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When pride and envy, and the scorn

Of wealth my heart with gall imbued, I thought how pleasant were the morn

Of silence, in the solitude;
To hear the forest bee on wing;
Or by the stream, or woodland spring,
To lie and muse alone-alone,
While the tinkling waters moan,
Or such wild sounds arise, as say,
Man and noise are far away.
Now, surely, thought I, there's enow

To fill life's dusty way;
And who will miss a poet's feet,

Or wonder where he stray :
So to the woods and wastes I'll go,

And I will build an osier bower,
And sweetly there to me shall flow

The meditative hour. And when the Autumn's withering hand, Shall strew with leaves the sylvan land, I'll to the forest caverns hie : And in the dark and stormy nights I'll listen to the shrieking sprites, Who, in the wintry wolds and floods, Keep jubilee, and shred the woods ; Or, as it drifted soft and slow, · Hurl in ten thousand shapes the snow.


Oi! thou most fatal of Pandora's train,

Consumption ! silent cheater of the eye; Thou comest not robed in agonizing pain,

Nor mark'st thy course with Death's delusivedye,

But silent and unnoticed thou dost lie; O'er life's soft springs thy venom dost diffuse,

And, while thou givest new lustre to the eye, While o'er the cheek are spread health's ruddy hues, E'en then life's little rest thy cruel power subdues.

Oft I've beheld thee, in the glow of youth, Hid 'neath the blushing roses which there

bloom'd; And dropp'd a tear, for then thy cankering tooth

I knew would never stay, till all consumed, In the cold vault of death he were entomb’d.

But oh! what sorrow did I feel, as swift,

Insidious ravager, I saw thee fly
Through fair Lucina's breast of whitest snow,

Preparing swift her passage to the sky. Though still intelligence beam'd in the glance,

The liquid lustre of her fine blue eye; Yet soon did languid listlessness advance, And soon she calmly sunk in death's repugnant


Even when her end was swiftly drawing near,

And dissolution hover'd o'er her head :
Even then so beauteous did her form appear,

That none who saw her but admiring said,
Sure so much beauty never could be dead.
Yet the dark lash of her expressive eye
Bent lowly down upon the languid-


Loud rage the winds without.—The wintry cloud
O'er the cold northstar casts her fitting shroud ;
And Silence, pausing in some snow-clad dale,
Starts as she hears, by fits, the shrieking gale ;
Where now, shut out from every still retreat,
Her pine-clad summit, and her woodland seat,
Shall Meditation, in her saddest mood,
Retire o'er all her pensive stores to brood ?
Shivering and blue the peasant eyes askance
The drifted fleeces that around him dance,
And hurries on his half-averted form,
Stemming the fury of the sidelong storm.
Him soon shallgreet his snow-topp'd [cotofthatch),
Soon shall his numb'd hand tremble on the latch,
Soon from his chimney's nook the cheerful flame
Diffuse a genial warmth throughout his frame;
Round the light fire, while roars the north wind loud,
What merry groups of vacant faces crowd;

These hail his coming—these his meal prepare, And boast in all that cot no lurking care.

What though the social circle be denied, Even Sadness brightens at her own fireside, Loves, with fix'd eye, to watch the fluttering blaze, While musing Memory dwells on former days; Or Hope, bless'd spirit! smiles—and still forgiven, Forgets the passport, while she points to Heaven. Then heap the fire-shut out the biting air, And from its station wheel the easy chair : Thus fenced and warm, in silent fit, 'tis sweet To hear without the bitter tempest beat, All, all alone—to sit, and muse, and sigh, The pensive tenant of obscurity.




“ Do I not feel ?” The doubt is keen as steel.
Yea, I do feel—most exquisitely feel ;
My heart can weep, when, from my downcast eye,
I chase the tear, and stem the rising sigh :
Deep buried there I close the rankling dart,
And smile the most when heaviest is my heart.
On this I act—whatever pangs surround,
'Tis magnanimity to hide the wound !

When all was new, and life was in its spring,
I lived an unloved, solitary thing;
Even then I learn’d to bury deep from day
The piercing cares that wore my youth away:
Even then I learn'd for others' cares to feel;
Even then I wept I had not power to heal :
Even then, deep-sounding through the nightly

gloom, ' [wretched's doom. I heard the wretched's groan, and mourn'd the Who were my friends in youth?—The midnight

fireThe silent moonbeam, or the starry choir ; To these I ’plain’d, or turn’d from outer sight, To bless my lonely taper's friendly light; I never yet could ask, howe'er forlorn, For vulgar pity mix'd with vulgar scorn; The sacred source of woe I never ope, My breast's my coffer, and my God's my hope. But that I do feel, Time, my friend, will show, Though the cold crowd the secret never know; With them I laugh-yet, when no eye can see, I weep for nature, and I weep for thee. Yes, thou didst wrong me, ...; I fondly thought, In thee I'd found the friend my heart had sought! I fondly thought, that thou couldst pierce the guise, And read the truth that in my bosom lies; I fondly thought, ere Time's last days were gone, Thy heart and mine had mingled into one! Yes—and they yet will mingle. Days and years Will fly, and leave us partners in our tears :

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