From some sweet paradise afar, Thy music wanders, distant, lostWhere Nature lights her leading star And love is never, never cross'd. Oh gentle gale of Eden bowers, In Nature's more propitious home, Name to thy loved Elysian groves, WILLIAM WORDSWORTH. SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways, Beside the springs of Dove, A maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone, Half-hidden from the eye ! -Fair as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! SHE was a Phantom of delight To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; I saw her upon nearer view, Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene A being breathing thoughtful breath, The reason firm, the temperate will, O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce ; Thou sing'st as if the God of wine A song in mockery and despite Of shades, and dews, and silent Night; I heard a Stock-dove sing or say He sang of love with quiet blending, JOHN WILSON, PROFESSOR OF MORAL PHILOSOPHY IN THE COLLEGE OF EDINBURGH. THE THREE SEASONS OF LOVE. WITH laughter swimming in thine eye, Now years have given my Mary's face A thoughtful and a quiet grace : Though happy still,-yet chance distress Fancy hath tamed her fairy gleams, And thy heart broods o'er home-born dreams! Thy motion slow, and soft thy tread, years, Sounds sweeter, from the lapse of By thy glad youth and tranquil prime For thou art doom'd in age to know The holy pride of high intent, The glory of a life well spent. When earth's affections nearly o'er, With Peace behind, and Faith before, Untarnish'd by its frail abode, Thy lustrous soul,-then harp and hymn, From bands of sister seraphim, Asleep will lay thee, till thine eye Open in Immortality. |