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TO HER DAUGHTER ADA. THINE is the smile, and thine the bloom,

Where hope might fancy ripen'd charms; But mine is dyed in memory's gloom

Thou art not in a father's arms!
And there I could have loved thee most,

And there have own'd thou wert so dear, That, though my worldly all were lost,

I still had feli my life was here! What art thou now?-A monument,

Which rose to weep o'er buried love;A fond and filial mourner, sent

To dream of ties, restored above!

Thou, Dove! who may'st not find a rest,

Save in this frail and shatter'd bark, A lonely mother's offer'd breast,

May Heaven provide a surer ark, To bear thee over Sorrow's waves,

Which deluge still this world below! Till thou, through Him alone that saves,

A holier Ararat shalt know.

Nor think me frozen, if for thee

No earthly wish now claims a partToo dear such wish; too vain to me; Thou art not in a father's heart!


THE dove let loose in eastern skies,

Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies

Where idle warblers roam;

But high she shoots through air and light,

Above all low delay
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,

Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me, God, from earthly care

From pride and passion free,
Aloft, through faith and love's pure air,

To hold my course to thee.
No lure to tempt, no art to stay

My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom on her wings.



At summer eve, when Heaven's aërial bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering fields below,
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?
"Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain of its azure hue.
Thus with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way,
Thus from afar each dim-discover'd scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath boon!
And every form, that Fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity ?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour?
Ah! no; she darkly sees the fate of man-
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;

Or, if she hold an image to the view,
"Tis Nature pictured too severely true.
With thee, sweet Hope, resides the heavenly light
That pours remotest rapture on the sight;
Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way,
That calls each slumb'ring passion into play.
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.

Primeval Hope, the Aönian Muses say,
When Man and Nature mourn'd their first decay,
When every form of death and every woe
Shot from malignant stars to earth below,
When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War
Yoked the red dragons of her iron car,
And Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain,
Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again -
All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind,
But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind.

Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare
From Carmel's height to sweep the fields of air,
The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began,
Dropt on the world—a sacred gift to man.

Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow
Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe:
Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour,
The wayworn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower;
There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing,
What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring !
What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play,
And sweep the surrow'd lines of anxious thought



OF RETIREMENT. Low was our pretty Cot: our tallest rose Peep'd at the chamber window. We could hear, At silent noon, and eve, and early morn, The Sea's faint murmur. In the open air Our myrtles blossom’d, and across the porch Thick jasmines twined: the little landscape round Was green and woody, and refresh'd the eye. It was a spot which you might aptly call The VALLEY of SECLUSION! Once I saw (Hallowing the Sabbath-day by quietness) A wealthy son of commerce saunter by, Bristowa's citizen: methought it calm'd His thirst of gold, and made him muse With wiser feelings : for he paused, and look'd With a pleased sadness, and gazed all around, Then eyed our Cottage, and gazed round again, And sigh’d, and said, it was a Blessed Place. And we were bless'd. Oft with a patient ear, Long-list’ning to the viewless sky-lark's note (Viewless, or haply for a moment seen Gleaming on sunny wing) in whisper'd tones I've said to my beloved, “ Such, sweet girl! The unobtrusive song of Happiness, Unearthly minstrelsy! then only heard When the soul seeks to hear; when all is hush'd, And the Heart listens !"

But the time, when first From that lone dell, steep up the stony mount I climb'd with perilous toil, and reach'd the top, Oh! what a goodly scene! Here the bleak mount, The bare bleak mountain speckled thin with sheep, Gray clouds, that shadowing spot the sunny fields ; And river, now with bushy rocks o'erbrow'd, Now winding bright and full, with naked banks, And seats and lawns, the abbey, and the wood,

And cors, and hamlets, and faint city spire,
The channel there, the islands and white sails,
Dim coasts, and cloud-like hills, and shoreless ocean-
It seem'd like Omnipresence! God, methought,
Had built him there a temple : the whole world
Seem'd imaged in its vast circumference.
No wish profaned my overwhelmed heart.
Blest hour! It was a Luxury,—to be! .
Ah! quiet dell! dear cot! and mount sublime !
I was constrain’d to quit you. Was it right,
While my unnumber'd brethren toild and bled,
That I should dream away th' intrusted hours
On rose-leaf beds, pampering the coward heart
With feelings all too delicate for use ?
Sweet is the tear that from some Howard's eye
Drops on the cheek of one, he lifts from earth:
And he, that works me good with unmoved face,
Does it but half: he chills me while he aids,
My benefactor, not my brother man!
Yet even this cold beneficence
Seizes my praise when I reflect on those
The sluggard Pity's vision-weaving tribe
Who sigh for wretchedness, yet shun the wretched,
Nursing in some delicious solitude
Their slothful loves and dainty sympathies !
I therefore go, and join head, heart, and hand,
Active and firm, to fight the bloodless fight
Of science, freedom, and the truth in Christ.

Yet oft when after honourable toil
Rests the tired mind, and waking loves to dream,
My spirit shall revisit thee, dear Cot!
Thy jasmine and thy window-peeping rose,
And myrtles fearless of the mild sea-air,
And I shall sigh fond wishes-sweet abode !
Ah! none had greater! and that all had such !
It might be so—but the time is not yet-
Speed it, O Father! Let thy kingdom come!


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