I know not, 1 ask not, what time has in store,
But heaven yet hath something the exile to lend,
To lie 'neath the green that he play'd on before,

The joy of his youth, and the peace of his end.

THE WINTER FLOWER.

THERE was a pale and shrinking flower,
Which blossom'd in a wintry hour,
When every bud of brighter bloom,
Had met with an autumnal doom:
It burst beneath a freezing sky,
Open'd, to wither and to die;

All faintly bright, and dimly fair,

It courted the inclement air;

And pour'd a dying fragrance round,

Then shed its frail leaves on the ground.

Even so, I saw misfortune's child,

Amid a blast as bleak and wild,
Tender as that forsaken flower,

And shivering in a stormy hour;

No parent on whose faithful breast,
The little head might lie at rest,
With none to wipe the infant tear,
Give the caress, and call it dear;
Without a single hand to save
Its victim from a timeless grave.
I saw it bloom, I saw it fade,
And weeping gave my childish aid;
In vain-its ruddy cheek grew pale,
It could not bear the wintry gale;
It faded each succeeding day
Carried some lingering hope away,
Till low it laid its little head,
And like that wan flower perished.
Yet tho' I shed the frequent tear
Over its young and timeless bier,
With gentler grief I now deplore,
For all its infant woes are o'er,
And 'neath this soft and grassy mound,
While summer flowrets spring around,

Peace shall her silent vigil keep,
And guard the infant's quiet sleep,

Till rais'd to bloom a fadeless flower

Within heaven's calm and blissful bower.

THE FAIRY.

I'LL be a fairy, and drink the dew,
And creep thro' the honied flowers;
And sleep in the violet's tender blue,
And dance in the evening hours.

My music shall be the soft low gales,
Which sigh thro' the dark green trees,
And heaven's breath swell the gossamer sails
With which I swim the breeze.

The glow-worm shall be my gentle light,

And a lily's cup my bed,

And I'll warm me in the sweet moonlight,

And on fallen roses tread.