No need of lightnings 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 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 bumkins 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 Raph,
'Tis over, and the brood is safe;
(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conjurers 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.

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'Tis Providence alone secures,
In every change, both mine and yours.
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape,
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread,



Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.


The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream,
The silent pace with which they steal away,
No wealth can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay,
Alike irrevocable both when past,
And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in every part,
A difference strikes at length the musing heart;
Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound,
How laughs the land with various plenty crowned !
But time that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected, leaves a dreary waste behind.


SWEET stream that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng,
With gentle yet prevailing force
Intent upon her destined course,
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes,
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.


I AM monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,

I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude ! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,

Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech, -

I start at the sound of my own.

The beasts that roam over the plain

My form with indifference see, They are so unacquainted with man,

Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love,

Divinely bestowed upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage

In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,

And be cheered by the sallies of youth. Religion ! what treasure untold

Resides in that heavenly word !
More precious than silver and gold,

Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell

These valleys and rocks never heard, Ne'er sighed at the sound of a knell,

Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared. Ye winds that have made me your sport,

Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more !
My friends, do they now and then send

A wish or a thought after me?
Oh, tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind !

Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,

In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair. But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest,

The beast is laid down in his lair, Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair. There is mercy in every place,

And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.






Round Thurlow's head in early youth,

And in his sportive days,
Fair science poured the light of truth,

And genius shed his rays.
See ! with united wonder, cried

The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied

With all the skill of age.
Discernment, eloquence, and grace

Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the highest place,

And bear the palm away.
The praise bestowed was just and wise ;

He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest, where the prize

Attends superior worth.
So the best courser on the plain

Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain

What all had deemed his own.

COME, peace of mind, delightful guest !
Return and make thy downy nest

Once more in this sad heart :
Nor riches I, nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view,

We therefore need not part.
Where wilt thou dwell if not with me,
From avarice and ambition free,

And pleasure's fatal wiles ?
For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare
The sweets that I was wont to share,

The banquet of thy smiles ?
The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heaven that thou alone canst make;

And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequestered shed,

To be a guest with them ?
For thee I panted, thee I prized,
For thee I gladly sacrificed

Whate'er I loved before ;

And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say,

Farewell ! we meet no more?

WEAK and irresolute is man;

The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pains into his plan,

To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent and smart the spring,

Vice seems already slain,
But passion rudely snaps the string,

And it revives again.
Some foe to his upright intent

Finds out his weaker part,
Virtue engages his assent,

But pleasure wins his heart. 'Tis here the folly of the wise

Through all his heart we view, And while his tongue the charge denies,

His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length

And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,

Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail

To reach the distant coast, The breath of heaven must swell the sail,

Or all the toil is lost.

THE MODERN PATRIOT. REBELLION is my theme all day,

I only wish 'twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may)

A little nearer home.
Yon roaring boys who rave and fight

On the other side the Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,

But most so, when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,

That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,

Who bravely breaks the most.
But oh ! for him my fancy culls

The choicest flowers she bears,

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