The world lies before thee now, lassie, And when time rolls a few more years Its troubles may blight thy brow, lassie, And dim thy blue eyes with tears. Thou art come to a stormy life, lassie, Where often the hurricanes lower— Where wild are the waves of strife, lassie, And strong is affliction’s power. Where flowers soon fade away, lassie, And strew their leaves to the blast— Where one moment the sky is gay, lassie, The next with clouds overcast. Thou art the new-born rose of spring, lassie, As soft, as fair, and as frail— The hands of the storm oft fling, lassie, The rose of spring to the gale. May that hand never fall on thee, lassie, To blight thy rose in its pride, Mayst thou glide o’er a sunny sea, lassie, On a calm and gentle tide. May the cup of thy life never cloy, lassie, May thy heart e’er be light and gay; Mayst thou meet with the smile of joy, lassie, And a blest, and a cloudless day. ----- [2] Through the kindness of the mother of the poet, (the well-known and lamented _Florio_) we are enabled to present our readers with the above sweet little poem—one of his earliest compositions, and certainly not one of his worst. By mere accident it has hitherto remained unpublished.—Eds. * * * * * LEAVES FROM A LAWYER’S PORT-FOLIO. THE ROBBERY AND MURDER. _Macd._ O, horror! horror! horror! tongue, nor heart, Cannot conceive nor name thee! _Macbeth._ “James,” said a mild but feeble voice, “cheer up, God will yet send us relief. Has he not said that he heareth even the young raven’s cry, and think you that he will suffer us to starve? Oh! no,” continued the sick wife, forgetting her own sufferings in those of her husband, “believe it not. Succor will yet come: we shall once more see happy days—” “Ay!” answered the husband, bitterly, “when we are in our graves. Ay! when want has driven the nails in our coffins: but not till then. My God!” he exclaimed suddenly, with the fierceness of despair, “was it for this I was sent into the world?” “Oh! James,” said the meek wife, bursting into tears, “I can bear all except such terrible repinings. Father,” she continued, raising her streaming eyes to heaven, “forgive him, for he knows not what he says.” The husband was moved. He turned his head away from his wife, perhaps to hide a tear; but if so, his weakness vanished as he gazed upon the ruinous and desolate apartment to which poverty had driven them, while all the bitterness of his soul once more lowered on his face.