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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!

TO OCTAVIA,

THE EIGHTH DAUGHTER OF J. LARKING, ESQ.

Ah! mayst thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring !

LORD BYRON.

I

Full many a gloomy month hath past,

On flagging wing, regardless by,
Unmarked by aught, save grief,—since last

I gazed upon thy bright blue eye,
And bade my Lyre pour forth for thee
In strains of wildest minstrelsy!
For all my joys are withered now,—

The hopes, I most relied on, thwarted,
And sorrow hath o'erspread my brow
With
many

a shade since last we parted: Yet, ʼmid that murkiness of lot, Young Peri, thou art unforgot!

II.

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 !

III.

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 ;-
And now, again, I breathe a lay
To hail thee on thy natal day!

IV.

O! might the fondest prayers prevail

For blessings on thy future years ;
Or innocence, like thine, avail

To save thee from affliction's tears;
Each moment of thy life should bring
Some new delight upon its wing !
And the wild sparkle of thine eye-

Thy guilelessness of soul revealing-
Beam ever thus, as beauteously,

Undimmed-save by those gems of feelingThose soft, luxurious drops which flow, In pity, for another's woe!

V.

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 !

VI.

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;

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