To S

They say, my gentle cousin,

That thy girlhood's much-loved name Is to be thrown away, and now

No more to be the same.

They tell me that a stranger

Hath beguiled away thy hand:

Thy heart I know he cannot have,—

"Tis in another land.

They'll bind thy hair with strings of pearl,

Thy breast with robes of white; And happy 'tis my weeping eye

Shall not behold the sight.
Too far am I to hear thee swear
That thou in weal or woe

Shalt love and cherish him alone,
And to his mandate bow.

They say that thou art altered,

That unlike those days gone by,

Thou hast exchanged thy maiden gladness For a tear and for a sigh;

But those that force thee thus

With thy early love to part, May they never feel the agony That rends a broken heart.

We cannot, as in days gone by,
Our vows of passion breathe;

Thou canst not grant a kiss when I
Would pluck for thee a wreath ;
I must not press thy willing hand
As once in former time,

What then was but a playful thing
Would now be deemed a crime.

When next we meet, (perchance we might,)
Upon this world of woe,
May happiness her purest gems

Have circled on thy brow,—
May peace and plenty smile around
May never grief be thine;
Tho' life is but a blank to me,

And bliss can ne'er be mine.

To the Bible.

Neglected Volume! when thy sacred page
In youth did first my opening mind engage,
Too task-like was thy study, set by rule,
Cramped by the formal usages of school.

Farther in life, how cold thy lessons seemcd-
How tasteless all thy solemn truths I deemed!
Immersed in pleasure to the very lips,

Even heinous crimes appeared but venial slips.

But now arrested in my wild career,

Long ere life's Summer hath approached the 'sear,'
How rise thy warnings to my troubled mind,
When each remembrance leaves a pang behind.

Thou monitor of every change of life,—
In youth, in age,-tranquillity or strife,
Whose precepts reach from poverty to wealth—
Alike the friend of impotence and health!

How thy sage maxims touch the awful chord
That sad experience ever must afford;

In vain the sophist to subvert them tries,
Truth stands too firm, and Doubt despairing flies.

When eager youth drinks deep of pleasure's stream,
And wakes to find illusion in the dream,
How painfully the victim feels that he
Has scorned thy warning of its vanity!

I

Or when the heart with fond ambition warms,
And, still insatiate, seeks expected charms,
How will the mind receive the adage then-
"All is vexation to the sons of men."

O'erwhelmed in worldly sorrow and distress,
With friends all pressing, or with none to press,——
The care-worn sufferer looks around in vain,
There's nought can ease the flow of mental pain.

But if he turn to thy unheeded leaf,
His certain recipe is sure and brief;
For God himself declares to us in thee-
"Weary and care-worn, I shall set you free."

Blest Book! sole solace on the couch of death! How calm the dying Christian yields his breath, Upheld by thy pure promises of joy

Beyond the bourne where bliss can know alloy.

How sweet the thought that we thro' thee can know
That SAVIOUR lives who died for us below,
And still is pleading our unworthy cause,
To caution adder-deaf in breaking laws!

Song, To Love.

Flee away, pretty boy, flee away!
I admire not the mirth of thine eye;
That smile, like the breaking of day,
Doth but coldly assort with a sigh.
Then away, pretty boy,

To the scenes of thy joy;

Oh Love, pretty boy, flee away!

There are callous and cold in the world,

There are thoughtless and wild to be found, At these let thine arrows be hurled

And let those feel the pain of thy wound.
Then away, pretty boy,

Let their grief be thy joy;

Oh Love, pretty boy, flee away!

Yet why should I drive thee away?
Rather linger around this sad heart;

For tho' painful to me is thy stay,

Oh, 'twere dreadful to bid thee depart.
Then stay, pretty boy,

Give this bosom its joy;

And Love, pretty innocent, stay!