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SWEET JOY, SWEET SORROW.

BY WM. CAREY, ESQ.

Sweet is the solemn moon-light hour
Of musing in the lonely bow'r ;
When hills and woods and vales prolong
The Nightingale's enamour'd song.

Sweet is the look, in silence stole,
That speaks the virgia's secret suul:
Not half so sweet the early ray
Beams from the radiant eye of Day.

Sweet are the hours, when, led by love,
To the soft song of Hope they move;
More sweet than smiling Spring; more bright
Than frolic Summer's golden light.

Sweet is the maiden's fond delay,
When prest to name the bridal day:
Sweet is the lover's hope of bliss :
Sweet, sweet her mute consenting kiss.

VOL. VI.

Sweet is the vow of love for life;
Ah, sweet the change from maid to wifc;
The feast, the dance, the wedding rite;
And sweet the husband's full delight.

Sweet fairy prospects follow soon;
Sweet omens each revolving moon;
Sweet symbols glad the happy pair;
The vines their purple clusters bear.

Sweet is that changing look, that eye
Of languor blue; that longing sigh ;
That cheek, by turns, so flush'd! so pale!
That rose, that lilly sweet to hail !

Sweet is that form by Love imprest;
That growing waist; that swelling breast;
Sweet is that swoon; those transports sweet,
Thy baby yet unborn they greet.

Sweet fly the number'd moons : they fy;
And sweet those throes; that plaintive cry;
Sweet, sweet, the sweetest joy on earth,
The moment of auspicious birth.

1

Sweet name of Father, sweet to bear!
Sweet name of Mother, ever dear!
Sweet pledge of joy; in transport wild,
See Father, Mother clasp their Child.

These joys I've shar'd; these joys I've krema:
These sweets-but ah! not these alone,
Sweet is the memory of the dead;
And sweet the tears that parents shed.

'Tis sweet to echo sigh for sigh ;
To watch your dear child's closing ege;
To catch the angei's dying breath,
And kiss the wan cold cheek of death,

'Tis sweet to nurse a silent grief,
Beyond the busy world's relief :
To suffer yet conceal the smart;
And veil with smiles a wounded heart.

'Tis sweet by twilight pale, alone, To

press the dumb, sepulchral stone; For still, to God and nature dear, Flows sadly sweet the parent's tear.

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'Tis Friendship's right, I know full well,
Freely unpleasant truths to tell :
But, till this hour, I never knew
She claim'd a right of telling too,
Things both unpleasant and untrue,

R. A. D.

TO HENRY.

Tecum venitque, manetque;
Tecum discedet.

Ovid.

Ir e'er to feel the breath of Fame

Could hope my humble lyre, It were because thy sacred name

Hangs trembling on its wire. Thy name breathes magic o'er my song,

As when by Selma's springs, An unknown spirit mov'd along,

And swept the dying strings.*
Thy rising worth with silent joy

My raptur’d soul surveys ;
Thy virtues all my thoughts employ,

Thy merit all my praise.
As every radiant star supplies,

An index to the spheres,
So, in the lustre of thine eyes,

Thine obvious soul appears.
Thy presence bids the morning rays

Commix with shades of even;
And to my ear thy voice conveys

The harmony of Heaven.

* Ossian.

As fields of grain th' impulsive wind,

With all their waves obey ;
So, mov'd by thee, my yielding mind,

Shall own thy gentle sway.
Thus o'er the plaintive harp I bend,

Because Thou lovest its tone;
Seeking howe'er thy wishes tend,

To'assimilate my own.
And hence the Mantuan's glowing page,

Can mightier thoughts inspire;
As swells the sympathetic rage, TM

I think I feel Thy fire.
Hence too, the milder Roman's * bays

· More sportively entwine, While breathes through all his polish'd lays,

The elegance of Thine.
And nature best my bosom warms,

When wild her features grow,
Because Thou lov'st her awful charms,

With all th' enthusiast's glow.
When soften'd beauty, meeken'd grace,

In milder scenes I see,
Th'enchantment of each magic place,

Is borrow'd half from Thee.
Thus reason gave my passion birth ;

Nature and heaven approve,
And to my eyes the total earth

Is full of thee and love.

* Ovid.

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