293 294 THO CHRISTMAS DAY 'HOUGH rude winds usher thee, sweet day, though clouds thy face deform, though nature's grace is swept away before thy sleety storm; ev'n in thy sombrest wintry vest, of blessed days thou art most blest. Nor frigid air nor gloomy morn bright is the day when Christ was born, let roughest storms their coldest blow, Oft, as this joyous morn doth come to speak our Saviour's love, oh, may it bear our spirits home, where He now reigns above; that day which brought Him from the skies, STAR TO THE EVENING STAR S. RICKARDS TAR that bringest home the bee, if any star shed peace, 'tis Thou appearing when Heaven's breath and brow are sweet as hers we love. Come to the luxuriant skies, Star of love's soft interviews, by absence from the heart. T. CAMPBELL 295 296 TO MEMORY HAIL, Memory, hail! in thy exhaustless mine from age to age unnumber'd treasures shine! thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, and Place and Time are subject to thy sway! Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone; the only pleasures we can call our own. Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, if but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; if but a beam of sober Reason play, lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! but can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? these, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, pour round her path a stream of living light; and gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest! WHAT LOVE OF LUCRE S. ROGERS WHAT man in his wits had not rather be poor, than for lucre his freedom to give; ever busy the means of his life to secure, and so ever neglecting to live! Environ'd from morning to night in a crowd, constrain'd to be abject, though never so proud, Still repining and longing for quiet each hour, with the means of enjoying his wish in his power, For a year must be past or a day must be come, before he has leisure to rest: he must add to his store this or that pretty sum, and then will have time to be blest. But his gains, more bewitching the more they increase, such a wretch let mine enemy live, if he please, 297 298 WINTER WEET are the harmonies of Spring; and sweet the autumnal winds that shake And pleasant to the sober'd soul the silence of the wintry scene, when nature shrouds herself, entranced Not undelightful now to roam the wild heath sparkling on the sight; the forest's ample rounds; and see the spangled branches shine, that clasps its foliage close. THE NEW-BORN RILL Go up and watch the new-born rill just trickling from its mossy bed, streaking the heath-clad hill with a bright emerald thread. R. SOUTHEY Canst thou her bold career foretel, her freshening billows send? Perchance that little brook shall flow with monarchs at their helm. Or canst thou guess, how far away 'mid reeds and mountain fern, 299 300 nurses her store, with thine to blend their spotless lives at last? TO MEMORY J. KEBLE H! sacred Memory, tablet of the heart, thou breathing shadow of departed days, still ever prompt to wake the slumb'ring smart, and backward lure the visionary gaze; thou tellest but of scenes that melted by are vanished now, like wreaths of winter snow; the tear of sorrow gems thy lucid eye, and yet, so beauteous is thy garb of woe, we love thee still and clasp thy fond regret, too tender to renounce, too pleasing to forget! why should Mem'ry weep, that frowning truth so early chased the mockeries of delight, the idle dreams that flushed the cheek of youth, and glittered baneful on the dazzled sight? She hath not murdered Hope, though distant far, and trembling at her voice, with drooping plume, gay Fancy flies; nor quenched that better star, whose radiant orb can cheer the wintry gloom, where sacred Virtue rears her hallowed nest, there Peace shall linger still, companion of the breast. THE ISER-DRINKING SONG OF MUNICH WEET Iser! were thy sunny realm, SWEE and flowery gardens mine, thy waters I would shade with elm my golden flagons I would fill Like rivers crimsoned with the beam our balmy cups should ever stream 301 no care should touch the mellow heart, for wine can triumph over woe; LET THE LONGEST DAY ET us quit the leafy harbour, for the sun is in his harbour, Summer ebbs ;—each day that follows tending to the darksome hollows Yet we mark it not;-fruits redden, T. CAMPBELL fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful Maiden! let not flowers, or boughs fruit-laden, W. WORDSWORTH 302 TO FANCY Queen of numbers, once again who, filled with unexhausted fire, |