THE LOST FISH.

"Ah!" cries the boy, "was never seen
A fish like that which broke my rod,
Such weight, such breadth of scaly sheen,
A sucking whale he might have been,
A grampus or Newfoundland cod."
Thus in our aims we all are boys,
And Fortune's present grace abuse;
For, ever of all earthly toys,
Love, honours, triumph, gain, or joys,
The richest is the one we lose.

STRIKING THE TENT.

This quaint round bower, this sheltering canvas cave,
In which we ate and slept, and prayed, and planned,
Falls in a moment, when to yonder slave
Expectant of the sign my hand I wave,
All limp and shapeless on the desert sand.
Depart in peace, O wanderer of Useit!
Rejoicing in thy strength the mountain tread,
Yet never may'st thou this memento slight;
Erect to-day for labour and delight,
To-morrow prone among the dusty dead.