And watchful share for days and years, Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears! For good and guiltless as thou art,
Some transient griefs will touch thy heart, Griefs that along thy alter'd face
Will breathe a more subduing grace, Than ev❜n those looks of joy that lie On the soft cheek of infancy.
Though looks, God knows, are cradied there That guilt might cleanse, or sooth despair,
Oh! vision fair! that I could be
Again as young, as pure as thee!
Vain wish! the rainbow's radiant form May view, but cannot brave the storm; Years can bedim the gorgeous dies That paint the bird of paradise, And years, so fate hath order'd, roll Clouds o'er the summer of the soul. Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace, Such as the gladness of thy face, O sinless babe! by God are given To charm the wanderer back to heaven.
No common impulse hath me led To this green spot, thy quiet bed, Where, by mere gladness overcome, In sleep thou dreamest of thy home. When to the lake I would have gone, A wondrous beauty drew me on, Such beauty as the spirit sees
In glittering fields, and moveless trees, After a warm and silent shower, Ere falls on earth the twilight hour. What led me hither, all can say, Who, knowing God, his will obey. Thy slumbers now cannot be long: Thy little dreams become too strong
For sleep, too like realities: Soon shall I see those hidden eyes! Thou wakest, and, starting from the ground, In dear amazement look'st around; Like one who, little given to roam, Wonders to find herself from home! But, when a stanger meets thy view, Glistens thine eye with wilder huc. A moment's thought who I may be, Blends with thy smiles of courtesy. Fair was that face as break of dawn, When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn Like a thin veil that half-conceal'd The light of soul, and half-reveal'd. While thy hush'd heart with visions wrought, Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought, And things we dream, but ne'er can speak, Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek, Such summer-clouds as travel light,
When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright; Till thou awok'st,-then to thine eye Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy!
And lovely is that heart of thine, Or sure these eyes could never shine With such a wild, yet bashful glee, Gay, half-o'ercome timidity! Nature has breath'd into thy face A spirit of unconscious grace;
A spirit that lies never still,
And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will. As sometimes o'er a sleeping lake Soft airs a gentle ripling make, Till, ere we know, the strangers fly, And water blends again with sky.
Oh! happy sprite! did'st thou but know What pleasures through my being flow
From thy soft eyes, a holier feeling
From their blue light could ne'er be stealing, But thou wouldst be more loth to part,
And give me more of that glad heart! Oh! gone thou art! and bearest hence The glory of thy innocence.
But with deep joy I breathe the air That kiss'd thy cheek, and fann'd thy hair, And feel though fate our lives must sever, Yet shall thy image live forever!
TO AN EARLY VIOLET.
WHY lovely stranger rear thy head; Within this spot so wild and sere? No hand of lover decks thy bed, No feet of beauty linger here.
Why waste thy fragrance here, ah! why? Seek'st thou fond welcome at my home? The tyrant Care has dimm'd that eye, Which lov'd o'er Nature's breast to roam.
She, kind instructress, taught in youth, My simple heart a feeling true: A taste for science, friendship, truth; But ting'd the boon with Sorrow's hue.
As yet no tepid breezes blow,
From realms where golden Summer sleeps; The gloomy monarch, Winter, slow Retires across the northern steeps.
O hide thee! evening's vapours chill Shall soon thy tender flow'rets shroud; Adown the base of yonder hill, I see intwine the gath'ring cloud.
Why, solitary stranger, why So anxious to behold the day? The sun that wak'd thy morning sigh, Mourns now obscur'd his evening ray.
And see, where on untiring wing The swallow flees the spreading rack; Precursor of the coming spring, He hies him to the goddess back.
Hark! how the northern tempest swells, Amid the groves of murmuring pine! Forsaken beauty shut thy bells, For never ending night is thine.
But long as blushing Love shall sigh In willing ears the tender vow, So long Hyperion's amorous eye, Shall ne'er view sweeter flower than thou.
The night is past, the storm is o'er, And Nature wakes from wonted rest; I'll give this little wither'd flower, Asylum in my aching breast:-
Its fate and mine so well agree, "Twill teach me earthly hopes are vain: For faithless Laura smil'd on me,
Then broke my heart with cold disdain.
SPRING IN PHILADELPHIA COUNTY.
Apostrophe to the Loxia Cardinalis.
Crested bird of plumage red Com'st to see is winter fled?
Inciter to the farmer's toil, Welcome to our grateful soil!
Yet still the frost endures the morn
Spangles the swamp and studs the thorn, Its brilliant gems on every bush, Unmelting, slight Aurora's blush; And pendent willows, crystals weeping, Still inform us Sol is sleeping.
Pretty bird of plumage red
Thou stayst!-then sure is winter fled.
Quickly the cold dispels. Each stream Swells high with joy. What fishes teem Swift ascending from the sea,
To bathe in fresh variety.
Our steady sunshine warmer glowing, Light more flaval round us throwing Glads our eyes, and sprights the veins Of our misses, and our swains.
Pretty bird of plumage red
Thou bidest here, and winter's fled.
Now smoothly roll your giant tides Rivers of freedom! safely rides
The anchor'd vessel; joyous sounds The "yoe heave oh," along your bounds, The sailor bending o'er the yard,
Gaily performs his toil so hard.
And soon descend with swelling sails Favoured by Zephyr's steadying gales Fleets of gallant merchantmen From the prospering town of Penn, No icy rocks the waves now bear Dertructive of the pilot's care.
Pretty bird of plumage red
Well notest thou the winter's fled.
To where rough cataracts impede, Now the shoaling shad proceed With herrings sporting in their van Thicker and broader in the spam
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