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Lame is art, and her endeavour,
Follows nature's course but slowly,
Guessing, toiling, seeking ever,
Still improving, perfect never;
Little Nautilus, thou shewest
Deeper wisdom than thou knowest,
Lore, which man should study lowly :

Bold faith and cheer,

Small Marinere,
Are thine within thy pearly dwelling,

-
Thine, a law of life compelling,
Obedience, perfect, simple, glad, and free,
To the great will that animates the sea.

Sweet Love, the shadow of thy parting wings,
Hangs on my soul, like the soft shade of even,
Farewell to thee, for thou art going to Heaven,
And I must stay behind, with all the things
Which thou, and thy benign administerings
Once made most sweet, of sweetness now bereaven ;
Whose memory, as a sour fermenting leaven,
Perverts all nature with an ill that springs
From good corrupted. Oh! for mercy-Love,
Stay with me yet, altho' thy comrade fair,
The smiler Hope, be gone to realms above,
Stay with thy youngest sister, meek Despair-
For meek she is in truth, as brooding dove,
If thou with her the lowly bosom share.

SONG.

Sar—what is worse than blank despair,
'Tis that sick hope too weak for flying,
That plays at fast and loose with care,
And wastes a weary life in dying.

Though promise be a welcome guest,
Yet
may

it be too late a comer, 'Tis but a cuckoo voice at best, The joy of spring, scarce heard in summer.

Then now consent, this very hour,
Let the kind word of peace be spoken ;
Like dew upon a withered flower,
Is comfort to the heart that's broken.

The heart, whose will is from above,
Shall yet its mortal taint discover,
For Time, that cannot alter love,
Has power to slay the wretched lover.

SONG

She is not fair to outward view

As many maidens be,
Her loveliness I never knew

Until she smild on me ;
Oh! then I saw, her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

But now her looks are coy and cold,

To mine they ne'er reply,
And yet I cease not to behold,

The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are fairer far,
T'han smiles of other maidens are.

EPITAPH

ON A MOTHER AND THREE INFANTS.

From God they came, to God they went again,
No sin they knew, and knew but little pain,
And here they lie, by their fond mother's side,
Who lived to love and lose them, then she died.

LEONARD AND SUSAN.

They were a gentle pair, whose love began They knew not when—they knew not of a time When they loved not. In the mere sentient life Of unremember'd infancy, whose speech, Like secret love's, is only smiles and tears, The baby Leonard clapp'd his little hands, Leapt in his nurse's arms, and crow'd aloud When Susan was in sight, and utter'd sounds Most strange and strangely sweet, that nothing meant But merely joy, as in the green-wood tree The merry merle awakes his thrilling song, Soon as the cool breath of the vernal dawn Stirs the light leaflets on the motionless boughs. Mute as the shadow of a passing bird On glassy lake, the gentle Susan lay, Hush'd in her meek delight. A dimpled smile Curld round her tiny, rosy mouth, and seem'd To sink, as light, into her soft full eyes, A quiet smile, that told of happiness Her infant soul investing, as the bud Infolds the petals of the nascent rose.

Born in one week, and in one font baptized, On the same festal day—they grew together,

And their first tottering steps were hand in hand,
While the two fathers, in half-earnest sport,
Betroth'd them to each other. Then 'twas sweet
For mother's ears, to hear them lisp and try
At the same words, each imitating each ;
But Leonard was the babe of nimbler tongue,
And • Sister Susan' was the first plain phrase
His utterance master'd-by that dear kind name
He call’d the maid, supplying so a place
Which Nature had left void. An only child
Of a proud mother and a high-born sire,
Full soon he learn' to mount a palfrey small,
Of that dwarf race that prance unclaim'd and free
O'er the bleak pastures of the Shetland Isles.
And who may tell his glory or his pride
When Susan, by her mother's arms upheld,
Sat, glad though fearful, on the courser's rear,
While he, exulting in his dauntless skill,
Rein'd its short testy neck, and froward mouth,
Taming its wilful movement to the

pace
That palfrey suits of wandering lady fair.
Bold were his looks, his speech was bold and shrill,
His smooth round cheeks glow'd with a ruddy brown,
And dark the curls that cluster'd o'er his head,
Knotty and close. In every pliant limb
A noble boy's ambitious manliness

Yet child more loving, fond,
Ne’er sought the refuge of a parent's side.
But Susan was not one of many words,
Nor loud of laughter; and she moved as soft
As modest Nymphs, in work of artist rare,
Seem moving ever.

In her delicate eye

Elastic sprung.

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