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The flatten’d surges smoothly spread,

Deep Glence keep,

And seem to sleep Recumbent on their oozy bed ;

· With what a trance

The level glance, Unbroken, shoots along the seas !

Which tempt from shore

The painted oar;
And ev'ry canvass courts the breeze !
.. . When rushes forth .

The frowning North
On blacken’d billows, with what dread

My shudd'ring soul

Beholds them roll,
And hears their roarings o'er my head !

The fra

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YOUTH: The rose is fragrant, but it fades in time, The violet sweet, but quickly past the prime. White lilies hang their heads and soon decay, And whiter snow melts rapidly away. Such and so with’ring is our blooming youth.


The Palmetto.The Grampus.


Like the tall palm it shoots its stately head;
From the broad top depending branches spread :
No knotty liinbs the taper body bears:
High on each bough a single leaf appears ;
Which shriveld in its infancy remains,
Like a clos’d fan, nor stretches wide its veins ;
But, as the seasons in their circle run,
Opes its ribb’d surface to the nearer fun:
Beneath the shade the weary peasant lies,
Plucks the broad leaf, and bids the breezes rise :
Thus artificial zephyrs round him fly,
And mitigate the fever of the sky.



-When enormous grampus, issuing forth From the pale regions of the icy North, " Waves his broad tail and opes his ribbed mouth, And seeks on winnowing fin the breezy South; . * A kind of whale.


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From towns deserted rush the breathless hosts,
Swarm round the hills, and darken all the coasts ;
Boats follow boats along the shouting tides,
And spears and jav’lins pierce his blubb’ry fides.
Now the bold sailor, rais'd on pointed toe,
Whiris the wing'd harpoon on the slimy foe;
Quick fiuks the monster in his oozy bed,
The blood-stain’d surges circling o'er his head,
Steers to the frozen pole his wonted track,
And bears the iron tempelt on his back.


SLEEP. Lo, midnight from her starry reign Looks awful down on earth and main, The tunelul birds lie hush'd in sleep, With all that crop the verdant food, With all that skim the crystal flood, Or haunt the caverns of the rocky deep. No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers: No wakeful found the moonlight valley knows, Save where the brock its liquid murmur pours, And lulls the waving scene to more profound Tepose.


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MORNING SOUNDS. But who the melodies of morn can tell ? The wild brook babbling down the mountain's

fide; The lowing herd, the sheep-fold's fimple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd, diin descried In the lone valley; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean tide; The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milk-maid

sings ; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough flope the ponderous waggon

rings; Thro’rustling corn the håre astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village bell the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in fequefter'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from his aërial tour.


· The Love of Praise.


Of all the springs within the mind
Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze,
From none more pleasing aid we find
Than from the genuine love of praise.

Not any partial private end
Such reverence to the public bears;
Nor any patsion, virtue's friend,
So like to virtue’s self appears.

If praise with deep religious awe
From the sole perfect Judge be sought,
A nobler aim, a purer law,
Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage, hath taught.

With which in character the fame,
Tho’in a humbler sphere it lies,
I count that soul of human fame,
The suffrage of the good and wilę.


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