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May I but meet thee on that peaceful shere,
The parting word shall pass my lips no were
Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at wy concern
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wishd, I long believ'd,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot,
But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot,
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no mal,
Children not thine bave trod my nurs’ry floor;
And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble-coach, and wrapp'd
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capt,
'Tis now become a hist'ry little known,
That once we call’d the past'ral house our own.
Short-liv'd possessions! but the record fair,
That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd
A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, the confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestore'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd:
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Ne'er roughen'd by those catarnets and breaks,
That humour interpos'd too often makes;
til levible in mem'ry's
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such bonours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn’d in Heav'n, though little notic'd here.
Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours
When, playing with thy vesture's tissu'd flow'rs,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I prick'd them iuto paper with a pin,
(And thou wast bappier than myself the while,
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and
Could those few pleasant days again appear, [here?
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them
I would not trust my heart--the dear delight
Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might.-
But no what here we call our life is such,
So little to be lov'd, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle,
Where spices breath, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore,
" Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,".
And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'd-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd,
Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosp'rous course.
Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise-
l'he son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell-Time unrevok'd has run
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem'd t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again ;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine ;
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time bas but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself remov'd, thy pow'r to sooth me left.
THE OMNIPRESENCE OF THE DEITY.
* Trou UXCREATE, Uwseen, and UNDEFIN'D,
Source of all life, and fountain of the mind,
Pervading Spirit, whom po eye can trace,
Felt through all time, and working in all space,
Imagination cannot paint that spot,
Around, above, beneath, wbere Thou art not!
Before the glad stars hymn'd to new-born
Or young Creation revel'd in its birth, (Earth,
Thy Spirit mov'd upon the pregnant deep,
Unchain'd the waveless waters from their sleep,
Bade Time's majestic wings to be unfurld,
And out of Darkuess drew the breathing World !
A world unshrouded all its beauty now!
The youthful mountain rear'd its haughty brow,
Flowers, fruits, and trees felt instantaneous life,
And Ocean chaf"d his billows into strife!
And next, triumphant o'er the green-clad earth,
The universal sun burst into birth,
And dash'd from off his altitude sublime,
The first dread ray that mark'd commencing time.
Last rose the moon--and then th' array of stars
Wheel'd round the heavens upon their burning
But all was silent as a world of dead,
Till the great Deep her living swarms outspread!
Forth from her teeming bosom, sudden came
Immingled monsters--mighty, without name;
Then plumy tribes, wing'd into being there,
And play'd their gleamy pinions on the air,
Till thick as dews upon a twilight green,
Earth's living creatures ruse upon the scene !
And now the gorgeous universe was rife,
Full, fresh, and glowing with created life!
And when th' Eternal, from his starry height,
Beheld the young world basking in his light,
And breathing incense of deep gratitude,
He bless'd it, for his mercy made it good!
Creation's master-piece! a breath of God,
Ray of His glory, quicken'd at His nod,
Immortal Man came next,--divinely grand,
Glorious and perfect from his Maker's hand ;
Last, softly beautiful as Music's close,
Angelic woman into being rose !
And thus, thou wert, and art the fountain soul,
And countless worlds around thee live and roll;
In sun and shade, in ocean and in air,
Different, though never lessen d-everywhere!
All life and motion from thy source began,
From worlds to atoms, angels down to man!
Fain would my longing soul begin
Some ceaseless hymn to god,
Whose mercy has redeem'd from sin,
With no less price than blood;
Fain would I praise my Saviour here,
In grateful strains with heart sincere.
But how shall finite beings raise,
With hearts to fully prone,
That pleasing and accepted praise.
Which thou wilt deign to own.
What angels can but faintly shew,
Shall fallen man attempt to do.
We cannot praise thy holy name,
Unless thy grace inspire ;
Assist us by that heav'nly flame,
Impart the sacred fire;
And on our humble altar's raise,
A ceaseless sacrifice of praise.
The sighings of a contrite heart,
Thou God wilt not despise.
Nor even bid a soul depart
Unblest, whose uprais'd eyes
For mercy sues; but 'mid his grief,
Will send thy Spirit with relief.
And wilt thou from th' unceasing strain
Of pure and unmix'd praise,
By angel choirs, on yon bright plain,
Pour'd forth in sweetest lays,
Turn thy regard, and bend thine ear,
The sinner's bursting grief to hear ?
Cheer'd by the hope-through future days
The love of God I'll sing,
And laud in humble grateful praise,
The name of Israel's King ;
In life and death my heart I raise,
In ceaseless and accepted praise.
LINES ON THE DEATH OF MR. RICHARDS.
Holy the place, whose kindly soil
Yields for the flesh its sweet repose ;
Where rests the pilgrim free from toil,
Where the rich spicy fragrance blows :
Calm be his sleep, whose life
Was given to pain and God;
Who pass'd the vale of strife,
Which his great Master trode :
Who laid mortality's dim robe,
Covering of ills and sorrows, by;
To take the fadeless vesture, wove
By hands of cherubim on high!