1823.} 
Too low, like her, to blaze. 
dreams 
The sorrow-hearted maid, that eye, so dull 
With grief, so soon will swim about in floods 
Of joy! That step she hearsarouse the dog 
To duty, and her fears to thought, is come 
To welcome her, and make herhappy. But 
Sweet Hope, expiring on Despair’s cold 
marble, 
Lives with a look, asound, or touch,and life, 
Relit, thrills to its highest, dearest, tones 
Of human heaven. ’Tis tedions absence 
gives 
The tongue complaint, and fearful fancy 
shapes 
The desert of the mind. Such, Mary, thou 
Art breathing thro’ the records of thy spirit. 
Hark? the drawn latchet sounds: her voice 
within, 
With timorous cadence snes, ‘ Who’s 
there ?—’Tis he.” 
Wide fiies the door: the self-same arms 
enfold 
And feeltheirhurrying pulse again.Oureyes 
Meet light; our lips salute our breath, our 
hearts 
Pantlike the winds at venture met,anddown 
And quick we sit in that old bee-hive chair 
Tn which our nurse and matron cradled us. 
O! blessed state of feeling; bliss more high, 
Strong, warm, and pure, than teign’d words 
of the tongue 
Of flattery,melodised and sung for conquest 
Without a throb sincere; not thus, to dwell 
On shakeless love, and, when this love is 
biest, 
How little 
To hear and tell grief’s seasons, sunn’d 
with joy; 
To cheer the cloudiest scenes with gentle 
smiles, 
And with the natural accents of the tongue 
Chase with enjoyment’s power forgetfulness 
Away. Notofastorm that fell, but Mary’s 
Full bosom heav'd and sigh’d; a wreck 
that sunk, 
: But she would cling asa faint sailor round 
The mast when all is dear, and Death de- 
mands 
Hisown. Snch sympathetic ecstacy 
Convine’d us we were born for mutual zood 
Long as the sand of Time should run in our 
Behalf. Hence Hymen was consulted; he, 
Like a pleas’d father laugh’d to be pre- 
ferr’d, 
Giving consent, flew to the altar, trimm’d 
His torch ; while Venus, like a silent nun 
Veil’d in smooth marble o’er a lady’s tomb, 
Sat in her vestures, motionless, and blush’d: 
For Cheerfulness was looking slily on, 
And Modesty, though charm’d, with timid 
eye. 
Islington. 
—— 
_ _ A SIMILE. 
O wnat is Anger like? its raging frame 
Resembles Etna’s “boiling breast of 
flame ;” 
Original Poetry. 
143 
While sweet Content, like the pale moon 
o’ercast 
With clouds, looks meek, and triumphs 
gay at last. ENORT. 
Cullum-street. 
— 
VERSES FOR AN ARBOUR, 
STRANGER or friend! whoe’er thou art, 
Whate’er religious creed be thine ; 
Have truth and knowledge won thy heart? 
Has virtue own’d thee at her shrine? 
Has the mild glow of social love, 
Thy little circle fondly cheer’d ; 
And thence expansive hast thou strove, 
That man to man should be endear’d? 
Has no delusion e’er avail’d, 
‘To sound the war-whoop in thy breast ; 
Invariably hast thou bewail'd, 
Of human biiss that deadly pest? 
Come, then, enjoy this sylvan shade, 
Its owner hails thy kindred mind ; 
No power malign shall dare invade, 
For nought but Peace shall welcome 
find. J. L. 
— 
THE GRAVE, 
Wuat, pilgrim, wilt thou fear to sleep, 
To quit this scene of weary strife; 
Shall Death’s dark image make thee weep. 
And cling to this unhappy life; 
Come now recline thy aching head, 
And mingle with the peacefal dead. 
Thy couch shall be adorn’d with green, 
’ When Spring shall lead the laughing: 
hours ; 
And sweetest birds shall there be seen, 
And modest incense-breathing flow’ts 
There thon shalt sleep secure from pain, 
And never grieve or weep again. 
The wintry blasts, that rudely blow, 
Shall do thy resting-place no harm, 
‘But virgin wreaths of purest snow 
Shall keep thy narrow dwelling warm ; 
No withering frown of dark despair, 
No pinching biast shall chill thee there. 
Come, meet th’ inevitable doom 
That frees thy soul from mortal woes ; 
The peaceful tenant of the tomb 
Can taste of nought bnt sweet repose ; 
Then, all thy cares and troubles past, 
Thy wearied frame shall sleep at last. 
—~— 
A HYMN TO THE SUN; 
From a Volume of Dramas (in the Press, ) 
on the ‘‘ Gradation of the Moral and 
Intellectual Character.” 
Gop of the eve, whose golden ray 
Gilds the vault of parting day, 
Ere you drive your car away, 
My Evening Hymn 
Shall rise in grateful notes to heaven, 
For all the good to mortals given 
By Nature’s King. 
Peerless 
