A PROTEST.

"Alas! the love of women! it is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing;

For all of theirs upon that die is thrown,

And if 'tis lost, life hath no more to bring
To them but mockeries of the past alone."

BYRON.

WHAT say'st thou that a woman's all is cast
Upon one die, that die the love of man?

Nay, Heaven forbid that woman's heart should be
So poor and weak a thing! What! in that heart
Blooms but one flower? and when, with ruthless hand,
Proud man hath gathered, crushed, and cast aside
That one fair blossom, is all desolate?

Believe it not :-the heart of woman is

A fount of many streams, whose waters flow
Forth to the world, as rivers to the sea,
Dispensing joy and blessing, yet return,

As rivers feeding their own founts with dew,
Replenishing the source from whence they spring
With their own peace and gladness. Yet thou say'st
That "all of hers upon one die is thrown,
And if 'tis lost, life has no more to bring

Save mockeries of the past."-What call'st thou, then, The dear, dear love of parent, sister, brother?

What call'st thou friendship's ties ? Are these all

nought,

All to be cast aside in vain despair

For that which could not be ?-life to be wasted

In vain regrets and bitter memories

Of a once-cherished past? Nay, 'tis not so:
The heart of woman is of purer metal

Than thus to break beneath one dastard blow.
Ah, no; she bends awhile, and then, uprising,
Turns with a love and joy, how deep and pure,
Unto the dear, true hearts that wait for her—
The sweet home love she ne'er has known to fail,
Since first it hovered o'er her baby couch,
Or watched around her growing womanhood.
And oft-how oft a woman thus has risen
Purer and nobler from the fierce ordeal,
And has gone forth, bearing upon her brow
A light of Faith so steadfast, on her lips
Such gentle words of tenderness and love,

That hearts bowed down with grief have smiled again
Beneath the sunshine of her smile; and blessings,
Fervent and heartfelt as e'er mortal breathed,

Have hovered fondly o'er the steps of her
Who, through such sorrow, hath come forth to be
The Guardian Angel of our homes and hearts!

SHADOWS.

TELL me not that life is dreary,
That the world is full of care;
For I look on God's bright heaven,
And I see no dimness there,

And I cannot think of sorrow,

With God's bright works round me spread,

With His glorious earth around me,

And His blue sky overhead.

What though clouds may flit across it?
What though joy awhile may fade? -
What were Earth without its shadows?
What were sunlight without shade?

Look on yonder purple mountains,

Where the shadows sleeping lie; Think'st thou they were half as lovely 'Neath an ever-changeless sky?

Or yon little smiling valley,

Chequered o'er with light and shade,

With the shadows ever flitting

Swiftly o'er the sunny glade?

Earth were but a burning desert,
Life but one long fever-dream,
If God sent not clouds to soften
Summer's scorching mid-day beam.

Give me, then, both joy and sorrow; Give me sun, and give me shade: Both have their appointed mission To the souls that God hath made.

IN VAIN.

WHY Comest thou again, false Hope,
With laughing lip, and merry eye?
Why wake again this hidden pain?
I am less calm when thou art by.

Oft have I followed thee, fair child;

Oft basked beneath thy treacherous smiles; Oft have I tuned my heart to join The music of thy merry wiles.

With laugh and shout thou oft hast twined
Thy sunny flowers about my head.

I have them yet—lo, where they lie,—
Behold them, withered, drooping, dead.

How often hath thy beaming eye

Shed its false glamour o'er my path, With visions of sweet household love Arrayed my dim and lonely hearth!

Then the whole earth grew glad and bright, Beneath thy joyous, bounding tread;

And I have thrilled with glad surprise

To see the beauty round me spread.