Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread,
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
The lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream;
The silent pace, with which they steal away,
No wealth.can bribe, no prayers persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,
And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in every part,
A difference strikes at length the musing heart;
Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound,
How laughs the land with various plenty crowned!
But time, that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind,
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
Sweer stream, that winds thro' yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid-
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course ;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where'er she goes,
Pure-bosomed as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected in her face.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT:
MRS. (NOW LADY) TAROCKMORTON,
MARIA! I have every good.
For thee wished many a time,
Both sad, and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhime.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent, or more sprightly,
Or more ingenious, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then not yet possessed
Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already blest,
To thy whole heart's desire?
None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine;
There dwells some wish in every heart,
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day,
Which fate shall brightly gild,
('Tis blameless, be it what it may),
I wish it all, fulfilled.
ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
Patron of all those luckless brains,
That to the wrong side leaning
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning.
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thy glorious beams,
In constant exhalations.
Why, stooping from the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now,
Impelled through regions dense and rare,
By all the winds that blow.
Ordained perbaps tere -summer flies,
Combined with milions moro,
To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever past my pen,
So soon to be forgot!
Phæbus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
Give wit, that what is left mayishine, :
With equal grade below.
PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED.
I Shall not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau",
If birds confabulate or no;
(Tis clear that they were always able
To hold discourse, at least, in fable;
And e'en the child, who knows no better,
Tban to interpret by the letter,
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
It chanced then on a winter's day,
But warm and bright, and calm as May,
The birds conceiving a design
To forstal sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chatter,
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bulfinch, who could boast
More
years
and wisdom than the most,
* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philoso. pher, that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses?
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