« ПредишнаНапред »
TO A SLEEPING INFANT.
I feel thee pulling at my gown,
Of right, good will, thy simple tuken.
And thou must laugh and wrestle too,
A mimic warfare with me waging !
Thy after kindness more engaging!
The wilding rose-sweet thyself,
And new-cropt daisies are thy treasure ;-+ I'd gladly part with worldly pelf
To taste again thy youthful pleasure.
ART thon a thing of mortal birth,
But yet, for all thy merry look,
Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming, When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook,
The weary spell, or horn-book thumbing.
Well, let it be! Through weal and wo,
Thou know'st not now thy future range ; Life is a motley, shifting show :
And thou a thing of hope and change.
CHILDHOOD, happy stage of life!
Free from memory's ruthless reign,
Fraught with scenes of former pain;
Free from fancy's cruel skill,
Fabricating future ill;
All can charm, for all is new.
Then to toss the circling ball,
Caught rebounding from the wall; What boots it who with sweet caresses,
Then the mimic ship to guide First called thee his, or squire, or hind?
Down the kennel's dirty tide ; For thou in every wight that passes,
Then the hoop's revolving pace Dost now a friendly playmate find.
Through the dusty street to chase ;
O what joy!-it once was mine Thy downcast glances, grave, but ça nning, Childhood, pleasing boon of thine!
As fringed eyelids rise and fall; Thy shyness, swiftly from me running, 'Tis infantine coquetry all!
But far a-field thou hast not flown,
Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise,
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone What walks I loved ; where grew my fa-
wild, Tho' mangled, hacked, and hewed, not yet And how the man descended to the child; destroyed :
How well I loved with him, un Sabbath The little ones, unbuttoned, glowing hot,
morn, Playing our games, and on the very spot; To bear the anthem of the vocal thorn ; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw To teach religion, unallied to strife, The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; And trace to him the way, the truth, the life. To pitch the ball into the grounded bat, But far and farther still my view I bend, Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat; And now I see a child thy steps attend; The pleasing spectacle at once excites To yonder churchyard-wall thou tak’st thy Such recollection of our own delights,
way, That viewing it, we seem almost t obtain While round thee, pleased, thou see'st the Our innocent, sweet simple years again.
infant play ; Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine
eyes, Pointing thou tell’st him, There thy grand
sire lies! TO MY SON.
Twice has the sun commenced his annual
YOUTH round, Since first thy footsteps tottered o'er the ground,
Youth is the vision of a moru, Since first thy tongue was tuned to bless
'That flies the coming day ; mine ear;
It is the blossom on the thorn
It is the image of the sky,
And lift their foaming head,
Of bright electric fire,
That, as it sofly blows,
But soon the gath'ring tempests pour,
Here Obligation, e'en beneath the wing And all the sky deform;
That hatches it to life, will fix a sting: The gale becomes a whirlwind's roar, Here worth is trampled down by mounted The sigh a raging storm.
And Modesty by Av'rice push'd aside. For Care and Sorrow's morbid gloom, Such slow discernment guides the stupid And heart-corroding strife,
crowd, And sickness pointing to the tomb,
That Impudence for Talent is allow'd :
In Life's true masquerade fools are so blind,
snow, YOUTH ENTERING ON THE
With ev'ry kindness let thy bosom glow; WORLD.
Detraction's pois'nous breath thy fame shall
Or Envy's microscope pry out a spot! Oft have I seen when musing on the shore, Has then this sickly world no cordial balm? Unskilful infants grasp th' unwieldy oar, This storm of passion no delightful calm? Pusb the frail bark into the swelling main, | Yet as the traveller 'mid dreary wastes Borne by the rapid tide, pant to regain Here meets a flower-there a fountain The less'ning land, and, shrieking weep too tastes--late
As stars that aid the gloom of during night, The gaping horrors of tempestuous fate !
So scatter'd worth diffuses partial light; True picture of our unsuspecting age,
Oe'r all our ills a self-born radiance sheds, Who long to stretch where fatal billows rage:
More bright, like phosphorus as darkness 'Gainst our own heaven like angels we rebel, spreads. And quit the realms where during raptures Let potent Wisdom smooth the wrinkled dwell;
brow, Pant for a wing to range the World around, And sweet Complacence soften all below. The World-how swoons my soul to hear See in each rising Sun new comfort giv'n the sound;
And when it sets behold a nearer Heav'n! The World where Pleasure flies the grasp
The few rare gems of Friendship here iming hand,
• prove And Hope builds palaces on shifting sand :
As fading emblems of Eternal Love!
TIME, swift time from years your motion And Love, a secondary passion, lives ;
stealing, Where children cherish'd by Affection's ray, Unperceived hath sober manhood brought; Long in the dust the partial sire to lay : Truth, her pare and humble forms revealing Tho' daily fondness beains the constant Peoples fancy's fairy-land with thought : smile,
Then the heart, no longer prone to roam, And only wisely keeps its own awhile. Loves, loves best, the quiet bliss of home.
Self-PLATTERED, unexperienced, high in hope,
Its breath was cold, and made the sportive
blood, Stagnant, and dull, and heavy, round the
wheels Of life. The roots of that whereon it blew Decayed, and with the genial soul no more Held sympathy; the leaves, the branches
drooped, And mouldered slowly down to formless
HBAR what they were : The progeny of Sin
brass, Heated seven times; he heard dread voices
speak, And mutter horrid prophecies of pain, Severer and severer yet to come ; And as he writhed and quivered, scorched
within, The Fury round his torrid temples flapped Her fiery wings, and breathed upon his lips And parched tongue, the withered blasts of
hell. It was the suffering began thou sawest In symbol of the worm that never dies.
Not tossed and driven by violence of winds, But withering where they sprung, and rot
ting there. Long disappointed, disappointed still, The hopeless man, hopeless in his main wish, As if returning back to nothing, felt; In strange vacuity of being hung, And rolled, and rolled his eye on emptiness, That seemed to grow more empty every hour.
THE DISTEMPER OF THE MIND.
The other, Disappointment seemed Negation of delight. It was a thing Sluggish and torpid, tending towards death,
The distempered mind Has lost that concord of harmonious powers Which forms the soul of happiness, and all Is off the poise within ; the passions all Have burst their bounds, and Reason half