JAMES DIXON.*

I.

TO A ROBIN.

SWEET Bird! that, hidden by the dark green leaves,
Didst pour thy pleasant song at break of day,
Making glad music round my flower-wreathed eaves,
Why has thy gentle warbling died away?

Come not the zephyrs from the sweet southwest
As freshly to thy leaf-embosomed nest?

Less fragrant are the flowers of summer's prime ?
Or pin'st thou for thy far-off southern clime?
Or is it that thy noisy young have flown,

Leaving their green home in the o'ershadowing tree,
That thus thou mournest desolate and lone,
Where once thy song burst forth so loud and free?
Alas! that summer's perfumed airs should bring
Sorrow to one like thee, so light of heart and wing!

* Born 1814.

II.

CONNECTICUT RIVER.

WANDERING 'mid flowery banks, or loud and hoarse
Foaming o'er rock and crag, all wild and free,
From the deep woods that hide thy shaded source,
To where thy waters mingle with the sea,
Beautiful River! like a dream of love

Thy deep waves glide - blue as the sky above.
Bright are the happy homes along thy shores,
Shaded by drooping elms that kiss thy wave;
And grassy banks, that bloom with gay wild-flowers,
Thy calm and murmuring waters gently lave;
And warbling birds, with music sweet as thine,
Sing in the branches of the o'erhanging vine
A song whose notes are with us evermore,
Stealing our hearts away to wander by thy shore.

III.

SUNSET AFTER A STORM.

Lo! where the mountains mingle with the sky
A breaking light in all the glowing west!
And slowly now its lustre spreads on high,
As the veiled sun sinks calmly to his rest:
The broken clouds are bathed in golden light,
That mingle sweetly with the sky's deep blue,
And, as the twilight fades, from heaven's far height
The first bright star of eve is shining through:
The low wind's voice falls gently on the ear,
And with it, to the lone and weary heart,
Comes a deep joy, that, could it ne'er depart,
Might make us sigh to dwell forever here :

It may not be ! E'en from such glorious skies,
O, who can tell how sad a morn may rise!

IV.

MOONLIGHT IN JUNE.

THOU hast a gentle ministry, O Moon!
Riding in solemn silence through the sky,
And gazing from thy trackless path on high
Upon the beauty of the leafy June:
On such a lovely night, I ween, as this,
ENDYMION felt thy pale lip's dewy kiss
For far around on every plain and hill,
In the soft gleaming of thy gleaming ray,
Flower, tree, and forest, breathless now and still,
Rest from the burning brightness of the day;
Silence is over all. Yon murmuring rill

Alone leaps gladly on its tireless way :

;

In thy soft rays how beautiful is Night!

Like man's cloud-covered path, by woman's love made

bright!

V.

TO MRS. SIGOURNEY,

With a "Forget-me-not" from the grave of KEATS, on whose tombstone are inscribed these words :

"HERE LIES ONE WHOSE NAME WAS WRIT IN WATER."

WANDERING in Rome, for thee a gift I sought :

Around me were the wonders of the past;
And modern Art, on every side, had cast

Her gems of richest beauty. Yet methought
These were scarce worthy thee. At length I stood,
One Sabbath eve, beside the grave of KEATS;

The turf was bright with flowers that gave their sweets
To the soft night-air, as in mournful mood :

Sad thoughts came o'er me, and I could have wept
That all the hopes that in the Poet's heart,

As in a sanctuary, had been kept,

Could fade so soon, and perish, and depart;

I plucked this flower for thee, the Muses' happiest daughter,

And joyed to think thy name should ne'er be "writ in water."