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TO A SLEEPING INFANT. I feel thee pulling at my gown,
Of right, good will, thy simple tuken. ANON. ART thon a thing of mortal birth,
And thou must laugh and wrestle too, Whose happy home is on the Earth? A mimic warfare with me waging! Does human blood with life imbue
To make as wily lovers do,
Thy after kindness more engaging!
The wilding rose-sweet as thyself,01 can that light and airy breath
And new-cropt daisies are thy treasure ;-Steal from a being doom'd to death ;
I'd gladly part with worldly pelf Those features to the grave be sent,
To taste again thy youthful pleasure. In sleep thus mutely eloquent ? Or, art thou, what thy form would seem,
But yet, for all thy merry look, The phantom of a blessed dream?
Thy frisks and wiles, the time is coming, Oh! that my spirit's eye could see
When thou shalt sit in cheerless nook, Whence burst those gleams of extacy!
The weary spell, or horn-book thambing. That light of dreaming-soul appears To play from thoughts above thy years,
Well, let it be! Through weal and wo, Thou smil'st as if thy soul were soaring
Thou know'st not now thy future range ; To Heaven, and Heaven's God adoring!
Life is a motley, shifting show :And who can tell what visions high
And thou a thing of hope and change. May bless an infant's sleeping eye ? What brighter throne. can brightness find To reign on, than an infant's mind, Ere sin-destroy'd, or error dim,
Free from memory's ruthless reign,
Fraught with scenes of former pain;
Free from fancy's cruel skill,
Fabricating future ill;
Time, when all that meets the view, And curly pate, and merry eye,
| All can charm, for all is new. And arm and shoulders round and sleek, And soft and fair, thou urchin sly?
Then to toss the circling ball,
Caught rebounding from the wall; What boots it who with sweet caresses,
Then the mimic ship to guide First called thee his, or squire, or hind?
Down the kennel's dirty tide ; For thou in every wight that passes,
Then the boop's revolving pace Dost now a friendly playmate find.
Through the dusty street to chase ;
O what joy!-it once was mine Thy downcast glances, grave, but canning, Childhood, pleasing boon of thine!
As fringed eyelids rise and fall; Thy shyness, swiftly from me running, 'Tis infantine coquetry all!
so SCHOOL-BOY REMINISCENCES. But far a-field thou hast not flown,
COWPER. With mocks and threats, half-lisped, half-Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, spoken ;
| We love the play-place of our early days;
The scene is touching, and the heart is stone | What walks I loved ; where grew my fa-
wild, Tho' mangled, hacked, and hewed, not yet And how the man descended to the child; destroyed :
How well I loved with him, un Sabbath The little ones, unbuttoned, glowing hot, morn, Playing our games, and on the very spot; To bear the anthem of the vocal thorn; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw To teach religion, unallied to strife, The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; | And trace to him the way, the truth, the life. To pitch the ball into the grounded bat, But far and farther still my view I bend,Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat; And now I see a child thy steps attend; The pleasing spectacle at once excites To yonder churchyard-wall thou tak'st thy Such recollection of our own delights,
way, That viewing it, we seem almost t'obtain While round thee, pleased, thou see'st the Our innocent, sweet simple years again. infant play ;
Then lifting him, while tears suffuse thine
eyes, Pointing thou tellst him, There thy grand
sire lies ! TO MY SON.
Twice has the sun commenced his annual
ANON Since tirst thy footsteps tottered o'er the ground,
Youth is the vision of a moru, Since first 'thy tongue was tuned to bless
That flies the coming day; mine ear;
It is the blossom on the thorn
It is the image of the sky,
And lift their foaming head,
Of bright electric fire,
That, as it sofly blows,
But soon the gath'ring tempests pour,
| Here Obligation, e'en beneath the wing And all the sky deform;
That hatches it to life, will fix a sting: The gale becomes a whirlwind's roar, Here worth is trampled down by mounted The sigh a raging storm.
And Modesty by Av'rice push'd aside. For Care and Sorrow's morbid gloom, Such slow discernment guides the stupid And heart-corroding strife,
crowd, And sickness pointing to the tomb,
That Impadence for Talent is allow'd : Await the noon of life.
In Life's true masquerade fools are so blind,
snow, YOUTH ENTERING ON THE
With ev'ry kindness let thy bosom glow; WORLD.
Detraction's pois'nous breath thy fame shall
Or Envy's microscope pry out a spot! Oft have I seen when musing on the shore, Has then this sickly world no cordial balm? Unskilful infants grasp th' unwieldy oar, This storm of passion no delightful calm? Push the frail bark into the swelling main, | Yet as the traveller 'mid dreary wastes Borne by the rapid tide, pant to regain Here meets a flower---there a fountain The less'ning land, and, shrieking weep too tasteslate
As stars that aid the gloom of during night, The gaping horrors of tempestuous fate! So scatter'd worth diffuses partial light; True picture of our unsuspecting age,
Oe'r all our ills a self-born radiance sheds, Who long to stretch where fatal billows rage: | More bright, like phosphorus as darkness 'Gainst our own heaven like angels we rebel, spreads. And quit the realms where during raptures
Let potent Wisdom smooth the wrinkled dwell;
brow, Pant for a wing to range the World around,
And sweet Complacence soften all below. The World-how swoons my soul to hear
See in each rising Sun new comfort giv'n the sound;
And when it sets behold a nearer Heav'n! The World-where Pleasure flies the grasp The few rare gems of Friendship here iming hand,
When potent Avarice casts a golden ray,
MANHOOD. Dissolves its brittle mass and floats away :
MONTGOMERY. Fix'd in the breast where pride or intrest thrives,
| TIME, swift time from years your motion And Love, a secondary passion, lives ;
stealing, Where children cherish'd by Affection's ray, Unperceived hath sober manhood brought; Long in the dust the partial sire to lay : Truth, her pure and humble forms revealing Tho' daily fondoess beams the constant Peoples fancy's fairy-land with thought : smile,
Then the heart, no longer prone to roam, And only wisely keeps its own awhile. Loves, loves best, the quiet bliss of home.
Self-PLATTERED, unexperienced, high in hope,
UPON HIS WHITE HAIRS.
THE COMMON LOT.
These hairs of age are messengers
Once in the flight of ages past Which bid me fast, repent, and pray ; There liv'd a man-and who was he? They be of death the harbingers,
Mortal! how'er thy lot be cast,
That man resembled thee!
Unknown the region of his birth,
The land in which he died unknown, They be the lines that lead the length His name hath perish'd from the earth, How far my race was for to run,
This truth survives alone
That joy, and grief, and hope, and fear, The which I feel, and you may see
Alternate triumph'd in his breast, Upon my head such lines to be.
His bliss and wo, a smile, a tear!
Oblivion hides the rest.
The bounding pulse, the languid limb,
We know that these were felt by him, Wherefore I joy that you may see
For these are felt by all. Upon my head such strings to be.
He suffer'd—but his pangs are o’er, God grant to those that white hairs have Enjoy'd-but his delights are fled,
No worse them take than I have meant; Had friends—his friends are now no more, That after they be laid in grave
And foes-his foes are dead.
Hath lost in its unconscious womb;
CONSEQUENCES OF THE FALL. Its breath was cold, and made the sportive
Stagnant, and dull, and heavy, round the HBAR what they were : The progeny of Sin wheels Alike, and oft combined; but differing much of life. The roots of that whereon it blew In mode of giving pain. As felt the gross Decayed, and with the genial soul no more Material part, when in the furnace cast, Held sympathy; the leaves, the branches So felt the soul, the victim of Remorse.
drooped, It was a fire which on the verge of God's | And mouldered slowly down to formless Commandments burned, and on the vitals fed dust ; Of all who passed. Who passed, there met | Not tossed and driven by violence of winds, Remorse;
But withering where they sprung, and rotA violent fever seized his soul; the heavens ting there. Above, the earth beneath, seemed glowing Long disappointed, disappointed still, brass,
The hopeless man, hopeless in his main wish, Heated seven times; he heard dread voices As if returning back to nothing, felt; speak,
In strange vacuity of being hung, And mutter horrid prophecies of pain, And rolled, and rolled his eye on emptiness, Severer and severer yet to come ;
That seemed to grow more empty every hour. And as he writhed and quivered, scorched
within, The Fury round his torrid temples flapped Her fiery wings, and breathed upon his lips! THE DISTEMPER OF THE MIND. And parched tongue, the withered blasts of
THOMSON. hell. It was the suffering began thou sawest
The distempered mind In symbol of the worm that never dies. Has lost that concord of harmonious powers
Which forms the soul of happiness, and all The other, Disappointment seemed Is off the poise within ; the passions all Negation of delight. It was a thing Have burst their bounds, and Reason halt Sluggish and torpid, tending towards death, extinct,