THE ROSE.

The rose had been washed, just washed in a shower,

Which Mary to Anna conveyed, The plentiful moisture encumbered the flower,

And weighed down its beautiful head.

The cup was all filled, and the leaves were all wet,

And it seemed to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret

On the flourishing bush where it grew.

1 hastily seized it, unfit as it was,

For a nosegay, so dripping and drowned, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!

I snapped it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part

Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart

Already to sorrow resigned.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloomed with its owner a while, And the tear, that is wiped with a little address,

May be followed perhaps by a smile.

THE DOVES.

REASONING at every step he treads,
· Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinct leads,

Are rarely known to stray.

One silent eve I wandered late,

And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus addressed her mate,

And soothed the listening dove;

Our mutual bond of faith and truth

No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth

Shall cheer out latest age:

While innocence without disguise,

And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circles of those eyes,

And mine can read them there;

Those ills, that wait on all below,

Shall ne'er be felt by me, Or gently felt, and only so,

As being shared with thee.

When lightnings flash among the trees,

Or kites are hovering near,
I fear lest thee alone they seize,

And know no other fear.

'Tis then I feel myself a wife,

And press thy wedded side, Resolved a union formed for life

Death never shall divide.

But oh! if, fickle and unchaste,

(Forgive a transient thought) Thou could become unkind at last,

And scorn thy present lot,

No need of lightning from on high, .

Or kites with cruel beak; Denied the endearments of thine eye,

This widowed heart would break.

Thus sang the sweet sequestered bird,

Soft as the passing wind, And I recorded what I heard,

A lesson for mankind.

A FABLE.

A Raven, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly pressed,
And on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same)
Enjoyed at ease the genial day;
'Twas April as the bumpkins say,
The legislature called it May.

But suddenly a wind as high, As ever swept a winter sky, Shook the young leaves about her ears, And filled her with a thousand fears, Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, And spread her golden hopes below. But just at eve the blowing weather, And all her fears were hushed together ; And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 'Tis over, and the brood is safe; (For ravens, though as birds of omen They teach both conjurors and old women To tell us what is to befall, Can't prophesy themselves at all.) ; The morning came when neighbour Hodge, Who long had marked her airy lodge, And destined all the treasure there, A gift to his expecting fair, Climbed like a squirrel to his dray, And bore the worthless prize away.