I send with deep regards of heart and head, [thee:

Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.

TO A YOUNG LADY

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.

WHY need I say, Louisa dear!

How glad I am to see you here,

A lovely convalescent;

Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.

The sunny showers, the dappled sky,
The little birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I
With their sweet influencing.

Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray :
You made us grow devouter!

Each

and seemed to say,

eye looked up
How can we do without her?

Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
They have no need of such as you

In the place where you were going:
This World has angels all too few,
And Heaven is overflowing!

But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.

But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

HOME-SICK.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

IS sweet to him, who all the week

T Through city crowds must push his way,

To stroll alone through fields and woods,
And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate, and gay,

One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all, to his delight,

Who having long been doomed to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang;

This feel I hourly more and more: There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.

D°

you

ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,

The linnet and thrush say, "I love and I love!” In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong, What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm

weather,

And singing, and loving-all come back together. But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he— "I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER.

E

RE on my bed limbs I lay,

my

God grant me grace my prayers to say;

O God! preserve my mother dear

In strength and health for many a year;

And, O! preserve my father too,
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parent's hope and joy;

And, O! preserve my brothers both
From evil doings and from sloth,
And may we always love each other,
Our friends, our father, and our mother:
And still, O Lord, to me impart
An innocent and grateful heart,
That after my last sleep I may

Awake to thy eternal day!

Amen.

THE VISIONARY HOPE.

AD lot, to have no hope! Though lowly kneeling

his

Would fain entreat for some sweet breath of healing,
That his sick body might have ease and rest;
He strove in vain! the dull sighs from his chest
Against his will the stifling load revealing, [guest,
Though Nature forced; though like some captive
Some royal prisoner at his conqueror's feast,
An alien's restless mood but half concealing,
The sternness on his gentle brow confessed,
Sickness within and miserable feeling :

Though obscure pangs made curses of his dreams,
And dreaded sleep, each night repelled in vain,
Each night was scattered by its own loud screams :
Yet never could his heart command, though fain,
One deep full wish to be no more in pain.

That Hope, which was his inward bliss and boast, Which waned and died, yet ever near him stood, Though changed in nature, wander where he wouldFor Love's despair is but Hope's pining ghost! For this one hope he makes his hourly moan, He wishes and can wish for this alone!

Pierced, as with light from Heaven, before its gleams

(So the love-stricken visionary deems)

Disease would vanish, like a summer shower,
Whose dews fling sunshine from the noontide bower!
Or let it stay! yet this one Hope should give
Such strength that he would bless his pains and live.

THE HAPPY HUSBAND.

FT, oft methinks, the while with Thee

Tofthe, as from the heart, thy dear

And dedicated name, I hear

A promise and a mystery,

A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of Wife !

A pulse of love, that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
The gladness half requests to weep!
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence

Of transient joys, that ask no sting

From jealous fears, or coy denying ;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing,

And into tenderness soon dying,

Wheel out their giddy moment, then

Resign the soul to love again ;—

A more precipitated vein

Of notes, that eddy in the flow

Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain

Its own sweet self

f—a love of Thee

That seems, yet cannot greater be!