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I will not bow a tameless heart to fashion's iron rule, Nor welcome, with a smile, alike the gifted and the
fool: No-let the throng pass coldly on; a treasure few
may find, The charm of person doubly dear beneath the light of mind.
N. E. WEEKLY REVIEW.,
The banks with speedwell flowers are gay,
The silver wreath of May.
The swallow, too, is come at last;
And hail'd her as she pass’d.
To my reed roof your nest of clay,
At the gray dawn of day.
The Hindostani woods among,
Translate the wild bird's song.
That I might learn, fleet bird, from thee,
You came across the sea.
I would a little while restrain
Your rapid wing, that I might hear
The wind your charioteer.
Through spicy bower and palmy grove
Or the itinerant dove?
Were you in Asia ? O, relate
If there your fabled sister's woes
Her nuptials with the rose.
The vast and pathless ocean o er,
• The scenes you left before ;
Prophetic of the warning year,
though none know when or how, In the cliff's excavated brow,
And linger torpid here;
Bids you to happier hours awake,
The May-fly on the lake.
Approaching dearth of insect food,
Sink in the dimpling flood.
How learn ye, while the cold waves boom
Your deep and cozy couch above,
To light and life and love?
Her sacred veil where Nature draws:!
ODE TO EVENING.
Like thy own modest springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales ; O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O’erhang his wavy bed : Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leather wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
To breathe some softened strain,
As, musing slow, I hail
For when thy folding star arising shows
Who slept in buds the day;
sedge, And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams. Or if chill blustering
winds, or driving rain, Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's side
Views wild and swelling floods,
Thy dewy fingers drew
The gradual dusky veil.
Beneath thy lingering light;
Thy gentle influence own,
EVENING PRAYER AT A GIRL'S SCHOOL. Hush! 'tis a holy hour; the quiet room
Seems like a temple, while yon soft lamp sheds A faint and starry radiance, through the gloom And the sweet stillness, down on bright young
heads, With all their clustering locks, untouch'd by care, And bow'd, as flowers are bow'd with night, in
Gaze on,—'t is lovely! childhood's lip and cheek
Mantling beneath its earnest brow of thought; Gaze-yet what seest thou in those fair, and meek,
And fragile things, as but for sunshine wrought? Thou seest what grief must nurture for the sky, What death must fashion for eternity.
Oh! joyous creatures, that will sink to rest,
Lightly, when those pure orisons are done, As birds, with slumber's honey-dew oppressid,
'Midst the dim folded leaves, at set of sun,Lift up your hearts! though yet no sorrow lies Dark in the summer-heaven of those clear eyes; Though fresh within your breasts the untroubled
springs Of hope make melody where'er ye tread; And o'er your sleep bright shadows, from the wings
of spirits visiting but youth, be spread; Yet in those flute-like voices, mingling low, Is woman's tenderness-how soon her woe!
Her lot is on you--silent tears to weep,
And patient smiles to wear through suffering's hour, And sumless riches, from Affection's deep,
To pour on broken reeds—a wasted shower!