The merchant still thinks of the woodbines that cover The bower where he sat with Wife, Children, and Friends. The day-spring of youth, still unclouded by sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends; But drear is the twilight, of age, if it borrow No warmth from the smiles of Wife, Children, and Friends. Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish Bedew'd with the tears of Wife, Children, and Let us drink,-for my song, growing graver and graver, To subjects too solemn insensibly tends; Let us drink-pledge me high-Love and Virtue shall flavour The glass which I fill to-Wife, Children, and STANZAS ON WOMAN. CAPTAIN COLLINS. WHO in this world of care and strife 'Tis Woman. Who by a thousand tender wiles, From whom do our best comforts flow? Who draws the scorpion sting of woe, And bids our hearts with transport glow? 'Tis Woman. Eden she lost, ensnar'd to vice, By Woman. Who, of a nature more refin'd, Doth mollify man's ruder mind, And make him gentle, meek, and kind? 'Tis Woman. Who links us all to one another By silken bands of Son and Mother, Of Husband, Father, Sister, Brother? 'Tis Woman. When, hours of absence past, we meet, 'Tis Woman. Who by a touch, a word, a sigh, 'Tis Woman. Place me upon some dreary shore, Dear Woman. Bid me, with mandate stern, prepare Send me to mountains white with snow, With Woman. Deep, deep within the cliff's cold side And there my treasure would I hide, THE VIRGIN'S FIRST LOve. MRS OPIE. YES-Sweet's the delight, when our blushes impart The youthful affection that glows in the heart; When Prudence, and Duty, and Reason approve The timid delight of the Virgin's first love. But if the fond Virgin be destin'd to feel If stolen the glance by which love is confess'd, If the whisper of passion suspicion must move, Where's then the delight of the Virgin's first love? Or, if her fond bosom with tenderness sighs If, tempted by int'rest, he venture to shun See her eye, when the tale of his falsehood she hears, Now beaming with scorn, and now glist'ning with tears; How great is the anguish she's destin'd to prove! Farewell the delight of the Virgin's first love. No more soft emotion shall glow on her cheek, And see, sad companion of mental distress, Disease steals upon her in Health's flatt'ring dress! Sure the blush on that cheek ev'ry fear must re move: Ah, no! seek its cause in the Virgin's first love. Still brightens the colour that glows in her cheek; Her eye boasts a lustre no language can speak; Oh! vain are the hopes these appearances move; Fond parent! they spring from the Virgin's first love. And now, quite unconscious that fate hovers near, On her face see the smile of contentment appear: No struggle, no groan, his dread summons to prove, Death ends the fond dream of the Virgin's first love. STANZAS WRITTEN AT SPITHEAD, AFTER A SHIPWRECK. ANONYMOUS. HARK to the knell ! It comes on the swell Of the stormy ocean wave; 'Tis no earthly sound, But a toll profound From the Mariners' deep sea-grave. When the billows dash, And the signals flash, And the thunder is on the gale; And the ocean is white In its own wild light, Deadly, and dismal, and pale: When the lightning's blaze Smites the seaman's gaze, And the sea rolls in fire and in foam, And the surge's roar Shakes the rocky shore, We hear the sea-knell come. And still their dirge Is sung by the surge, When the stormy night-winds blow. M |