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"Tis morn ; and see, my smiling boy
Awakes to hail returning light,-
Forgot the tears of yesternight.
Survive of age and death the gloom? Smile at the cares he knew below?
And renovated, burst the tomb? O, my Creator! when thy will
Shall stretch this frame on earth's cold bed, Let that blest hope sustain me still,
'Till thought, sense, memory—all are fled. And, grateful for what thou may'st give,
No tear shall dim my fading eye, That 'twas thy pleasure I should live,
That 'tis thy mandate bids me die. Crabbe.
THE BALLOON AND THE EAGLE.
An Eagle once, while soaring high
With jealousy espied
In solitary pride.
The Eagle view'd with mirth;
which held them there Escap'd, and left the luckless pair
To find their way to earth.
The bird who mark'd their rapid fall,
Who'd vainly hope to rise
Far into other skies.'
THE FRAILTY OF BEAUTY.
I must tune up my heart-broken string,
For the fair has commanded the strain; But yet such a theme will I sing,
That I think she'll not ask me again. For I'll tell her-Youth's blossom is flown,
And that Beauty, the flower, must fade; (And sure if a lady can frown,
She'll frown at the words I have said.) The smiles of the rose-bud how fleet!
They come, and as quickly they fly: The violet how modest and sweet!
Yet the Spring sees it open and die.
Yet the life of a lily's a day;
To-morrow must vanish away.
How many thy charms most desire ! Yet Beauty with Youth has its birth,
And Beauty with Youth must expire. Ah, fair ones! so sad is the tale,
in my sorrow I steep; And where I intended to rail,
I must lay down my harp, and must weep. But Virtue indignantly seiz'd
The harp as it fell from my hand; Serene was her look, though displeas’d,
As she utter'd her awful command.
That my song
“Thy tears and thy pity employ
For the thoughtless, the giddy, the vain,• But those who my blessings enjoy
• Thy tears and thy pity disdain. For Beauty alone ne'er bestow'd
Such a charm as Religion has lent; · And the cheek of a belle never glow'd
«With a smile like the smile of content. • Time's hand, and the pestilence-rage,
No hue, no complexion can brave: For Beauty must yield to old-age, • But I will not yield to the grave.'
Rev. Charles Wolfe.
HUMAN LIFE COMPARED TO THE SEASONS.
In verdant spring, the breeze which gently blew
The School-Boy had been rambling all the day, A careless, thoughtless idler,—till the night Came on, and warn’d him homeward :-then he left The meadows, where the morning had been pass'd, Chasing the butterfly, and took the road Toward the cottage where his mother dwelt. He had her parting blessing, and she watch'd Once more to breathe a welcome to her child, Who saunter'd lazily—ungrateful boy ! Till deeper darkness came o'er sky and earth; And then he ran, till, almost breathless grown, He pass'd within the wicket-gate which led Into the village church-yard then he paus’d, And earnestly look'd round; for o'er his head The gloomy cypress wav'd, and at his feet Lay the last bed of many a villager.
But on again he press'd with quicken'd step, “Whistling aloud to keep his courage up.” The bat came flapping by; the ancient church Threw its deep shadows o'er the path he trod, And the boy trembled like the aspen leaf; For now he fancied that all shapeless forms Came flitting by him, each with bony hand, And motion as if threatening : while a weight Unearthly press'd the satchel and the slate He strove to keep within his grasp. The wind Play'd with the feather that adorn’d his cap, And seem'd to whisper something horrible. The clouds had gather'd thickly round the moon; But now and then her light shone gloriously Upon the sculptur’d tombs and humble graves, And, in a moment, all was dark again.