And in blossomed vale and grove
Every shepherd knelt to love.

Then a rosy, dimpled cheek,
And a blue eye, fond and meek;
And a ringlet-wreathen brow,
Like hyacinths on a bed of snow:
And a low voice, silver sweet,
From a lip without deceit;
Only those the hearts could move
Of the simple swains to love.

But that time is gone and past,
Can the summer always last?
And the swains are wiser
grown,
And the heart is turned to stone,
And the maiden's rose may wither;
Cupid's fled, no man knows whither.
But another Cupid's come,
With a brow of care and gloom:
Fixed upon the earthly mould,
Thinking of the sullen gold;
In his hand the bow no more,
At his back the household store,
That the bridal gold must buy:
Useless now the smile and sigh:
But he wears the pinion still,
Flying at the sight of ill.

O, for the old true-love time,
When the world was in its prime !

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

[1785-1806.]

TO THE HERB ROSEMARY.

Come, press my lips, and lie with

me

Beneath the lowly alder-tree,

And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, And not a care shall dare intrude, To break the marble solitude So peaceful and so deep.

And hark! the wind-god, as he flies,
Moans hollow in the forest trees,
And sailing on the gusty breeze,
Mysterious music dies.

Sweet flower! that requiem wild is
mine,

It warns me to the lonely shrine,

The cold turf altar of the dead;
My grave shall be in yon lone spot,
Where as I lie, by all forgot,

A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my
ashes shed.

TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.

MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire!

Whose modest form, so delicately fine, Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds.

Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway,

And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw

To mark his victory.

In this low vale, the promise of the

year,

bloom

On January's front severe,

And o'er the wintry desert drear
To waft thy waste perfume!
Come, thou shalt forin my nosegay now,
And I will bind thee round my brow;
And as I twine the mournful wreath,
I'll weave a melancholy song:
And sweet the strain shall be and long,
The melody of death.

Come, funeral flower! who lov'st to dwell
With the pale corpse in lonely tomb,
And throw across the desert gloom
A sweet decaying smell.

Unnoticed and alone,

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem:
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehein.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark,

The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze, Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;

When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade my dark forebodings cease;

93

But the shadows of eve that encompass the gloom,

The abode of the dead and the place of the tomb.

Shall we build to Ambition? O, no! Affrighted, he shrinketh away;

For, see! they would pin him below,

In a small narrow cave, and, begirt with cold clay,

To the meanest of reptiles a peer and a prey.

To Beauty? ah, no!-she forgets The charms which she wielded beforeNor knows the foul worm that he frets

The skin which but yesterday fools could adore,

For the smoothness it held, or the tint which it wore.

Shall we build to the purple of
Pride-

The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside;
And here's neither dress nor adornment
allowed,

thrall,

of the shroud.

To Riches? alas! 't is in vain; Who hid, in their turn have been hid:

The treasures are squandered again; And here in the grave are all metals forbid,

But the tinsel that shines on the dark coffin-lid.

To the pleasures which Mirth can afford,

The revel, the laugh, and the jeer?
Ah! here is a plentiful board!
But the guests are all mute as their piti-
ful cheer,

And none but the worm is a reveller here.

Shall we build to Affection and

Love?

Ah, no! they have withered and died,
Or fled with the spirit above;
Friends, brothers, and sisters are laid side
by side,

Yet none have saluted, and none have

replied.