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HAIL to thee! thou little fly,
Uplifted by that beauteous wing,
Rich in each ever varying dye
That greets the gaze-enraptured eye;
Such as the clouds of evening bring,
When sets the sun that paints the sky.
Not idly lent, those wings that lift

Thee thus so high liave been assigned

The type of the immortal mind-
To man on earth Heaven's brightest gift:

Earth scorning thus with rapid flight,
As high as thought, as fancy swift,

They bear thee from the realms of night,

Above man's path—this mountain white. While toil-worn man, with faltering feet,

Ascends the mount, leaves those beneath, The purer air thy winglets beat;

And while he heaves his hurried breath,

Like that which marks the hour of death, Thou gambol'st here aloft and fleet; And as thou fliest, thou seem'st to say, This is to higher realms the way; Leave the cold earth, and come away!



How soft is the sound of the river,

Stealing down through the green piny dale,
Where the sunbeams of eventide quiver
Through the scarce-stirring foliage, and ever

The cooing dove plains out its tale ;
And the blackbird melodiously sings
An anthem, reminding of innocent things.
Blue evening comes onward, and scatters

The fires in the western serene;
And the shadows of Lebanon's daughters,
Darkly imaged, outspread on the waters,

Festoon’d with their branches of green;
The clouds journey past, and below
Are reflected, in brightness, their margins of snow.
Oh, sweet is the vision that loses

Present cares in the glow of the past!
As the light of reflection reposes
On youth, with its blossoming roses,

And sunshine too lovely to last.
Sweet dreams! that have sparkled and gone,
Like torrents of blue over ledges of stone!
But why should break forth our repining,

Over what we have loved or have lost?
Whether fortune be shaded or shining,
Our destiny bright or declining,

Our visions accomplished or crost,"Tis ours to be calm and resigned, Faith's star beaming clear on the night of the mind.

When morning awoke on the ocean,

Dim tempests were lowering around;
Yet see, with how steadfast a motion,
As the clouds bend and glow with devotion

The sun his asylum hath found!
Twilight weeps in deep pleasure, and red
Are the low-lying vale, and the tall mountain head.
Lo! thus, when the clouds of life's sorrow

Have past and have perished, the sky
An added effulgence shall borrow
From the storms that have flown, and the morrow

Gleam bright in eternity's eye ;
And the Angel of righteousness send
His balm to that heart which is true to the end!


(MRS. HEMANS.) Hast thou been in the woods with the honey-bee? Hast thou been with the lamb in the pastures free? With the hare through the copses and dingles wild ? With the butterfly over the heath, fair child ? Yes; the light form of thy bounding feet Hath not startled the wren from her mossy seat; Yet hast thon ranged the green forest dells, And brought back a treasure of buds and bells. Thou know'st not the sweetness, by antique song, Breathed o'er the names of that flowery throng ; The woodbine, the primrose, the violets dim, The lily that gleams by the fountain's brim : These are old words, tbat have made each grove A dreary haunt for romance and love; Each sunny bank, where faint odours lie, A place for the gushings of poesy.

Thou know'st not the light wherewith fairy lore
Sprinkles the turf and the daisies o'er;
Enough for thee are the dews that sleep
Like hidden gems in the flower-urns deep;
Enough the rich crimson spots that dwell
'Midst the gold of the cowslip's perfumed cell ;
And the scent by the blossoming sweetbriars shed,
And the beauty that bows the wood-hyacinth's head.
O, happy child in thy fawn-like glee!
What is remembrance or thought to thee?
Fill thy bright locks with those gifts of spring,
O’er thy green pathway their colours fling;
Bind them in chaplet and wild festoon;
What if to droop and to perish soon?
Nature hath mines of such wealth; and thou
Never wilt prize its delights as now!
For a day is coming to quell the tone
That rings in thy laughter, thou joyous one!
And to dim thy brow with a touch of care,
Under the gloss of its clustering hair;
And to tame the flash of thy cloudless eyes
Into the stillness of autumn skies;
And to teach thee that grief hath her needful part,
'Midst the hidden things of each human heart!
Yet shall we mourn, gentle child! for this?
Life hath enough of yet holier bliss !
Such be thy portion! the bliss to look,
With a reverent spirit, through Nature's book;
By fount, by forest, by river's line,
To track the paths of a love divine ;
To read its deep meanings-to see and hear
God in earth's gardeu—and not to fear.



(Dr. Beattie.]
Still shall unthinking man substantial deem
The forms that only fleet thro' life's deceitful dream ?
On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
Shall heedless Hope his towering fabric raise?
Till at Death's touch th' ideal glories fly,
And real scenes rush dismal on the eye;
And, from the bowers of beauty torn,
The startled soul awakes to think-and mourn.
O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance ;
Who flowery scenes in endless view survey,
Glittering in beams of visionary day!
0! yet while Fate delays th’impending woe,
Be rous’d to thought, anticipate the blow;
Lest like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill :
Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,
Like me ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,

wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
And half pronounce Heav'n's sacred doom severe.
Wise ! beauteous! good !-0 every grace combin'd,
That charms the eye, that captivates the mind;
Fair as the flow'ret opening on the morn,
Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that roves
To gather fragrance in Arabian groves !
Mild, as the strains, that, at the close of day
Warbling remote, along the vales decay!

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