Imagens das páginas


To all that breathe the airs of heaven,
Some boon of strength has nature given.
When the majestic bull was born,
She fenced his brow with wreathed horn.
She arm'd the courser's foot of air,
And wing’d with speed the panting hare.
She gave the lion fangs of terror,
And, on the ocean's crystal mirror,
Taught the unnumber'd scaly throng
To trace their liquid path along;
While for the umbrage of the grove,
She plumed the warbling world of love.
To man she gave the flame refined,
The spark of Heaven-a thinking mind;
And had she no surpassing treasure
For thee, oh woman! child of pleasure ?
She gave thee beauty; shaft of eyes,
That every shaft of war outflies!
She gave thee beauty ; blush of fire,
That bids the flanies of war retire !
Woman! be fair, we must adore thee;
Smile, and a world is weak before thee?


Is it not sweet, beloved youth,

To rove through erudition's bowers, And cull the golden fruits of truth,

And gather fancy's brilliant flowers ?

And is it not more sweet than this

To feel thy parents' hearts approving, And pay them back, in sums of bliss,

The dear, the endless debt of loving ?

It must be so to thee, my youth ;

With this idea toil is lighter;
This sweetens all the fruits of truth,

And makes the flowers of fancy brighter!
The little gift we send thee, boy,

May sometimes teach thy soul to ponder,
If Indolence or siren Joy

Should ever tempt that soul to wander.
'Twill tell thee that the winged day

Can ne'er be chain'd by man's endeavour; That life and time shall fade away,

While Heaven and virtue bloom for ever!


A BEAM of tranquillity smiled in the west,

The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And the wave, while it welcomed the moment of rest,

Still heaved, as remembering ills that were o'er! Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,

Its passions were sleeping, were mute as the dead, And the spirit becalm'd but remember'd their power,

As the billow the force of the gale that was filed! I thought of the days when to pleasure alone

My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh; When the saddest emotion my bosom had known

Was pity for those who were wiser than I!
I felt how the pure intellectual fire

In luxury loses its heavenly ray;
How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire,

The pearl of the soul may be melted away! And I prayed of that Spirit who lighted the flame,

That pleasure no more might its purity dim: And that, sullied but little, or brightly the same, I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from

him !

The thought was ecstatic! I felt as if Heaven

Had already the wreath of eternity shown; As if, passion all chasten’d and error forgiven,

My heart had begun to be purely its own!
I look'd to the west, and the beautiful sky

Which morning had clouded was clouded no more:
Oh! thus,” I exclaim'd, can a heavenly eye
Shed light on the soul that was darken'd before !"



Go where glory waits thee,
But, while fame elates thee,

Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee

Sweeter far may be ;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,

Oh! then remember me.
When at eve thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning-

Oh! then remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,

Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them

Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me.
And at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,

Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing theem

Oh! then remember me.


Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade,
Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid :
Sad, silent, and dark be the tears that we shed,
As the night-dew that falls on the grass o'er his head!

But the night-dew that falls, though in silence it

weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grave where he

sleeps ; And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.


As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow,
While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,
So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny

Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while.


One fatal remembrance, one sorrow that throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm, and affliction no sting!
Oh! this thought in the midst of enjoyment will stay,
Like a dead, leafless branch in the summer's bright

ray ; The beams of the warm sun play round it in vain, It may smile in his light, but it blooms not again!


THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last ray of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my


Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hillOh! no: it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends the beloved of my bosom were

near, Who made every dear scene of enchantment more

dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, When we see them reflected from looks that we love.

Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world

should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

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