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And yet 'tis selfish thus to grieve-'tis base to doubt thy truth,
Those looks and tones of tenderness beseem thy gentle youth,
And if thy soul of virtue's charms displays a bounteous store,
Thou need'st not, sweet one, love the less, though I must love the

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In fancy's trance I kiss thy brow, and clasp thee to my breast,But ah! how soon that dream departs, like sun-light in the west! And then my path is dark as their's who wander through the night

When suddenly the fitful winds have quenched a cheering light.


And yet not wholly comfortless is home's deserted cell,
For there thy written words remain of faithful love to tell;

And these are symbols of the soul that life's fond records save, E'en when the hand that traced the lines is mouldering in the grave!


And still around my neck is hung, that last dear gift of thine,
So like a fairy talisman-a spell almost divine!

I hold it in my trembling hand-I touch thy braided hair—
I do but press the secret spring-and see thy features fair!


YE seem not, sweet ones, formed for human care-
Your dreams are tinged by heaven ;-your glad eyes meet

A charm in every scene; for all things greet
The dawn of life with hues divinely fair!

How brightly yet your laughing features wear
The bloom of early joy! Your bosoms beat
With no bewildering fears,—your cup is sweet—
The manna of delight is melting there!

Twin buds of life and love !-my hope and pride!
Fair priceless jewels of a father's heart!

Stars of my home! No saddening shadows hide
Your beauty now.
Your stainless years depart
Like glittering streams that softly murmur by,
Or white-winged birds that pierce the sunny sky!


OH! now glad Nature bursts upon mine eye!
The night of care is o'er. Deep rapture thrills
My waking heart; for Life's deforming ills,
That come like shadows when the storm is nigh,
Foreboding strife, at length have floated by
And left my spirit free!-The skylark trills
His matin song; the cloud-resembling hills
In dim cerulean beauty slumbering lie,

And form the throne of Peace; the silver stream
Is sparkling in the sun-its bright waves seem
Instinct with joy; the verdant breast of earth
Teems with delight.-The past is like a dream,
A dull trance broken by the voice of mirth,
mist scatteerd by the morning beam!






THE skies are blue as summer seas-the plains are green and


The groves are fair as Eden's bowers-the streams are liquid light—
The sun-rise bursts upon the scene, like glory on the soul,
And richly round the couch of Day the twilight curtains roll.


But oh! though beautiful it be, I yearn to leave the land,—
It glows not with the holier hues that tinge my native strand,
Where shadows of departed dreams still float o'er hill and grove,
And mirrored in the wanderer's heart, immortalize its love!


I gaze upon the stranger's face-I tread on foreign ground,
And almost deem Enchantment's wand hath raised up all

around :

My spirit may not mingle yet with scenes so wild and strange, And keeps in scorn of fleshly bonds its old accustomed range.


In that sweet hour when Fancy's spell inebriates the brain,
And breathing forms to phantoms turn, and lost friends live again,
Oh! what a dear delirious joy unlocks the source of tears
While like unprisoned birds we seek the haunts of happier years.



A SUDDEN gloom came o’er me; A gathering throng of fears Enshrouded all before me,

And through the mist of tears

I saw the coming years.


'Tis strange how transient sorrow
Can mortal sight delude;
To-day is dark-to-morrow
Shall no dull shade intrude

To tinge a brighter mood.


I heard the low winds sighing
Above the cheerless earth,

And deem'd the hope of dying
Was all that life was worth,

And scoffed at human mirth.


From that wild dream awaking,

And through the clouds of care

A mental sunshine breaking,

I marvelled how despair

Could haunt a world so fair.



BELIEVE me, dearest friend, 'twere nobler far

To scorn the prize for which thy soul hath yearned,
Than tamely feed a passion proudly spurned

By one whom thou hast worshipped as a star.
Oh! live not thus eternally at war

With loftier hopes! Before thy young veins burned
With love's sweet poison, who like thee discerned
The glad earth's glory, or so laughed at care?
Arrest then quickly this delirious fever,
Nor breathe again an unavailing sigh;

Forget a cold, disdainful heart for ever;

Seek the green meadows and the mountains high
And crystal rivers. Feast thine amorous eye
On Nature's charms, for she repulseth never.


WHEN to my fevered brain, the long drear night
No balm hath brought, and restless and alone
I've paced the silent fields, till glittering bright
O'er the green orient mount the fresh day shone ;
How have I joyed to mark yon hoary Tower
Unfolding slowly, 'neath the morning beams,
His misty mantle grey !—In such an hour,
To Contemplation's eye glad Nature seems
Most holy, and the troubled heart is still.—
The vocal grove, the sky-reflecting lake,
The cheerful plain, and softly-shadowed hill,
To loftier dreams are ministrant, and wake
Unutterable love for this fair Earth,
And silent bliss, more exquisite than mirth.

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