網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

When time and tide shall cease to flow,
And earthly hopes are lost in fume,
Aspasia, for such deeds below,

Above unfading wreaths shall bloom.
And when the human conflict's o'er,
And when the battle's lost and won,
When Death his victims shall restore,
And Zion's beams eclipse the sun;
Then, in the record of the skies,

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
That seek thy shores, eternity.

ON DEATH.

TO A LADY.

BY DR. KUSSELL.

WITH equal speed the king of fears
Hies to the court or lowly cot;
Nor mov'd by prayers, nor won by tears,
To all he deals the destin'd lot.
Short, short my fair, our earthly stay!
Then print this counsel in thy breast ;—

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,
From sunny walks and vernal wind
The joys of life and health to borrow.
But it is sweeter, dearer far,

If she, the lov'd one, shares thy pleasure:
Come day, or come the lovers' star,

Rich is thy favour'd bosom's treasure.
Yet clouds may hover round thy path,
And dash thy bliss with deepest anguish-
Thou may'st be doom'd in Fortune's wrath
In silent agony to languish.

Or forc'd, alas, from her I love,

Far distant ride the stormy billow-
Ah! better, better still, to prove
The tossing on Death's thorny pillow.

Soft is the lover's lasting sleep

By heavenly voices call'd away;
For him shall peerless beauty weep,
And primrose wreaths bedeck his clay.

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?
I may be sadly tempest driven,

And thou may'st mourn a widow'd heart;
But we shall meet, my love, in heaven,
No more to weep, no more to part.

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
When Eve her great Creator's praises sung;
She sung like you, with such a grace and air,
That listening angels lean'd from heaven to hear:
All, all she charmed, or angel, man, and beast,
But raised foul envy in the tempter's breast;
This made him every stratagem employ,
To spoil her harmony and blast her joy;
But had she shewn your steadiness of mind,

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,
No vision of care ever clouded her breast;
For how could unhappiness come to a cot

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 the tears on his cheek were like dew on the rose)
But in this blessed cottage, he said, I could find
A home for my sorrows, and balm for my woes.

And she, simple maiden, the infant believed,
His tears and his pleadings had melted her breast;
And into the cottage the stranger received,

Where Innocence dwelt, and Content was a guest.
And need I to tell you this stranger was Love,
Ah! why did her door to the traitor unclose;
But how could she dream so ungrateful he'd prove,
As to torture the heart that had pitied his woes?
But never the rose on her cheek blossom'd more!
And visions of sorrow soon clouded her breast,
For the moment, to Love she had open'd the door,
Content had for ever forsaken its nest!

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
Which bears thy virtues to a nobler state;
Avert from me kind heaven! the task to mourn,
To bend in sorrow o'er thy sacred urn!
Translate me earliest to some kindred sky,
And bid the friend I love forbear to sigh.

EDINBURGH.

CLARINDA.

« 上一頁繼續 »