When Life's warm fountains feel the frost of time, Thus the pale moon whose pure celestial light Lost in the glowing wave her radiance dies, To the bright azure of the orient skies, Like the tumultuous billows of the sea And leave no vestige of their lives behind. Others, like those proud waves which beat the shore But soon their transient glories are no more, Like yon proud rocks amidst the sea of time For those exist whose pure etherial minds Scorn all terrestrial cares, all mean designs, Theirs is the glory of a lasting name The meed of Genius and her living fires, Theirs is the laurel of eternal fame, And theirs the sweetness of the Muses lyres. D. 1795. The EBB TIDE. Slowly thy flowing tide Came in, old Avon! scarcely did mine eyes, As watchfully I roam'd thy green-wood side,. Behold the gentle rise. With many a stroke and strong The labouring boatmen upward plied their oars, And yet the eye beheld them labouring long Between thy winding shores. Now down thine ebbing tide The unlaboured boat falls rapidly along, The solitary helms-man sits to guide And sings an idle song. Now o'er the rocks, that lay So silent late, the shallow current roars; Avon! I gaze and know The wisdom emblemed in thy varying way, Kingdoms that long have stood And slow to strength and power attain'd at last, Thus from the summit of high fortune's flood Ebb to their ruin fast. So tardily appears The course of time to manhood's envied stage, ERTHUSYO. ELLEN, By JOSEPH COTTLE. Regardless of the boisterous scene, The wretched Ellen sate serene, Nor heard the troubled Ocean's roar. She look'd upon the evening star, And whilst the waves approach'd, she cried, "Oh Edward! Edward! why so far "From me, thy sad and plighted bride." She look'd upon the twilight ray That linger'd in the western sky, And cried, "Oh Edward! wherefore, say, "That Ellen thus should sit and sigh "Dost thou now thy promise rue? "Art thou false as I am true? |