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When morning awoke on the ocean,

Dim tempests were lowering around;
Yet see, with how steadfast a motion,
As the clouds bend and glow with devotion,

The sun his asylum hath found!
Twilight weeps in deep pleasure, and red
Are the low-lying vale, and the tall mountain head.
Lo! thus, when the clouds of life's sorrow

Have past and have perished, the sky
An added effulgence shall borrow
From the storms that have flown, and the morrow

Gleam bright in eternity's eye;
And the Angel of righteousness send
His balm to that heart which is true to the end!

THE CHILD AND FLOWERS.

(MRS. HEMANS.) Hast thou been in the woods with the honey-bee? Hast thou been with the lamb in the pastures free ? With the hare through the copses and dingles wild ? With the butterfly over the heath, fair child? Yes; the light form of thy hounding feet Hath not startled the wren from her mossy seat ; Yet hast thou ranged the green forest dells, And brought back a treasure of buds and bells. Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song, Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng ; The woodbine, the primrose, the violets dim, The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim: These are old words, that have made each grove A dreary haunt for romance and ove; Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie, A place for the gushings of poesy.

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Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o’er;
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep
Like hidden gems in the lower-urns deep;
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell
'Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell;
And the scent by the blossoming sweetbriars shed,
And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.
O, bappy child in thy fawn-like glee!
What is remembrance or thought to thee?
Fill thy bright locks with those gifts of spring,
O'er thy green pathway their colours fing;
Bind them in chaplet and wild festoon;
What if to droop and to perish soon ?
Nature hath mines of such wealth; and thou
Never wilt prize its delights as now!
For a day is coming to quell the tone
That rings in thy laughter, thou joyous one!
And to dim thy brow with a touch of care,
Under the gloss of its clustering hair;
And to tame the fash of thy cloudless eyes
Into the stillness of autumn skies;
And to teach thee that grief hath her needful part,
'Midst the hidden things of each human beari!
Yet shall we mourn, gentle child! for this?
Life hath enough of yet holier bliss !
Such be thy portion! the bliss to look,
With a reverent spirit, through Nature's book;
By fount, by forest, by river's line,
To track the paths of a love divine ;
To read its deep meanings--to sce and hear
God in earth's gardeu-and not to fear.

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ELEGY:

OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF A LADY.

(DR, BEATTIL.]
STILL shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that only feet thro’ life's deceitful dream?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
Shall heedless Hope his towering fabric raise?
Till at Death's touch th' ideal glories fly,
And real scenes rush dismal on the eye;
And, from the bowers of beauty torn,
The startled soul awakes to think and mourn.
0

ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance ;
Who flowery scenes in endless view survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day!
0! yet while Fate delays th' impending woe,
Be rous’d to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill :
Lest, thus encompass’d with funereal gloom,
Like me ye bend o'er soine untimely tomb,
Pour your

wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heav'n's sacred doom severc.
Wise ! beauteous! good !-0 every grace combin’d,
That charms the eye, that captivates the mind;
Fair as the flow'ret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
Mild, as the strains, that, at th

close of day Warbling remote, along the vales decay!

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Yet, why with those compar'd? What tints so fine,
What sweetness,

mildness, can be inatch'd with thine?
Why roam abroad? since still, to Fancy's eyes,
I

see, I see thy lovely form arise!
Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
Where meekness beams ineffable delight;
That brow, where Wisdom sits enthron'd serene,
Each feature forms, and dignifics the mien :
Still let me listen, while her words impart
The sweet effusions of the blameless heart;
Till all my soul, each tumult charm’d away,
Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.
By thee inspir’d, 0 Virtue, age is

young,
And music warbles from the faltering tongue;
Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,
Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes;
Each look, each action, while it awes, invites;
And age with every youthful grace delights.
But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beans,
Resistless on the view the glory streams,
Th'ecstatic breast triumphant Virtue warms,
And beauty dazzles with angelic charms.
Ah, whither died !-ye dear illusions stay!
Lo! pale and silent lies the lovely clay!
How are the roses on that lip decay'd,
Which health in all the pride of bloom array’d!
Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd;
With active life each speaking feature glow'd,
Fair was the flower, and soft the vernal sky;
Elate with hope we deem'd no tempest nigh;
When, lo! a whirlwind's instantaneous gust
Left all its beauties withering in the dust.

All cold the hand that sooth'd Woe's weary head!
All quench d the eye the pitying tear that shed !
All mute the voice whose pleasing accents stole;
Infusing balm into the rankled soul !
O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,
And spare-tbe weed, yet lop the lovely flower!
Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven!
Is virtue then no more the care of heaven!

But peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart! We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart. 'Scap'd the dark dungeon does the slave complain, Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain? Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn, On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn ? Where Reason's iceteor-rays, with sickly glow, C'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw; Disclosing dubious to th'affrighted eye, O’erwhelming mountains tottering from on high. Black billowy seas in storms perpetual tost, And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost. O happy stroke that bursts the bonds of clay, Darts thro' the rending gloom the blaze of day, And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more. Transporting thought! here let me wipe away The falling tear, and wake a bolder lay; But ah! afresh the swimming eye o'ersiowsNor check the tear that streams for human woes. Lo! o'er her dust, in speechless anguish, bend, The hopeless Parent, Husband, Brother, Friend ! How vain the hope of man!-But cease thy strain, Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane; Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, o'er her bier, In silence, shed the sympathetic tear.

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