A second time to be a Mother,
Without the Mother's bitter groans:
Another thought, and yet another,

By touch, or taste, by looks or tones
O'er the growing Sense to roll,

The Mother of your infant's Soul!

The Angel of the Earth, who, while he guides
His chariot-planet round the goal of day,
All trembling gazes on the Eye of God,

A moment turned his awful face away;
And as he viewed you, from his aspect sweet
New influences in your being rose,

Blest Intuitions and Communions fleet

With living Nature, in her joys and woes!
Thenceforth your soul rejoiced to see
The shrine of social Liberty!

O beautiful! O Nature's child!
"Twas thence you hailed the Platform wild,
Where once the Austrian fell

Beneath the shaft of Tell!

O Lady, nursed in pomp and pleasure!
Thence learnt you that heroic measure.

ODE TO TRANQUILLITY.

TRANQUILLITY! thou better name
Than all the family of Fame !

Thou ne'er wilt leave my riper age

To low intrigue, or factious rage;

For oh! dear child of thoughtful Truth,

To thee I gave my early youth,

And left the bark, and blest the steadfast shore,

Ere yet the Tempest rose and scared me with its roar.

Who late and lingering seeks thy shrine,

On him but seldom, power divine,

Thy spirit rests! Satiety

And Sloth, poor counterfeits of thee,

Mock the tired worldling. Idle Hope

And dire Remembrance interlope,

To vex the feverish slumbers of the mind:

The bubble floats before, the spectre stalks behind.

But me thy gentle hand will lead

At morning through the accustomed mead;
And in the sultry summer's heat

Will build me up a mossy seat;

And when the gust of Autumn crowds

And breaks the busy moonlight clouds,

Thou best the thought canst raise, the heart attune,
Light as the busy clouds, calm as the gliding Moon.

The feeling heart, the searching soul,

To thee I dedicate the whole !

And while within myself I trace
The greatness of some future race,
Aloof with hermit-eye I scan

The present works of present man

A wild and dream-like trade of blood and guile,
Too foolish for a tear, too wicked for a smile!

AN ODE TO THE RAIN.

COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR
THE DEPARTURE OF A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEA-
SANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT
DETAIN.

I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain
Awake, as guess, an hour or twain,

I have not once opened the lids of my eyes,
But I lie in the dark, as a blind man lies.
O Rain! that I lie listening to,

You're but a doleful sound at best:

I owe you little thanks, 'tis true,
For breaking thus my needful rest!
Yet if, as soon as it is light,

O Rain! you will but take your flight,
I'll neither rail, nor malice keep,
Though sick and sore for want of sleep.

But only now, for this one day,
Do go, dear Rain! do go away!

O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,
The clash hard by, and the murmur all round!
You know, if you know aught, that we,
Both night and day, but ill agree:

A pretty boy, but most unteachable

And never learn'd a prayer, nor told a bead,

But knew the names of birds, and mocked their notes, And whistled as he were a bird himself.

And all the autumn 'twas his only play

To gather seeds of wild flowers, and to plant them
With earth and water on the stumps of trees.

A friar, who, gathered simples in the wood,

A grey-haired man, he loved this little boy :

The boy loved him, and, when the friar taught him, He soon could write with the pen; and from that time Lived chiefly at the convent or the castle.

So he became a rare and learned youth:

But oh! poor wretch! he read, and read, and read,
Till his brain turned; and ere his twentieth year
He had unlawful thoughts of many things:
And though he prayed, he never loved to pray
With holy men, nor in a holy place.

But yet his speech, it was so soft and sweet,
The late Lord Valdez ne'er was wearied with him.
And once, as by the north side of the chapel
They stood together chained in deep discourse,
The earth heaved under them with such a groan,
That the wall tottered, and had well nigh fallen
Right on their heads. My Lord was sorely frightened;
A fever seized him, and he made confession

Of all the heretical and lawless talk

Which brought this judgment: so the youth was seized,
And cast into that hole. My husband's father
Sobbed like a child-it almost broke his heart:
And once as he was working near this dungeon,
He heard a voice distinctly; 'twas the youth's,
Who sung a doleful song about green fields,

How sweet it were on lake or wide savanna
To hunt for food, and be a naked man,
And wander up and down at liberty.
He always doted on the youth, and now
His love grew desperate; and defying death,
He made that cunning entrance I described,
And the young man escaped.

"Tis a sweet tale:

Ter.
Such as would lull a listening child to sleep,
His rosy face besoiled with unwiped tears.
And what became of him?

Sel.

He went on shipboard