صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني
[ocr errors]

“O! pardon me," the artist cried,
“ In this, we painters must decide.
“The piece even common eyes must strike,
"I warrant it extremely like.”

My Lord examined it a-new;
No looking glass seemed half so true.
A Lady came,

with borrowed grace
He from his Venus formed her face.
Her lover praised the Painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart !

every age some charm he lent! Even Beauties were almost content.

Through all the town his art they praised;
His custom grew, his price was raised.
Had he the real likeness shewn,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought,


Buzzing insect, busy creature,

I would know thy wondrous skill,
Thou dost roam o'er blooming nature,

And thy hive with honey fill.
Dost thou toil through every hour?
Dost thou gain from every

Let me learn of thee.

Teach me, sweetest insect flying,

How like thee to choose the best ;
Phou that dost, thy tribe outvying,

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;
Some may please, yet some forebode us;

Teach me these in truth to know.
Skill is thine t extract the sweet-
Patience thine, the toil to greet:

Let me learn of thee.
“Man, arise! thy sun is shining;

Lose not time in sinful ease;
Prudence with thy zeal combining,

Ills escape and blessings seize.


dwell with lowly flowers,
Poisons hide in fragrant bowers.

Stoop, and learn of me.
“ Flowers unnumbered nake me wander,

One alone might thee avail :
See that Rose of SHARON yonder,

Try yon Lily of the Vale.
Sacred perfume there is found,
Ample treasures there abound.

Haste, and learn of me.
“Man, be wise! thy days are fitting;

Health and strength, and means will end ;
Strive to gain what's most befitting,

Peaceful then to rest descend.
Lo! a brighter day shall rise-
Scenes unfading greet thine eyes,
Verdant 'neath immortal skies.

Think, and learn of me.”


At summer eve, when Heaven's ethereal bow
Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below,

Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye,
Whose sunbright summit mingles with the sky?
Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear
More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?-
'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.
Thus, with delight we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim-discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the past hath been;
And every form, that Fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there.

What potent spirit guides the raptured eye
To pierce the shades of dim futurity?
Can Wisdom lend, with all her heavenly power,
The pledge of Joy's anticipated hour ?
Ah, no! she darkly sees the fate of man-
Her dim horizon bounded to a span;
Or, if she hold an image to the view,
'Tis Nature pictured too severely true.
With thee, sweet Hope! resides the heavenly light,
That pours remotest rapture on the sight:
Thine is the charm of life's bewildered way,
That calls each slumbering passion into play.
Waked by thy touch, I see the sister band,
On tiptoe watching, start at thy command,
And iy where'er thy mandate bids them steer,
To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career.

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.


Far in the windings of a vale,

Fast by a sheltering wood,
The safe retreat of Health and Peace,

A humble cottage stood.
There beauteous Emma flourished fair,

Beneath a mother's eye,
Whose only wish on earth was now

To see her blessed, and die.
The softest blush that Nature spreads

Gave colour to her cheek :
Such orient colour smiles through Heaven,

When vernal mornings break.
Nor let the pride of great ones scorn

This charmer of the plains ;
That sun who bids their diamond blaze,

To paint our lily deigns.
Long had she filled each youth with love,

Each maiden with despair ;
And though by all a wonder owned,

Yet knew not she was fair ;

Till Edwin came, the pride of swains,

A soul devoid of art;
And from whose eye, serenely mild,

Shone forth the feeling heart.

A mutual flame was quickly caught;

Was quickly too revealed ;
For neither bosom lodged a wish,

That virtue keeps concealed.
What happy hours of heart-felt bliss

Did love on both bestow !
But bliss too mighty long to last,

Where fortune proves a foe.
His sister, who, like Envy formed,

Like her in mischief joyed,
To work them harm, with wicked skill

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,
To snatch a glance, to mark the spot

Where Emma walked and wept.


« السابقةمتابعة »