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“O! pardon me," the artist cried,
My Lord examined it a-new;
with borrowed grace
every age some charm he lent! Even Beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they praised;
INSTRUCTION SOUGHT FROM THE BEE.
Buzzing insect, busy creature,
I would know thy wondrous skill,
And thy hive with honey fill.
Teach me, sweetest insect flying,
How like thee to choose the best ;
Live to work, but die to rest :
time on earth shall end,
then my soul befriend ? Let me learn of thee.
Varied plants with mingled odours,
Nature oft presents below;
Teach me these in truth to know.
Let me learn of thee.
Lose not time in sinful ease;
Ills escape and blessings seize.
dwell with lowly flowers,
Stoop, and learn of me.
One alone might thee avail :
Try yon Lily of the Vale.
Haste, and learn of me.
Health and strength, and means will end ;
Peaceful then to rest descend.
Think, and learn of me.”
THE INFLUENCE OF HOPE.
At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
Primeval Hope, the Aönian Muses say, When Man and Nature mourned their first decay; When every
form of death, and every woe, Shot from malignant stars to earth below, When Murder bared her arm, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of her iron car, When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again ; All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, But Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind.
Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare From Carmel's heights to sweep the fields of air, The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, Dropt on the world—a sacred gift to man.
Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe; Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring ! What viewless forms th' Æolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away.
EDWIN AND EMMA.
Far in the windings of a vale,
Fast by a sheltering wood,
A humble cottage stood.
Beneath a mother's eye,
To see her blessed, and die.
Gave colour to her cheek :
When vernal mornings break.
This charmer of the plains ;
To paint our lily deigns.
Each maiden with despair ;
Yet knew not she was fair ;
Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,
A soul devoid of art;
Shone forth the feeling heart.
A mutual flame was quickly caught;
Was quickly too revealed ;
That virtue keeps concealed.
Did love on both bestow !
Where fortune proves a foe.
Like her in mischief joyed,
Each darker art employed.
The father too, a sordid man,
Who love nor pity knew, Was all unfeeling as the clod
From whence his riches grew.
Long had he seen their secret flame,
And seen it long unmoved : Then with a father's frown at last
He sternly disapproved.
In Edwin's gentle heart, a war
Of differing passions strove : His heart, that durst not disobey,
Yet could not cease to love.
Denied her sight, he oft behind
The spreading hawthorn crept,
Where Emma walked and wept.