impatient roam,

Where summer still on some green isle
Rests, with her sweet and lovely smile.
Thus, speeding far and far away,

We leave behind the shortening day.”

«Tis true,” the red-breast answered meek,
““No other scenes I ask, or seek ;
To every change alike resigned,
I fear not the cold winter's wind.
When spring returns, the circling year
Shall find me stil] contented here ;
But whilst my warm affections rest
Within the circle of my nest,
T learn to pity those that roam,
And love the more my humble home.”
W. L. Bowles,

MY FATHER’S AT THE HELM.

Tue curling waves, with awful roar,
A little boat assailed ;

And pallid fear’s distracting power
O’er all on board prevailed—

Save one, the captain’s darling child,
Who steadfast viewed the storm;
And cheerful, with composure, smiled

At danger’s threatening form.