O! welcome the power to bless,

And redeem Fortune's wrongs on Mankind.

Be a goddess indeed while you borrow
From Plenty's unlimited store,

To gild the wan aspect of Sorrow,
To cheer the meek eye of the poor.

While your virtues shall mix with the skies,
When your beauty, bright Phoenix, decays:
From your image new graces shall rise,
And enlighten Posterity's days.

Future ages shall trace every air,

Every virtue deriv'd from your blood,

Shall remember that Stella was fair,

Shall remember that Stella was good.

LINES BY MR.

OF WHOM IT HAD BEEN REMARKED THAT HE HAD VIEWED THE

REMAINS OF A MUCH-LOVED AND DEEPLY

WITHOUT SHEDDING A TEAR.

LAMENTED WIFE

WHAT rugged rock its lucid store retains?
Deep run the rivers that are smooth and slow;

Long in each softer mould the rill remains,

And late the tear that springs from real woe.

Oh! while intensely agonized I stood,

And Memory gave her beauteous form a sigh, The pang, deep throbbing in the breast's warm flood, Grief drank the offering ere it reach'd the eye.

LINES

FOUND IN A BOWER FACING THE SOUTH,

SOFT cherub of the Southern breeze,

Óh! thou whose voice I love to hear, When lingering thro' the rustling trees,

With lengthen'd sighs it sooths mine ear.

Oh! thou, whose fond embrace to meet,
The young Spring all enamour'd flies,
And robs thee of thy kisses sweet,

And on thee pours her laughing eyes.

Thou at whose call the light Fay's start,
That, silent in their hidden bow'r,

Lie penciling with tenderest art

The blossom thin and infant flow'r.

Soft cherub of the Southern breeze,

Oh! if aright I tune the reed

Which thus thine ear would hope to please, By simple lay and humble meed ;

And if aright, with anxious zeal,

My willing hands this bower have made, Still let this bower thine influence feel,

And be its gloom thy favourite shade!

For thee, of all the cherub train,
Alone my votive muse would woo,
Of all that skim along the main,
Or walk at dawn yon mountains blue;

Of all that slumber in the grove,

Or playful urge the goss'mer's flight, Or down the vale or streamlet move,

With whisper soft and pinion light.

I court thee, thro' the glimmering air,
When morning springs from slumbers still,
And waving bright his golden hair,
Stands tiptoe on yon eastern hill.

I court thee when at noon reclin'd,
I watch the murm'ring insect throng

In many an airy spiral wind,

Or silent climb the leaf along.

I court thee when the flow'rets close,
And drink no more receding light,

And when calm eve to soft repose
Sinks on the bosom of the night.

And when beneath the moon's pale beam,
Alone 'mid shadowy rocks I roam,
And waking visions round me gleam,
Of beings, and of worlds to come.

Smooth glides with thee my pensive hour,
Thou warm'st to life my languid mind;
Thou cheer'st a frame with genial pow'r,
That droops in every ruder wind.

Breathe Cherub! breathe; once soft and warm, Like thine, the gale of Fortune blew,

How has the desolating storm

Swept all I gaz'd on from my view!

Unseen, unknown, I wait my doom,
The haunts of men indignant flee,
Hold to my heart a listless gloom,
And joy but in the Muse and thee.