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For wounded breasts) is seated on her brow, And ever to the tempest bends she now, Even as a drooping lily, which the wind Sways as it lists. The sweet affections bind Her sympathies to earth; her peaceful soul Has long aspired to that immortal goal, Where pain and anguish cease to be our lot, And the world's cares and frailties are forgot!
THE EIGHTH DAUGHTER OF J. LARKING, ESQ.
Ah! mayst thou ever be what now thou art,
Full many a gloomy month hath past,
On flagging wing, regardless by,
I gazed upon thy bright blue eye,
The hopes, I most relied on, thwarted,
a shade since last we parted: Yet, ʼmid that murkiness of lot, Young Peri, thou art unforgot!
There are who love to trace the smile
That dimples upon childhood's cheek, And hear from lips devoid of guile,
The dictates of the bosom break; Ah! who of such could look on thee
Without a wish to rival me!
None ;-his must be a stubborn heart,
And strange to every softer feeling, Who from thy glance could bear to part
Cold and unmoved—without revealing Some portion of the fond regret Which dimmed my eye when last we met !
Sweet bud of Beauty -'Mid the thrill
The anguished thrill of hope delayed, Peril—and pain—and every ill
That can the breast of man invade, No tender thought of thine and thee Hath faded from my memory;
But I have dwelt on each dear form,
"Till woe, awhile, gave place to gladness, And that remembrance seemed to charm,
Almost to peace, my bosom's sadness ;-
O! might the fondest prayers prevail
For blessings on thy future years ;
To save thee from affliction's tears;
Thy guilelessness of soul revealing-
Undimmed-save by those gems of feelingThose soft, luxurious drops which flow, In pity, for another's woe!
But vain the thought !- It may not be !
Could prayers avert misfortune's blight, Or hearts, from sinful passion free,
Here hope for unalloyed delight, Then, those who guard thine opening bloom Had never known one hour of gloom. No.-If the chastening stroke of Fate
On guilty heads alone descended, Sure they would ne'er have felt its weight,
In whose pure bosoms, sweetly blended, Life's dearest social virtues 'move, In one bright endless chain of love !
Then since upon this earth, joy's beams
Are fading—frail, and few in number, And melt-like the light-woven dreams
That steal upon the mourner's slumber,-Sweet one! I'll wish thee strength to bear The ills that Heaven may bid thee share;