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ADDRESSED TU A YOUNG FRIEND.
Dost thou not love, in the season of spring,
And to see the benutiful birch-tree fling
Its glossy leaf, and its silvery stem;
Oh dost thou not love to look on them?
That his light in thy heart become not dim.
And his love be unforgot; And thy God, in the darkest of dan.
will be Greenness, and beauty, and strength to th«!
And dost thou not love, when leaves are
Where glist'ning waters run,
And oh! in a lovely autumnal day,
When leaves are changing before thee,
Do not nature's charms, as they slowly decay, Shed their own mild influence o'er thee?
And hast thou not felt, as thou stoodst to gaze,
The touching lesson such scene displays?
It should be thus, at an age like thine;
And U has been thus with me; When the freshness of feeling and heart were mine,
As they never more can be: Yet think not I ask thee to pity my lot, Perhaps I see beauty where thou dost not.
Hast thou seen in winter's stormiest day
The trunk of a blighted oak,
Beneath time's resistless stroke,
Perchance thou hast seen this sight, and then,
As I, at thy years, might do,
That scathed wreck to view:
tree, Thoughts which are soothing and dear to me.
O smile not! nor think it a worthless thing, If it be with instruction fraught;
That which will closest and longest cling, Is alone worth a serious thought!
Should aught be unlovely which thus can shed
Grace on theMying, and leaves not the dead?
Now, in thy youth, beseech of Him
AN ODE TO TIME.
Spirit! if I may call thee such,
Beneath whose silent sway Structures, defying grosser touch,
In fragments fall away: Essence, or shadow, whatsoe'er Thou art;—with mingled hope and fear.
I frame this votive lay: For feelings I can ill define With every thought of thee combine.
I court no fabled Muses' aid
To scatter spells around;
Parnassus classic ground,
Which never since has found,
Let There Be Light!—Jehovah said
And with that Hit, Thou,
Becam'st—what thou art now!
And furrow Wisdom's brow:
And yet that seeming death, which tells
That we have done with thee; And Thou no less with us—compels
Our Spirits still To Bb! That parting from thee docs but seem Like launching from some shallow stream
Into a soundless sea, Upon whose thought-o'erwhelming brink. Thy Cenl'riea into Momenta ahrink!
But to that soundless, shoreless deep
I now must bid adieu!— Enough it is for mc to keep
My subject theme in view; For more of thought in thee may dwelL Than even Poesy can tell,
Or fancy can pursue:— For, short of Things Eternal, thine Must closest round our heart entwine
The power of Him. whoso mighty one
With face all radiant as the sun,
Pillars of fire—his feet shall gleam;
Dark clouds of heaven—his vesture seem; His voice—a sound of dread;
While thunders echoing far away,
Shall publish thy departing sway.
Then the immutable decree.
So long by Heaven deferr'd, Shall, in the destin'd close of Thee,
Fulfil its solemn word:— Through boundless space, by thought untrod,
The DELEGATED VOICE OP GOD
Shall awfully he heard,—
THE POET'S LOT.
AskF<t thou what it is to be
And show the thoughtless world, and thee,
It is to snerifice each good
That Fortune's favour'd minions share; And in unheeded solitude
Her frowns to bear.
It is to nourish hopes that cheat;
Which, when he felt them first heat high, Appenr'd so humble, blameless, sweet,
They could not die.
It is to feel foreboding fears;—
And last, with pangs too deep for tears,
It u to cherish in the heart
Feelings the warmest, kindest, best;— To wish their essence to impart
To every breast;—
And then, awaking from such dream,
To find that hearts which warmest seem
Tis like the pelican, to feed
Others from his warm breast; but own, Unlike that bird—the Hard may bleed,
It is to pamper vicious taste.
By spurning Virtue's strict control;
Then be with Fame and Riches graced, And lose his Soh!!
Or while his humble verse defends
To win from her apparent friends
It is a thorny path to tread.
With but one thought its balm to shed.-
For soon that thorny path is trod;
From Man he has no more to crave ;Grant him thy mercy, gracious God!
Thou, Earth!—a Grave!
If thus disheart'ning may appear.
In dnrker hours, the Poet's doom; Yet brighter glimpses sometimes cheer
His prospects' gloom.
The visions, feelings, thoughts—which nurse
And of this goodly universe
In happier, more auspicious hours
Seem gifted with immortal powers.
Though few, and for between—the gleams
As angel-forms that bless our dreams
Not dream-like are the hopes that wait
But glorious, heavenly, pure, and great. And given of God!
Cast not those deathless hopes nway.
Thou who hast known and felt their worth, Nor let despondency gainsay
Their noble birth.
The purer elements that form
In brightest sunshine—darkest storm.
Firm faith, meek patience, genuine love,
Aspiring hopes, which soar abovo
Such—of the Poet's inmost heart
The ihcrish'd inmates should be known:
And to his mental powers impart
Grief, care, and poverty may haunt
His pathway, strewing many a thorn;—
Fashion's neglect, cold folly's taunt,
May he his portion;—slow disease
And Calumny, more dread than these,
But let him still, with fortitude,
And strive, with faith and hope endued,
The threat'ning clouds which darkly lower,
May prove how impotent their power
At times that light's reviving ray
Glory for gloom, turn night to day,
And in a brighter world than this
May tune his harp to songs of bliss,
Bard! Prophet! Priest! go on in hope;
Gird up thy loins, thy sorrows bear; Meekly with present trials cope;
Watch unto prayer!
It is a thorny jiatli to trace;
Yet other feet its thorns have trod; Then bear thee up, and humbly place
Thy trust in God!
He who delights to trace, with serious
thought, In all lie sees the noiseless steps of Time, Shall lind the outward forms of Nature
fraught With ample food for many a lofty rhyme; Or should he fear such dazzling heights to
climb, And love to tread a less aspiring way,— Leaving untouched the nwful and sublime, And seeking humbler objects to portray, May find in such the theme of many a
What though the glorious Sun, enthron'd on high,
Mny more conspicuously (his lesson teach;
Or Moon and Stars, which gem the midnightsky,
A yet more touching homily may preach,
As day to day still utters ceaseless speech, And night to night yet added knowledge
Far lowlier objects to the heart may reach, And Wisdom purest precepts may disclose, Cull'd from the Lily's bloom, or gathcr'd
from the Hose!
Yes,—you, delightful handy-works of Him Who arch'd the Heaven's, and spann'd this
solid Earth, Before whose glory day's proud light is dim, And Art's achievements, if not food for mirth, Display at best its barrenness and dearth,— You, too, instruct us, and with line on line, Precept on precept, show us by your birth, Your bud, your blossoming, and your decline. Time's never-ceasing flight, and tell us
You, as the changing Seasons roll along, Still wait on each, and added beauties lend:— Around the smiling Spring a lovely throng With eager rivalry her steps attend; Others with Summer's brighter glories blend; Some grace mild Autumn's more majestic
mien; While some few lingering blooms the brow
befriend Of hoary Winter, and with grace serene Inwreath the King of storms with Mercy's
Nor do ye, while ye thus declare the flight
"Consider ye the lilies of the field,
beside: If heavenly goodness thus for them provide, Which bloom to-day, and wither on the
morrow, Shall not your wants be from your God
supplied. Without your vain aaxiety and sorrow?— Oh ye of little faith! from these a lesson
If such the soothing precepts taught from
you, Beautiful blossoms! well may ye appear