THE WINDMILL.

That windmill with its sails at rest
A thing immovable appears,
And o'er the little hamlet nest
The symbol of Salvation rears.
But when its arms the breezes spurn,
'Tis Fortune's wheel we image there;
Reared and depress'd they show in turn
Hope, joy, dejection, and despair.
Unstable souls, the Church at peace,
Seem steadfast thus in high resolve,
But in her storms and perils—these
Through many a shifting phase revolve.

FAIRIES AND FACTORIES.

They crush with piles and tear with thundering wheel
The rainbow arches from the torrent's spray;
The frightened Fairies, sure of no appeal,
Pair off in mournful minuets away.
So drudging life stamps out with daily pain
Our brightest, lightest fancies one by one;
Oh, may we hope to see them shine again
Beyond this working world, beyond the sun!