Ere Phoebus' race be run;

Our bark 's below,

And the breezes blow,

And our goal will soon be won :

SWEET ELLEN, AWAKE, ARISE!

IV.

What recks it to hearts like ours,
Where we resolve to flee?

Not far we'll roam

For a blissful home,

Since Paradise dwells with thee!

We'll steer for Pleasure's bowers,

(With Hope) through Life's dark sea;

And Love shall guide

Us through the tide,

And our trusty pilot be.

SWEET ELLEN, AWAKE, ARISE!

V.

SACRED MELODY.

THERE IS A THOUGHT.

I.

THERE is a thought can lift the soul

Above the dull cold sphere that bounds it,

A star, that sheds its mild controul

Brightest when Grief's dark cloud surrounds it,

And pours a soft, pervading ray,

Life's ills may never chase away!

II.

When earthly joys have left the breast,

And even the last fond hope it cherished Of mortal bliss-too like the rest

Beneath Woe's withering touch hath perished, With fadeless lustre streams that light,

A halo on the brow of night!

III.

And bitter were our sojourn here
In this dark wilderness of sorrow,
Did not that rainbow-beam appear,

The herald of a brighter morrow,
A merciful beacon from on high
To guide us to ETERNITY!

1815.

VI.

THE HOME OF TALIESSIN.

The remains (consisting of little more than the foundationstones) of the dwelling of the celebrated Welsh bard Taliessin, are still pointed out in a romantic gorge of the mountains near Llanrwyst, at no great distance from the Druid waves of Llynn Geirionedd. The view which is commanded from this spot is one of the most picturesque that can be conceived; and the associations connected with it render it, of course, still more interesting.

I.

I STOOD on the spot where the famed TALIESSIN,

That Prince of the Bards,' had his dwelling of old;

Dark thoughts on my memory, unbidden, were pressing Of hopes wildly thwarted, and friendships grown

cold!

II.

Eve was yielding to twilight; yet still richly glowing,
The deep skies reflected the sun that had fled;
And below me, in musical murmurs, were flowing
The bright purple waters of Lynn Geirionedd.

III.

I looked on the mighty hills gathered around it,— That train of dark giants, with cloud-girded brows; And I thought of the minstrel whose fame had so crowned it,

As I gazed on their summits of shadows and snows.

IV.

I turned to the wreck that remained of his dwelling,The ruin that time and the tempest had spared;

But a few scattered stones, and a mound rudely

swelling,

Were all that arose there to claim a regard.