Nor canst thou boast the many-tinted robe Meet for the cloister'd maid. Thou nurse of saddening thoughts, prolong thy stay, Let me adore thee still! Eve's glowing grace, Night's fire-embroider'd vest, Alike displease my eye. For I am sorrow's child, and thy cold showers, For, oh! to me futurity appears Wrapt in a chilling veil of glooms and mists, To deck her furrow'd brow; But slowly cross her path, imperfect shapes And pale my cold, sunk cheek. But see-the unwelcome Moon unveils her head, (Those hours are gone in which I hail'd her beams) Distinctness spreads around, And mimic day appears. I loathe the cheerful sight, as still my fate, The scene I cannot share. I'll to my couch, yet not, alas! to rest; MRS. OPIE. TO A LADY. LADY, too fair! the sleepless mariner, With anxious heart, scanneth the midnight sky, On one bright star alone, though hosts shine near, Fixing his eye. For, though the sea in cloud-high waves may rise, Though the storm rage, and felon winds rebel, He knows that sweet star beameth in the skies Unchangeable. Alas! for him who life's rough sea would try, The seaman trusts, indeed, nor trusts in vain, To beauty's given. But thou! who in the pride of beauty brave, ANON. SONG FOR MAY-DAY. IT is May! it is May! And all earth is gay, For at last old Winter is quite away; It is May! it is May! When we first delightfully so can say. Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers; And her frown would blight, and her smile betray But now it is May! it is May! It is May! it is May! And the slenderest spray Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray; For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky; It is May! it is May! And the flowers obey The beams which alone are more bright than they: Up they spring at the touch of the sun, And opening their sweet eyes, one by one, In a language of beauty they seem all to say- It is May! it is May! Chill'd and enchain'd beneath Winter's sway, And soften and soothe it, and bless it whole: ANON. THE FALLEN STAR. A STAR is gone! a star is gone! He sat upon the orb of fire But when his thousand years were past, He vanish'd with his car at last- Hark how his angel-brethren mourn, The planetary sisters all. Join in the mournful song, But deepest of the choral band From the bright chambers of the dome The thousand car-bound cherubim, ANON. TO HER DAUGHTER ADA. THINE is the smile, and thine the bloom, And there I could have loved thee most, What art thou now?-A monument, To dream of ties, restored above! Thou, Dove! who may'st not find a rest, To bear thee over Sorrow's waves, 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! LADY BYRON. THE DOVE. THE dove let loose in eastern skies, Returning fondly home, Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies |