STANZAS.

O FAIRER than those forms of light That bless so oft the poet's eyes, When hov'ring o'er his dream of night, He sees his lov'd one's image rise.

And brighter to the raptur'd view, Than all the orbs of yonder spheres,

That beaming soft, thro' twilight's dew, Are seen to smile, but smile in tears.

And sweeter than the gale above,

That o'er the garden perfume throws, And wakes with morning's kiss of love The half-blown blushes of the rose.

Blest vision! for a moment mine,
And must a form so fair depart,

No! ever in its holiest shrine,

"Twill reign the idol of the heart!

ON SEEING A LADY SHED TEARS.

THE rosebud, drooping to the blast,
Bows, gently bows, beneath the storm;
Nor, till the wind and rain be past,
Is seen to rear its slender form.

And though the skies no longer lower,
The bud will still its tears retain;

And when the breeze goes o'er the flower,
And shakes the leaf,-it weeps again.

Then turn, and view yon flow'r so fair,
Its look so mild, its charms so meek,
That scarce 'twould seem might sorrow dare
To dim that eye, and pale that cheek.

Yet ye have heard the tempest roar,

Have mark'd its chast'nings how unkind; And seen the storms of sorrow pour

Their fury on that form resign'd.

Ꭰ

34

ON SEEING A LADY SHED TEARS.

Say, would ye then revive the power
Of woes themselves, ah too severe !
Recal Affliction's bitterest hour,

And wake again the Mourner's tear?

For see, her eye of Heav'n's own blue
The pearly dew of Sorrow steeps,
Her cheek hath lost its rosy hue,

She sighs, and see,-she weeps !-she weeps!

TO MARY.

Oh I love, with a lover's eye, to look
On Nature's beauteous charms!

But fairer lines than in Nature's book
Are found in my Mary's arms.

I love to look on the bright broad sky,
At the stillest hour of even;

But a fairer orb is my Mary's eye,
And her brow is a brighter heaven.

I love the dews of morn to sip

From the rose and the violet blue; But a fairer flower is my Mary's lip, And 'tis wet with a softer dew.

I love to look on every streak

That paints the varied west;

But the tint that glows on my Mary's cheek Is the brightest and the best!

And though I would bow, with a pilgrim's zeal,

At holy Nature's shrine,

Yet I rather, sweet girl, at thy feet would kneel, And own thee all divine!