When time and tide shall cease to flow, Above unfading wreaths shall bloom. Such acts of charity shall live; The good shall see, with wond'ring eyes, Their sacred toils the world survive. Blest and blessing wind along, Gentle Clodio! to the sea: Pure emblem of the ransom'd throng ON DEATH. TO A LADY. BY DR. KUSSELL. WITH equal speed the king of fears To virtue give the present day, To heav'n's disposal leave the rest. ON RECOVERING FROM SICKNESS. ΤΟ BY MR. D. CAREY.. O! it is sweet to leave behind The couch of sickness and of sorrow, If she, the lov'd one, shares thy pleasure: Rich is thy favour'd bosom's treasure. Or forc'd, alas, from her I love, Far distant ride the stormy billow- Soft is the lover's lasting sleep By heavenly voices call'd away; But long and dreary is the night To him who weeps o'er Fate's beguiling; Sweetly may dawn the morning light, But when will come his day of smiling? O when I wander far from thee, Joyless 'mid Fortune's stormy weather, Sweet lady! wilt thou think of me, And all the walks we've had together? And thou may'st mourn a widow'd heart; LINES, ON HEARING MISS A. W. SING EVE'S HYMN, OUT OF MILTON. BY THE REV. S. B. SUCH were the notes that once in Eden rung Eve still had charmed, and free had been mankind. THE MAID OF THE WOODBINE VALE. COME listen, dear ladies, I'll tell you a tale, And the dear girl that taught me, she told me 'twas true, Of a sweet little maiden who lived in a vale Where the wild flowers blossom'd, and woodbines grew. This maiden was poor, but tho' lowly her lot, Where Innocence dwelt, and Content was a guest. But tho' cares of her own never caused her to weep, Yet a tale of affliction could teach her to grieve, And the sigh on her lip, and the tear on her cheek, Were for sorrows she pitied, but could not relieve. When a sweet little boy to her cottage there came, And with tales of soft sorrow her bosom beguiled; He told of his griefs, but he told not his name, So simple the maiden, so artful the child. He said, that the world he had fled was unkind, And she, simple maiden, the infant believed, Where Innocence dwelt, and Content was a guest. WHISTON BRISTOW. TO A FRIEND. SOFT pass thy hours with life's best blessings fraught, The sweets of friendship and the powers of thought, Health, peace, contentment, mark each closing day, All calmly bright, and innocently gay! Far distant be the hour ordain'd by fate EDINBURGH. CLARINDA. |