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TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
Thou lingering star, with lessening ray
That lov'st to greet the early morn, Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my heart was torn. O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the halloweå grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface
Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last !
Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,
O’erhung with wild woods, thickening green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined am'rous round the raptured scene; The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every sprayTill too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakos,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression stronger makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast !
LEFT AT A REVEREND FRIEND'S HOUSE.
O thou dread Power, who reign’st above !
I know thou wilt me hear,
I make my prayer sincere.
The hoary sire—the mortal stroke,
Long, long be pleased to spare ; To bless his filial little flock,
And show what good men are.
She, who her lovely offspring eyes
With tender hopes and fears, 0, bless her with a mother's joys,
But spare a mother's tears !
Their hope—their stay--their darling youth
In manhood's dawning blush-
Up to a parent's wish!
The beauteous, seraph sister-band,
With earnest tears I pray,
Guide Thou their steps alway.
When soon or late they reach that coast,
O'er life's rough ocean driven,
A family in heaven!
The lark has sung his carol in the sky;
A few short years—and then these sounds shall hail The day again, and gladness fill the vale ; So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, Eager to run the race his fathers ran. Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin ; The ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine ; And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze, 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days, The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled, “ 'Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled.”
And soon again shall music swell the breeze;
And once, alas ! nor in a distant hour,
TO A BUTTERFLY, Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight; Mingle with her thou lov’st in fields of light; And where the flowers of paradise unfold, Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold : There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy! Yet wert thou once a worm-a thing that crept On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb, and slept ! And such is man; soon from his cell of clay To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!
MY NATIVE VALE. Dear is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
To every passing villager.
In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
With my loved lute's romantic sound;
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballet danced in twilight glade,
Sung in the silent green-wood shade;
THE RUINS OF PÆSTUM.