HY art thou silent? Is thy love a plant Of such weak fibre that the treacherous air Of absence withers what was once so fair? Is there no debt to pay, no boon to grant? Yet have my thoughts for thee been vigilantBound to thy service with unceasing care, The mind's least generous wish a mendicant For naught but what thy happiness could spare. Speak-though this soft warm heart, once free to hold A thousand tender pleasures, thine and mine,

Be left more desolate, more dreary cold

Than a forsaken bird's-nest filled with snow

'Mid its own bush of leafless eglantine

Speak, that my torturing doubts their end may know!

HOUGH joy attend Thee orient at the birth
Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most

To watch thy course when Daylight, fled from earth,
In the gray sky hath left his lingering Ghost,
Perplexed as if between a splendour lost

And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun,
The absolute, the world-absorbing One,
Relinquished half his empire to the host
Emboldened by thy guidance, holy Star,
Holy as princely-who that looks on thee,
Touching, as now, in thy humility

The mountain borders of this seat of care,
Can question that thy countenance is bright,
Celestial Power, as much with love as light?

VALEDICTORY SONNET.

ERVING no haughty Muse, my hands have here Disposed some cultured Flowerets (drawn from spots Where they bloomed singly, or in scattered knots), Each kind in several beds of one parterre;

Both to allure the casual Loiterer,

And that, so placed, my Nurslings may requite
Studious regard with opportune delight,
Nor be unthanked, unless I fondly err.

But metaphor dismissed, and thanks apart,

Reader, farewell! My last words let them be

If in this book Fancy and Truth agree;

If simple Nature trained by careful Art
Through It have won a passage to thy heart;
Grant me thy love, I crave no other fee!