Whom thoughts abstruse or high have chanced to lure Forth from the walks of men, revolving oft, And oft again, hard matter, which eludes And baffles his pursuit-thought-sick and tired Half wishes for society again. Him, thus engaged, the sabbath bells salute VERSES FOR AN ALBUM. Fresh clad from Heaven in robes of white, Thou wert, my soul, an Album bright, A spotless leaf; but thought, and care, And Time, with heaviest hand of all, And Error, gilding worst designs, Like speckled snake that strays and shines- And Vice hath left his ugly blot- And fruitless late Remorse doth trace, Disjointed members-sense unknit- My scalded eyes no longer brook Go-shut the leaves-and clasp the book! THE CHRISTENING, Array'd-a half-angelic sight- Which must assoil the soul within From every stain of Adam's sin.— Nor knows what all this wonder means; Whose virtues, rightly understood, Are, as Bethesda's waters, good. Strange words-the World, the Flesh, the Devil Poor babe, what can it know of evil? But we must silently adore Mysterious truths, and not explore. Enough for him, in after times, When he shall read these artless rhymes, If looking back upon this day With easy conscience he can say, "I have in part redeem'd the pledge Of my baptismal privilege; And more and more will strive to flee All that my sponsors kind renounced for me." SONNET. We were two pretty babes, the youngest she, Time was, we two had wept to have been apart. Defiling with the world my virgin heart— LINES SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF TWO FEMALES BY LEONARDO DA VINCI The lady Blanch, regardless of all her lovers' fears, To the Urs'line convent hastens, and long the Abbess 66 hears. "O Blanch, my child, repent ye of the courtly life ye lead." Blanch look'd on a rose-bud and little seem'd to heed. She look'd on the rose-bud, she look'd round, and thought On all her heart had whisper'd, and all the Nun had taught. "I am worshipped by lovers, and brightly shines my fame, All Christendom resoundeth the noble Blanch's name. Nor shall I quickly wither like the rose-bud from the tree, My queen-like graces shining when my beauty 's gone from me. But when the sculptured marble is raised o'er my head, And the matchless Blanch lies lifeless among the noble dead, This saintly lady Abbess hath made me justly fear, here." ON THE PICTURES OF SALOME. When painters would by art express Beauty in unloveliness, Thee, Herodias' daughter, thee, They fittest subject take to be. They give thy form and features grace; But ever in thy beauteous face They show a steadfast cruel gaze, From Salome. QUEEN ORIANA'S DREAM. On a bank with roses shaded, Yields but feeble smell or none; And two more did music keep, To the mighty Tamerlane, Thus far, in magnific strain, Twenty suns did rise and set, Made a virtue out of need, And his labours wiselier deem'd of, Did omit what the queen dream'd of. HESTER. When maidens such as Hester die, A month or more hath she been dead, A springy motion in her gait, Of pride and joy no common rate, I know not by what name beside She did inherit. Her parents held the Quaker rule, A waking eye, a prying mind, My sprightly neighbour, gone before When from thy cheerful eyes a ray |