Page images
PDF
EPUB

"Alas! too long and fruitlessly I've striven,

To mar thy changeless purposes, high Heaven!
Oh grant me strength, to bear this stunning blow,
And be my Comforter and Blessing, Thou!

-Henceforth to Heaven-myself I dedicate,
No more to struggle 'gainst the doom of Fate.
A Cloister's, shade shall hide me in its gloom,
To pray, for ever, by my Oswy's tomb;-
And cherish hope, that when these woes are o'er,
My Babe and I shall meet-to part no more!"

LINES,

Written Nov. 21st, 1832, after great affliction.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in Heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

ST. MATTHEW,

SET not-set not your hearts on Earth,

Her joys are fleeting-her gifts have no worth;

Bright and fair as her glories seem,

They will fade to the touch, like the hues of a dream;

Sweet as the draught in her Chalice may be,

The dregs are embitter'd by Misery.

Heed not the baits of her gilded snare,

Trouble, and watchings, and toil are there;

Anxious days and sleepless nights,

Are the price of the Miser's stern delights ;
And many a coffer's hoarded gold,

Could a tale of murder and fraud unfold.

Raise not your eye to Ambition's Star,
Where, fiercely flaming, it beams afar;
The scorching glare of its baneful light,
Each lovely growth of the Soul will blight;
And, beneath its self-consuming fire,

Freedom, and Honour, and Truth expire!

Does thy bosom swell with the hope that Fame
May blazon her glories around thy name?

That about thy brows her wreaths shall twine,
And the meed of immortal praise be thine?

-With the burning brain, and the racking thought,
And the wasted frame, will thy laurels be bought!

Has Love his thraldom about thee wound,
And thy heart in his silken fetters bound?
Are his roseate hues o'er thy future cast,
Does he promise for ever his joys shall last è
Hast thou made thy bosom an Idol's throne,
Where he reigns despotic, and reigns alone?

Soon, too soon, will the vision fade,

When the wreck of heart and of peace is made:

The fairy scenes Love's witch'ries make,

Fleet like the Desert's treach'rous lake;

And the weary Pilgrim journeys on,

When Love, and Hope, and Joy are gone!

Dost thou pour Affection's treasures forth,

On some fair, frail thing, some Child of Earth? Dost thou garner thy hopes on some dear head,

And tears of parental rapture shed,

As the lovely human blossom blows,
And far and wide its fragrance throws?

Place not-place not your treasure there,-
Or farewell Peace!-welcome Despair!-

The fairest forms, Decay will pine,
And bid each budding grace decline;

And fell Disease oft sweeps away,
The vainly lov'd, and cherish'd clay!

Taste not Pleasure's madd'ning draught;
-Mark those well who her cup have quaff'd;

The haggard cheek, and the reeling eye,
Are the signs which note her Votary;

And Health and Peace, nay, the precious Soul,
Are often lost in the midnight bowl!

Those blessed Lips which could not lie,

Have bid us build our hopes on high:

-Place we on Earth our fondest trust,

Our treasures are clay, and our wealth is dust; And rust may canker, and moths consume,

What escapes from spoil and the yawning tomb.

Fix-oh! fix then-your hopes above,
Transplant to Heaven that yearning love!
Bliss, on Earth, but blooms-to die!

In Heaven-it blossoms eternally!

And lasting the treasure-unchanged the reward

That is waiting in Heaven-for the lov'd of their Lord!

« PreviousContinue »