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Then decently spread over all a shroud;
THE DESERTED WIFE.
He comes not-I have watch'd the moon go down, But yet he comes not-Once it was not so. He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow, The while he holds his riot in that town. Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep; And he will wake my infant from its sleep, To blend its feeble wailing with my tears. O! how I love a mother's watch to keep, Over those sleeping eyes, that smile, which cheers My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fix'd and deep. I had a husband once, who loved me—now He ever wears a frown upon his brow, And feeds his passion on a wanton's lip, As bees, from laurel flowers, a poison sip; But yet I cannot hate-0! there were hours, When I could hang for ever on his eye, And time who stole with silent swiftness by, Strew'd, as he hurried on, his path with flowers. I loved him then--he loved me too-My heart Still finds its fondness kindle, if he smile;
The memory of our loves will ne'er depart;
THE CORAL GROVE.
Deep in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet, and gold-fish rove, Where the sea-flower spreads its leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty shine, Far down in the green and glassy brine. The floor is of sand, like the mountain drift, And the pearl shells spangle the flinty snow ; From coral rocks the sea plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and waves are absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There with its waving blade of green, The sea-flag streams through the silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is seen To blush, like a banner bathed in slaughter; There with a light and easy motion, The fan-coral sweeps through the clear deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean Are bending like corn on the upland lea: And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of stone, And is safe, when the wrathful spirit of storms, Has made the top of the waves his own: And when the ship from his fury flies, Where the myriad voices of ocean roar, When the wind-god frowns in the murky skies, And demons are waiting the wreck on shore;
Then far below in the peaceful sea,
TO SENECA LAKE.
On thy fair bosom, silver lake!
On thy fair bosom, waveless stream!
How sweet, at set of sun, to view
At midnight hour, as shines the moon,
On thy fair bosom, silver lake!
THERE is a sweetness in woman's decay,
When the bright enchantment of youth is gone,
0! there is a sweetness in beauty's close,
In the flush of youth and the spring of feeling,
And when her sun is low declining, And life wears out with no repining,
And the whisper, that tells of early death, Is soft as the west wind's balmy breath, When it comes at the hour of still repose, To sleep in the breast of the wooing rose, And the lip, that swell’d with a living glow, Is pale as a curl of new-fallen snow; And her cheek, like the Parian stone, is fair, But the hectic spot that flushes there, When the tide of life, from its secret dwelling, In a sudden gush, is deeply swelling, And giving a tinge to her icy lips, Like the crimson rose's brightest tips, As richly red and as transient too, As the clouds, in autumn sky of blue, That seem like a host of glory met To honor the sun at his golden set: 0! then, when the spirit is taking wing, How fondly her thoughts to her dear one cling, As if she would blend her soul with his In a deep and long imprinted kiss ; So fondly the panting camel flies, Where the glassy vapor cheats his eyes, And the dove from the falcon seeks her nest, And the infant shrinks to his mother's breast. And though her dying voice be mute, Or faint as the tones of an unstrung lute, And though the glow from her cheek be fled, And her pale lips cold as the marble dead, Her eye still beams unwonted fires With a woman's love and a saint's desires, And her last fond, lingering look is given To the love she leaves, and then to heaven, As if she would bear that love away Toa purer world and a brighter day.
Sortly the moonlight