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I see thy grateful babes caress thee;
For art not thou above such praises?
And oh! how much unworthy thee!
O Lucy! thou art snatch'd from folly,
Tho' passing apprehensions move me,
So much admire thee as thou art,
THE Rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd;
The plentiful moisture incumber'd the flower,
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd,
"And such," I exclaim'd, "is the pitiless part
"This elegant Rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; And the tear that is wiped with a little address May be follow'd, perhaps, by a smile."
THE MANSION OF REST.
I TALK'd to my fluttering heart,
And husband the best of its days:
A charmer was list'ning the while, Who caught up the tone of my lay; "Oh! come then," she cried with a smile, "And Friendship shall point out your way." I follow'd the witch to her home,
And vow'd to be always her guest; "Never more," I exclaim'd, "will I roam In quest of a Mansion of Rest."
But the sweetest of moments will fly,
That Friendship could stab while she smiled:
Yes-coldly could stab the repose
That led to a Mansion of Rest.
Love next urged my footsteps to stray
Thro' the wildering paths of Romance; But I started and turn'd me away
From his bright and enamouring glance; For reflection had taught me to know, That the soul by his sorc'ry possest Might toss on the billows of woe,
But ne'er find a Mansion of Rest.
Still in search of the phantom call'd Joy,
I shrank from the beam of her eye,
Yet its lustre illumined my day: "Behold," she exclaim'd, "yonder grave With the flowers of the woodland bedrest, Where darkly the cypresses wave:
Lo! that is the Mansion of Rest."
THE gloomy night is gathering fast,
The autumn mourns her ripening corn
'Tis not the surging billow's roar,