in the Pyrenees.

I

UNTIRINGLY upon yon peaks I gaze,

Whose snow-clad summits pierce the calm blue

sky,

Sheltered the while from glowing noonday blaze 'Neath some grand rock, with cool stream dash

ing by.

2

Yon virgin snow, on azure bed reposing,

Tells us of heaven's own purity and truth,

Each passing moment some new phase disclosing Of glorified and everlasting youth.

3

In what stern contrast frowns the bold bare mass Of dizzy steep! making us pigmies wonder How such catastrophe could come to pass

When this old Earth was rudely rent asunder;

While at its base swells many a verdant slope,
Arrayed in varied garb of smiling green,
Encouraging each drooping heart to hope,

And 'mid life's shocks maintain a front serene.

5

Here, hemmed in by huge rocky mountain piles,
Like Venus in old Vulcan's rough embraces,
"Eaux Bonnes" each welcome traveller beguiles-
Justly esteemed a paradise of places.

6

Methinks no Paris milliner can vie

With old Dame NATURE-in form, colour, taste, She beats them all! Let then Eve's daughters try

Her skill, nor so much wealth on rubbish waste!

A Souvenir of Venice.

I

"I stood at Venice "-[here I quote Lord Byron]—

Upon an ancient bridge of goodly size,

And viewed therefrom the structures that environ

The Grand Canal, and fascinate the eyes
Of strangers, taking lazy exercise

In gondolas, reclining quite at ease;

Their minds, meanwhile, striving to realise

The amphibious lives of those lords of the seas,

Whose relics still possess such wondrous power to

please.

2

They must have been grand fellows in their way,
Those grim old Doges-sworn foes of all Turks
And heretics; oft exercising ruthless sway,
And somewhat overprompt to use their dirks;

G