The sterile plain, the desert drear, And kindly would they welcome me: And brighter skies beyond. O then, though fainting and distrest, There is a home, there is a rest, THE FLOWER. LAWSON.. ON the golden breast of May It bloom'd to fade-it liv'd a day, "Twas the glory of the morn That gave it birth; Then dropped on the heath forlorn, To deck the rugged earth. "Twas the glory of the night That saw it die ; Then sicken'd pale, and hid her light In clouds that flitted by. Oh the tempest was unkind, And stern the shower; And ruthless was the wayward wind, That wreck'd so sweet a flower. Known to few, it liv'd unseen Where wild birds roam; Obscurity its only screen, The wilderness its home. Yet the bee, with busy care, Ne'er sought in vain for treasure there, Long its beauties might have bloom'd, And cheer'd the wild, And with its fragrance, now consum'd, The fugitive beguil'd. But the gust that laid it low Chill'd the fair bud-it ceas'd to grow, So when rudeness blew the blast, Ah! I've drawn my drooping friend, Fair virtue's child; There are who love the heart to rend, And nip the flower that smil'd. SONG FROM AFAR. Translated from a German Poem, by Matthison. SMITH. WHEN in the last faint light of ev'ning,, A gentle sigh its bosom heaving, Whilst thou in oaken grove dost lie;. Which whispers,-" All thy cares shall end." When, deep in fields of ancient story,. Thou hang'st enraptur'd o'er the page That gives and takes the mead of glory, Feel'st thou a breath that fans thy rage? And does the trembling torch burn pale?My spirit drinks with thine the tale. Hear'st thou, when silver stars are shining,. A sound as Eol's harp divine, Now the wild wind full chords combining,. Now softly murm'ring,-Ever thine! Then careless sleep, to guard thy peace,, My watchful spirit ne'er shall cease! MORAL STANZAS. TALBOT. WELCOME the real state of things, Where clouds, pil'd up by fancy's hand, Here the gay sunshine of content Hesperian trees amidst my grove Nor would I have the Phoenix build For where shall odorous gums be found Henceforth no pleasure I desire Friendship I ask, without caprice, When faults are over-seen; Errors on both sides mix'd with truth, And kind good-will between, Health that may best its value prove, Amusements to enliven life, Crosses to prove it vain. Thus would I pass my hours away, Extracting good from all; Till time shall from my sliding feet PEACE AND GLORY. Written at the commencement of the present War. MOORE. WHERE is now the smile that lighten'd Have we lost the wreath we braided Must the bay be pluck'd again? Passing hour of sunny weather, When the timid maid would listen Is the hour of dalliance over?. Soothing light that long shall sparkle While around him myriads perish, Glory still will sigh for you! |