TO A LADY.

WITH FALCONER'S " SHIPWRECK."

AH! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams

In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice; Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams, To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;

Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed,
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;

Our sea-bard sang this song! which still he sings, And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity,

hark!

Now mounts, now totters on the tempest's wings, Now groans, and shivers, the replunging bark!

66

Cling to the shrouds!" In vain! The breakers

roar

Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,

No classic roamer, but a ship-wrecked man!

Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains And lit his spirit to so bright a flame?

The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; but chief,

the name

Of gratitude! remembrances of friend,

Or absent or no more! shades of the Past, Which Love makes substance! Hence to thee I send,

O dear as long as life and memory last!

I send with deep regards of heart and head, Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee:

And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed A tear for Falconer, wilt remember me.

TO A YOUNG LADY.

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEVER.

WHY need I say, Louisa dear!

How glad I am to see you here,

A lovely convalescent;

Risen from the bed of pain and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.

The sunny showers, the dappled sky
The little birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing,
Will better welcome you than I
With their sweet influencing.

Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray :
You made us grow devouter!
Each eye looked up and seemed to say,
How can we do without her?

Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
They have no need of such as you

In the place where you were going:
This World has angels all too few,
And Heaven is overflowing!

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

If I had but two little wings,

And were a little feathery bird,

Το you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:

I'm always with you in my sleep!

The world is all one's own.

But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,

Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

HOME-SICK.

WRITTEN IN GERMANY.

'Tis sweet to him, who all the week

Through city-crowds must push his way, To stroll alone through fields and woods, And hallow thus the Sabbath-day.

And sweet it is, in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate and gay,
One's own dear children feasting round,
To celebrate one's marriage-day.

But what is all, to his delight,

Who having long been doomed to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back, Before the door of his own home?

Home-sickness is a wasting pang ;

This feel I hourly more and more:

There's healing only in thy wings,

Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore!

ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION.

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,

The linnet and thrush say, "I love and I love !" In the winter they're silent-the wind is so strong. What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,

And singing, and loving-all come back together. But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love, The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he"I love my Love, and my Love loves me !"

A CHILD'S EVENING PRAYER.

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay,

God grant me grace my prayers to say:
O God! preserve my mother dear
In strength and health for many a year;
And, O! preserve my father too,
And may I pay him reverence due;
And may I my best thoughts employ
To be my parents' hope and joy;