POETRY. 615 



4. 



WHENE'ER I see those smiling eyes, 



All fiU'd with hope and joy and light, 

 As if no cloud could ever rise 



To dim a heav'n so purely bright, — 

 I sigh to tliink how soon that brow 



In grief may lose its ev'ry ray, 

 And that light heart, so joyous now, 



Almost forget it once was gay. 



For Time will come with all his blights. 



The ruin'd hope, the friend unkind. 

 And Love, who leaves, where'er he lights, 



A chill'd or burning heart behind. 

 And youth, that like pure snow appears, 



E're sullied by the dark'ning rain, 

 When once 'tis touch'd by sorrow's tears, 



Will never shine so bright again. 



TO THE MEMORY OF 



JOSEPH ATKINSON, ESQ. OF DUBLIN. 

 (bt the same.) 



IF ever lot was prosperously cast. 



If ever life was like the length'ned flow 



Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last, 



'Twas his, who, raourn'd by many, sleeps below. 



The sunny temper, bright where all is strife, 

 The simple heart that mocks at worldly wiles, 



Light wit, that plays along the calm of hfe : 

 And stirs its languid surface into smiles ; 



Pure Charity, that comes not in a shower. 

 Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds; 



But like the dew, with gradual silent power. 

 Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads ; 



The 



