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A FIELD-FLOWER.

S FINDING (INK IN PULL BLOOM, ON CIIBIST-
MAS-DAY, 1803.

Titers is a flower, a little flower,
>Vith silver crest and golden eye,
That welcomes every changing hour,
Liid weathers every sky.

The prouder beauties of the field
n gay but quick succession shine,
lace after race their honours yield,
I'licy flourish and decline.

lut this small flower, to Nature dear, rVhilo moons and stars their courses run, rVreathes the whole circle of the year, /ompanion of the sun.

t smiles upon the lap of May,
To sultry August spreads its charms,
jights pale October on his way,
Ind twines December's arms.

The purple heath and golden broom,
)n ninory mountains catch the gale,
)'er lawns the lily sheds perfume,
The violet in the vale.

lut this bold floweret climbs the hill,
Iides in the forest, haunts the glen,
Jlays on the margin of the rill,
Yeps round the fox's den.

iVitliin the garden's cultured round
t shares the sweet carnation's bed;
Ind blooms on consecrated, ground
u honour of the dead.

The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild-bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
.light o'er the sky-lark's nest

Tis Floras page: in every place,

ii every season fresh and fair,
t opens with perennial grace,
lnd blossoms every where.

)n waste and woodland, rock and plain,
ts humble buds unheeded rise;
The Rose has but a summer-reign,
The DAISY never dies.

THE COMMON LOT.

)>cr in the flight of ages past, There lived a man :—and WHO was HE? — Mortal! howe'er thy lot be cast, That Man resembled Thee.

Unknown the region of his birth,
The land in which he died unknown:
His name has perish'd from the earth,
This truth survives alone:—

That joy, and grief, and hope and fear,
Alternate triumph'd in his breast;
His bliss and woe,—a smile, a tear!
—Oblivion hides the rest.

The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
The changing spirits' rise and fall;
We know that these were felt by him,
For these are felt by all.

He suffer'd,—but his pangs are o'er;
Enjoy'd,—but his delights are fled;
Had friends,—his friends are now no more;
And foes,—his foes are dead.

He loved,—but whom he loved, the grave
Hath lost in its unconscious womb:
O she was fair!—but nought could save
Her beauty from the tomb.

He saw whatever thou hast seen;
Encounter'd all that troubles thee:
He was—whatever thou hast been;
He is—what thou shalt be.

The rolling seasons, day and night,
Sun, moon, and stars, the earth and main,
Erewhile his portion, life and light.
To him exist in vain.

The clouds and sunbeams, o'er his eye
That once their shades and glory threw,
Have left in yonder silent sky
No vestige where they flew.

The annals of the human race,
Their ruins, since the world began,
Of HIM afford no other trace
Than this,—THERE LIVED A MAN!

THE OLD MAN'S SONG.

Shall Man of frail fruition boast?

Shall life be counted dear,
Oft but a moment, and, at most,

A momentary year?

There was a time,—that time is pnst,—
When, Youth! I bloom'd like thee;

A time will come,—'tis coming fast,
When thou shalt fade like me :—

Like me through varying seasons range,
And past enjoyments mourn;—

The fairest, sweetest Spring shall change To Winter in its turn.

In infancy, my vernal prime,

When life itself was new, Amusement pluck'd the wings of Time,

Yet swifter still he flew.

Summer my youth succeeded soon,

My sun ascended high,
And Pleasure held the reins till noon,

But Grief drove down the sky.

Like Autumn, rich in ripening corn,
Came manhood's sober reign;

My harvest-moon scarce fill'd her horn,
When she began to wane.

Close follow'd age, infirm old age,

The winter of ray year;
When shall I fall before his rage,

To rise beyond his sphere!

I long to cast the chains away,

That hold my soul a slave, To burst these dungeon-walls of clay,

Enfranchised from the grave.

Life lies in embryo,—never free
Till Nature yields her breath;

Till Time becomes Eternity,
And Man is born in Death.

THE MOLE-HILL.

Tbix me, thou dust beneath my feet,
Thou dust that once hadst breath!

Tell me how many mortals meet
In this small hill of death?

The Mole, that scoops with curious toil

Her subterranean bed, Thinks not she ploughs a human soil,

And mines among the dead.

But, O! where'er she turns the ground

My kindred earth I see; Once every atom of this mound

Lived, breathed, and felt, like me.

Like me these elder-born of clay

Enjoy'd the cheerful light. Bore the brief burden of a day,

And went to rest at night.

Far in the regions of the morn,

The rising sun surveys Palmyra's palaces forlorn,

Empurpled with his rays.

The spirits of the desert dwell
Where eastern grandeur shone.

And vultures scream, hyaenas yell
Round Beauty's mouldering throne.

There the pale pilgrim, as he stands.

Sees, from the broken wall,
The shadow tottering on the sands.

Ere the loose fragment fall.

Destruction joys, amid those scenes,

To wateh the sport of Fate,
While Time between the pillars leans.

And bows them with his weight.

But towers and temples crush'd by Tine.

Stupendous wrecks! appear To me leu mournfully sublime

Than the poor Mole-hill here.

Through all this hillock's crumbling mwkl
Once the warm life-blood ran;—

Here thine original behold,
And here thy ruins, Man!

Mcthinks this dust yet heaves with breatl

Ten thousand pulses beat;
Tell me,—in this small hill of death.

How many mortals meet?

By wafting winds and flooding rains.

From ocean, earth and sky. Collected here, the frail remains

Of slumbering millions lie.

What scene of terror and amaze

Breaks through the twilight-gloom?

What hand invisible displays
The secret of the tomb?

All ages and all nations rise,

And every grain of earth
Beneath my feet, before mine eyes,

Is startled into birth.

Like gliding mists the shadowy forms
Through the deep valley spread.

And like descending clouds in storms
Lower round the mountain's head.

O'er the wide champaign while they pais.

Their footsteps yield no sound, Nor shake from the light-trembling graa

A dew-drop to the ground.

Among the undistinguish'd hosts,

My wondering eyes explore Awful, sublime, terrific ghosts,

Heroes and kings of yore:—

Tyrants, the comets of their kind.
Whose withering influescc ran

Through all the promise of the mind.
And smote and mildew'd man:—

Sages, the Pleiades of earth.

Whose genial aspects smiled. And flowers and fruitage sprang to bills

O'er all the human wild.

Yon gloomy ruffian, gash'd and gored,

WiiH he, whose ratal skill
First beat the plough-share to a sword,

And taught the art to kill.

Behind him skulks a shade, bereft

Of fondly-worshipp'd fame; lie built the Pyramids, but left

No stone to tell his name.

Who is the chief, with visage dark

As tempests when they roar?
The first who push'd his daring bark

Beyond the timid shore.

Through storms of death and seas of graves

He steer'd with stedfast eye; His path was on the desert waves, -His compass in the sky.

The Youth who lifts his graceful hand,

Struck the unshapen block,
And Beauty leap'd, at his command,

A Yenus from the rock.

Trembling with ecstacy of thought,

Behold the Grecian maid,
Whom lore's enchanting impulse taught

To trace a slumberer's shade.

Sweet arc the thefts of love;—she stole

His image while he lay, Kindled the shadow to a soul,

And breathed that soul through clay.

Yon listening nymph, who looks behind.

With countenance of fire,
Heard midnight-music in the wind,—

And framed the Aeolian lyre.

All hail!—The Sire of Song appears,

The Muse's eldest-born;
The sky-lark in the dawn of years,

The poet of the morn.

He from the depth of cavern'd woods,

That echoed to his voice, Bade mountains, valleys, winds, and floods,

And earth and heaven rejoice.

Though charm'd to meekness, while he sung,
The wild beasts round him ran,

This was the triumph of his tongue,—
It tamed the heart of man.

Dim through the mist of twilight-times

The ghost of Cyrus walks;
Behind him, red with glorious crimes,

The son of Amnion stalks.

Relentless Hannibal, in pride
Of sworn, lix'd hatred, lowers;

Caesar,—'tis Brutus at his side,—
In peerless grandeur towers.

With moonlight-softness Helen's charms

Dissolve the spectred gloom,
The leading star of Greece in arms,

Portending Ilion's doom.

But Homer;—seo the bard arise;

And hark !—he strikes the lyre; The Dardan warriors lift their eyes,

The Argive Chiefs respire.

And while his music rolls along,

The towers of Troy sublime, Raised by the magic breath of song,

Mock the destroyer Time.

For still around the eternal walls

The storms of battle rage:
And Hector conquers, Hector falls,

Bewept in every age.

Genius of Homer! were it mine

To track thy fiery car,
And in thy sunset-course to shine

A radiant evening-star,—

What theme, what laurel might the Muse

Reclaim from ages fled?
What realm-restoring hero chuse

To summon from the dead?

Yonder his shadow flits away:—

Thou shalt not thus depart;
Stay, thou transcendant spirit, stny,

And tell me who thou art!

'Tie Alfred:—In the rolls of Fame,

And on a midnight-page, Blazes his broad refulgent name,

The watch-light of his age.

A Danish winter, from the north,

Howl'd o'er the British wild, But Alfred, like the spring, brake forth,

And all the desert smiled.

Back to the deep he roll'd the waves,

By mad invasion hurl'd;
His voice was liberty to slaves,

Defiance to the world.

And still that voice o'er land and sea

Shall Albion's foes appal;
The race of Alfred trill be free;

Hear it, and tremble Gaul!

But lo! the phantoms fade in flight,
Like fears that cross the mind,

Like meteors gleaming through the night,
Like thunders on the wind.

The vision of the tomb is past;

Beyond it, who can tell
In what mysterious region cast

Immortal spirits dwell?

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A land-mark they rise; — to the stranger
forlorn,
All night on the wild heath delay'd,
'Tis rapture to spy the young beauties of
Morn
Unveiling behind their dark.shade:
The homeward-bound husbandman joys to
behold,
On the line of the gray evening-scene,
Their branches yet gleaming with purple
and gold,
And the sunset expiring between.

The maidens that gather the fruits of the
moor,
While weary and fainting they roam,
Through the blue dazzling distance of noon-
light explore
The trees that remind them of home:
The children that range in the valley suspend

Their sports and in ecstasy gaze, When they see the broad moon from the summit ascend, And their school-house and gTO vc in a blaze.

O! sweet to my soul is that beantiful gist;

Awakening remembrance roost dear; When lonely in anguish and exile I rove

Wherever its glories nppear, It gladdens my spirit, it sooths from afu

With tranquil and tender delight, It shines through my heart, like a hspbeaming star

Alone in the desert of night.

It tells me of moments of innocent bliss,

For ever and ever gone o'er; Like the light of a smile, like the bain • a kiss,

They were,—but they will be no man. Yet wherefore of pleasures departed comply

That leave such endearment behind? Though the sun of their sweetness be tan in the main.

Their twilight still rests on the mirJ

Then peace to his ashes who planted tie* trees!

Supreme o'er the landscape they rise. With simple and lovely magnificence ple»

All bosoms, and ravish all eyes: Nor marble, nor brass, could emblazon k* fame,

Like his own sylvan trophies, that wx" In graceful memorial, and whisper his i

And scatter their leaves on his grave.

Ah! thus when I sleep in the desolate tsatl

May the laurels I planted endure. On the mountain of high immortality blow

'Midst lightning and tempest secure! Then ages unborn shall their verdure adauft.

And nations sit under their shade. While my spirit, in secret, shall move a'r my lyre,

Aloft in their branches displayed.

Hence, dream of vain glory!—the light dnf of dew,

That glows in the violet's eye. In the splendour of morn to a fugitive iir*

May rival a star of the sky; But the violet is pluck'd, and the dew-drf is flown.

The star uncxtinguish'd shall shinr; Then mine be the laurels of virtue aloof.

And the glories of Paradise mine.

EXTRACTS FROM THE PELICAN-ISLAND

if KTiiorcHT I lived through ages, and beheld Their generations pass so swiftly by me, That years were moments in their flight,

and hours The scenes of crowded centuries reveal'd: iVhile Time,' Life, Death, the world's great

actors, wrought >few and amazing changes:—these I sing, iky, sun, and sea, were all the universe; The sky, one blue, interminable arch, iV itliout a breeze, a wing, a cloud; the sun iole in the firmament, but in the deep {•■doubled; where the circle of the sea, nvisible with calmness, seemed to lie iVitliin the hollow of a lower heaven.

was a spirit in the midst of these, ill eye, ear, thought; existence was enjoyment; jight was an element of life, and air The clothing of my incorporeal form,— V form impalpable to mortal touch, Ind volatile as fragrance from the flower, )r music in the woodlands. What the soul '.in make itself at pleasure, that I was; I child in feeling and imagination, .earning new lessons still, as nature wrought tier wonders in my presence. All I saw, Like Adam when he walk'd in Paradise,) [ knew and named by secret intuition, tctor, spectator, sufferer, each in turn, [ ranged, explored, reflected. Now I sail'il. Ind now I soared; anon expanding, seem'd Diffused into immensity, yet bound Within a space too narrow for desire; The mind, the mind perpetual themes must

task, 'erpetual power impel, and hope allure. f and the silent sun were here alone, tul not companions; high and bright he held 1 in course; I gazed with admiration onhim,— There all communion ended; and I sigh'd, In loneliness unutterable sigh'd, To feel myself a wanderer without aim, In exile amid splendid desolation, % prisoner with infinity surrounded.

Once, at high noon, amidst a sultry calm, [looking around for comfort, I descried, Far on the green horizon's utmost verge, \ wreath of cloud; to me a glad discovery. Km- each new image sprang a new idea, The germ of thoughts to come, that could

not die. The little vapour rapidly expanded, Lowering and thickening till it hid the sun, Ind threw a starless night upon the sea. Eagerly, tremblingly, 1 watch'd the end. Paint gleam'd the lightning, follow'd by no peal;

Dreary and hollow moans foretold a gale; Nor long the issue tarried; then the wind Unprison'd blew its trumpet loud and shrill; Out flash'd the lightnings gloriously; the

rain Came down like music, and the full-toned

thunder Roll'd in grand harmony throughout high

heaven: Till ocean,breaking from his black supineness, Drown'd in his own stupendous uproar all The voices of the storm beside; meanwhile A war of mountains raged upon his surface, Mountains each other swallowing, and again New Alps and Andes, from unfat hom'd valleys Upstarting, join'd the battle; like those sons Of earth,—giants, rebounding as new-born From every fall on their unwearied mother. I glow'd with all the rapture of the strife: Beneath was one wild whirl of foaming

surges; Above the array of lightnings, like the

swords Of cherubim, wide braodish'd, to repel Aggression from heaven's gates; their flaming strokes Quench'd momentarily in the vast abyss. The voice of Him who walks upon the wind. And sets his throne upon the floods, rebuked The headlong tempest in its mid-career. And turn'd its horrors to magnificence. The evening-sun broke through theembattlcd

clouds, And threw round sky and sea, as by enchantment, A radiant girdle, binding them to peace, In the full rainbow's harmony of beams; No brilliant fragment, but one sevenfold

circle, That spann'd the horizon, meted out the

heavens, And underarch'd the ocean.

Next morn, in mockery of a storm, the

breeze And waters skirmish'd; bubble-armies fought Millions of battles on the crested surges, And where they fell, all covered with their

glory, Traced in white foam on the cerulean main Paths, like the milky-way among the stars.

Ages again, with silent revolution, Brought morn and even, noon and night,

with all The old vicissitudes of Nature's aspect: Rains in their season fertilised the ground. Winds sow'd the seeds of every kind of plant

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