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For the soul, which its innocent glances confessed,

Has flown to its God and its Father on high.

No more shall the accents, whose tones were more dear

Than the sweetest of sounds even music can make, In notes full of tenderness fall on my ear ;

If I catch them in dreams, all is still when I wake!

No more the gay smiles that those features displayed,

Shall transiently light up their own mirth in mine; Yet, though these, and much more, be now covered in

shade, I must not, I cannot, and dare not repine.

However enchanting!y flattering and fair,

Were the hopes, that for thee, I had ventured to build, Can a frail, finite mortal presume to declare

That the future those hopes would have ever fulfilled ?

In the world thou hast left, there is much to allure

The most innocent spirit from virtue and peace : Hadst thou lived, would thy own have been equally pure,

And guileless, and happy, in age's increase ?

Temptation, or sooner or later, had found theę;

Perhaps had seduced thee from pathways of light;

'Till the dark clouds of vice, gathering gloomily round thee,

Had enwrapt thee for ever in horror and night.

But now, in the loveliest bloom of the soul,
While the heart yet was pangless, and true, and un-

stained ;
Ere the world one vain wish by its witcheries stole,

What it could not confer, thou for ever hast gained !

Like a dew-drop, kissed off by the sun's morning beam,

A brief, but a beauteous existence was given;
Thy soul seemed to come down to earth, in a dream,
And only to wake, when ascended to beaven !

Barton.

THE HOUR OF DISTRESS.

() 'tis not while the fairy-breeze fans the green ocean,

That the safety and strength of the bark can be shewn; And 'tis not in prosperity's hour the devotion,

The fervour and truth of a friend can be known.

No! the bark 'must be proved when the tempest is howl

ing, When dangers and mountain-waves close on her press; The friend, when the sky of adversity's scowling,

For the touchstone of friendship's—the hour of distress.

When prosperity's day-star beams clear and unclouded, Then thousands will mingle their shouts round its

throne, But oh ! let its light for one moment be shrouded,

And the smiles of the faithless like shadows are gone.

Then comes the true friend, who to guile is a stranger,

The lone one benignly to sooth and caress, While his smile like the beacon-light blazing in danger,

Sheds a beam o'er the gloom of the hour of distress.

O'tis sweet 'mid the horrors of bleak desolation,

While pleasure and hope seem eternally flown, When the heart is first lit by the dear consolation,

That a haven of happiness yet may be won.

Grief fades like the night-cloud, bliss mingles with sorrows,

When the first 'sunny rays through the darkness appear, And the rainbow of hope beameth' bright as it borrows

All its splendour and light from a smile and a tear.

O 'tis they whose life's path has been clouded and cheer

less That can feel the full burst of pure transport and bliss, When the trusted and tried friend comes ready and fear

less Their woes to relieve in the hour of distress.

Past griefs may yet cease to be thought on, but never

Can time make the feeling of gratitude less ; May the blessing of God rest for ever and ever On him who forsook not in hours of distress!

Goldie.

A FRAGMENT..

O leave the lily on its stem,

O leave the rose upon the spray,
O leave the elder-bloom, fair maids,

And listen to my lay.

A cypress and a myrtle bough

This morn around my harp you twined,
Because it fashioned mournfully,

Its murmurs in the wind.

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And now a tale of love and woe,

A woeful tale of love I sing ;
Hark, gentle maidens, hark! it sighs,

And trembles on the string.

But most, my own dear Genevieve,

It sighs and trembles most for thee! O come and hear what cruel wrongs

Befell the dark Ladie.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,

My hope, my joy, my Genevieve, She loves me best whene'er I sing

The songs that made her grieve.

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of love,

And feed his sacred flame.

O ever in my waking dreams

I dwell upon that happy hour, When midway on the mount I sat,

Beside the ruined tower.

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