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For she, the young, the bright, the gay,
Has left us here to weep,
While cover'd with her parent clay,
And wrapt in death's long sleep.

But memory still can paint the scenes
Of past, but ne'er forgotten joy,
When we have sported wild and free,
No sorrow pleasure's tide to cloy.

Thy form, as it was wont to be,

Still mingles with each thought of home;
My earliest sports were join'd by thee,
When graced by beauty's brightest bloom.

Again I view that hazel eye,

With life and pleasure beaming;
Again I view that fair, white brow,

Those dark locks o'er it streaming.

Again I view thy blushing cheek,

The glow of love and pride,
When, 'mid the throng of smiling friends,
A blooming, happy bride.

But more than these, the angel mind
Should all our thoughts engage ;
Oh, 'twas unsullied and refined
As is this spotless page.

How changed the scene! the star of hope
Has set in clouds of darkest night,
And she, the lovely and the gay,

Is laid in the grave with her beauty and light.

Oh, where shall the mother, all mourning and sad,
Oh, where shall she look for the child she adored!
And where shall the husband, half frantic with grief,
Find the wife in whose bosom his sorrows he pour'd!
How lonely and silent each well-beloved scene,
Each garden, each grove, which she loved to frequent;
The sweet flowers she nurtured so fondly and long,
In sorrow their heads to the damp ground have bent.

But a flow'ret more lovely, more tender and pure,
Is languidly drooping, no mother to guide;
The fond kiss of a mother it never can feel,

And to her the warm prayer of a mother's denied.

But the spirit we mourn has ascended on high,
And there it will watch o'er its little one's fate;
In whispers her voice will be heard from the sky,
With a mother's affection, which ne'er can abate.
1834.

TO THE EVENING STAR.

THOUGH yon broad vault of heavenly blue
Is spangled o'er with gems of light;
Though veil'd beneath its azure hue
Is glittering many a star so bright;

Though thousands wait around the throne
Of yon cold monarch, proudly fair;
Though all unite their dazzling powers
To vie with Luna's brilliance there;

Each star which decks her cloud-veil'd brow,
Or glitters in her snowy car,
Would shrink beneath thy dazzling ray,
Sweet little, sparkling evening star!

No twinkling groups around thee throng,
Thy path majestic, lonely, bright!
A radiant softness shades thy form,
First wanderer in the train of night!

1834.

While gazing on thy glorious path,
It seems as though some seraph's eye
Look'd with angelic sweetness down,
And watch'd me from the glorious sky.

As the dim twilight steals around,
And thou art trembling far above,
I think of those no longer here,

Dear objects of my earliest love.

And the soft ray which beams from thee
A soothing calmness doth impart;
And from each poignant sorrow free,
A sweet composure fills my heart.

Oh! then shine on thus pure and bright,
Pour on each mourning soul thy balm!
Soothe the sad bosom's rankling grief,
And fill it with thy heavenly calm!

Till meek, submissive, and resign'd,
It seeks above a purer joy;

And stays the fickle, wayward mind
On pleasures which can never cloy.

TO MY FATHER.

Он, how I love my father's eye,
So tender and so kind!

Oh, how I love its azure dye,
The index of his mind !

Oh, how I love the silver hair
Which floats around his brow.
I love to press my father's form,
And feel his cheek's warm glow.

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"How beautiful is Nature!" Every soul,
Beating with warm and gentle feeling,
Must repeat with me these heartfelt words,
"How beautiful is Nature!" In the dark
Awful waving of the sky-crown'd forest,
Her gentle whisper, like an angel's voice,
Still breaks upon the stillness; -in the stream
Which ripples past, is heard her low, sweet murmur;
While on the varied sky, the frowning mount,
Her chainless hand majestical is laid!

What voice so sweet as hers? what touch so soft,
So delicate? what pencilling so divine ?
Oh, can the warmest fancy ever picture
To the rapt soul, a scene more beautiful?

Say, can imagination, light as air,
Capricious as each varying wind which blows,
Create a model of more perfect loveliness,
More grace and symmetry ? Can thought present
A tint more light, and yet more gorgeous,
Hues more sweetly mingled, one dim shadow,
Blending in grace more lovely with another ?
Ah no! but 'tis the sin which dwells within
That casts a dark'ning shade o'er Nature's face-
Nought can there be more beauteous and divine;
But to the eye of discontent and wo,
Her gentle graces seem to mix with sorrow;
And to the chilling glance of stern despair,
Her sweetest smile is but a threatening cloud:
Just as the mind is turn'd she smiles or frowns,
And to each eye a different view appears.
The cheerful, happy heart, devoid of guilt,
Like a white tablet, opens to receive
Each passing hue, and as the colours flit
Over its surface, it becomes more tranquil,
And fit to take once more the forms of joy,
Which ever, as they glide so sweetly by,
Tinge the fond soul with happiness serene.
If dark, degrading sin had never cast
Its shade of gloom o'er Nature's lovely brow,
This world had been an earthly paradise.
An all-presiding God has deck'd our globe
With grace, and life, and light; each object glows
With heavenly tints, and every form
Contains some hidden beauty, which to minds
Unburden'd with a consciousness of guilt
Proclaims the power of Him who rules o'er all !
The falling snow-flake, or the humming bee,
Small though they seem, may still contain a world
Of knowledge and of skill, which human wisdom,
Mix'd with human guilt, can never fathom.
The smallest item in this wondrous plan,
Replete with grace, and harmony, and light,
Would form employment for a fleeting life !

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