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When maidens such as Hester die,
A month or more hath she been dead,
A springy motion in her gait,
I know not by what name beside
Her parents held the Quaker rule.
A waking eye, a prying mind,
My sprightly neighbour ! gone before
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray
TO CHARLES LLOYD.
AN UNEXPECTED VIMTER.
Alone, obscure, without a friend,
A cheerless, solitary thing,
What offering can the stranger bring
Of social scenes, home-bred delights,
For Stowey's pleasant winter nights,
In brief oblivion to forego
Friends, such as thine, so justly dear, And be awhile with me content
To stay, a kindly loiterer, here:
For this a gleam of random joy
Hath flush'd my unaccustom'd cheek;
And, with an o'ercharged bursting heart,
Oh ! sweet are all the Muses' lays,
'Twas long since these estranged ears
The voice hath spoke: the pleasant sounds
In memory's ear in after time Shall live, to sometimes rouse a tear,
And sometimes prompt an honest rhyme.
For, when the transient charm is fled,
To cheerless, friendless, solitude
Long, long, within my aching heart
I'll think less meanly of myself,
THE THREE FRIENDS.
Three young maids in friendship met;
Mary, Martha, Margaret.
Margaret was tall and fair,
Martha shorter by a hair;
If the first excell'd in feature,
Th' other's grace and ease were greater;
Mary, though to rival loth,
In their best gifts equall'd both.
They a due proportion kept;
Martha mourn'd if Margaret wept;
Margaret joy'd when any good
She of Martha understood;
And in sympathy for either
Mary was outdone by neither.
Thus far, for a happy space,
All three ran an equal race,
A most constant friendship proving,
Equally beloved and loving;
All their wishes, joys, the same;
Sisters only not in name.
Fortune upon each one smiled,
In the depth of her affliction
In this scene of earthly things
To her friend, was, by occasion
Of more distant habitation,
Fewer visits forced to pay her;
When no other cause did stay her;
And her Mary living nearer,
Margaret began to fear her,
Lest her visits day by day
Martha's heart should steal away.
That whole heart she ill could spare her,
Where till now she'd been a sharer.
From this cause with grief she pined,
Till at length her health declined.
All her cheerful spirits flew,
Fast as Martha's gather'd new;
And her sickness waxed sore.
Just when Martha felt no more.
Mary, who had quick suspicion Of her alter' d friend's condition, Seeing Martha's convalescence Less demanded now her presence, With a goodness, built on reason, Changed her measures with the season; Tuni'd her steps from Martha's door. Went where she was wanted more; All her care and thoughts were set Now to tend on Margaret. Mary living 'twixt the two, From her home could oft'ner go. Either of her friends to see, Than they could together be.
Truth explain'd is to suspicion
Martha, who the frequent visit
Wish'd that Margaret would take heed
Whence her actions did proceed.
For herself, she'd long been minded
Not with outsides to be blinded;
All that pity and compassion,
She believed was affectation;
In her heart she doubted whether
Mary cared a pin for either.
She could keep whole weeks at distance,
And not know of their existence,
While all things remaiu'd the same;
But, when some misfortune came,
Then she made a great parade
Of her sympathy and aid,—
Not that she did really grieve,
It was only malc-believe,
And she cared for nothing, so
She might her fine feelings show,
And get credit, on her part,
For a soft and tender heart.
With such speeches, smoothly made. She found methods to persuade Margaret (who being sore From the doubts shod felt before, Was prepared for mistrust) To believe her reasons just; Quito destroy'd that comfort glad, Which in Mary late she had; Made her, in experience' spite, Think her friend a hypocrite, And resolve, with cruel scoff, To renounce and cast her off.
See how good turns are rewarded! She of both is now discarded, Who to both had been so late Their support in low estate, All their comfort, and their stay— Now of both is cast away. But the league her presence chcrish'd, Losing its best prop, soon perish'd; She, that was a link to either, To keep them and it together, Being gone, the two (no wonder) That were left, soon fell asunder;— Some civilities were kept, But the heart of friendship slept; Love with hollow forms was fed, But the life of love lay dead :— A cold intercourse they held. After Mary was expell'd.
Two long years did interveno
But sweet Mary, still the same,
TO A RIVER IN WHICH A CHILD WAS DROWNED.
Smiling river, smiling river,
On thy bosom sun-beams play; Though they're fleeting, and retreating,
Thou hast more deceit than they.
In thy channel, in thy channel,
Choked with ooze and grav'lly stones,
Deep immersed, and unhearsed,
Lies young Edward's corse: his bones
Ever whitening, ever whitening,
What thy torrent, in the current,
As if senseless, as if senseless
Things had feeling in this case; What so blindly, and unkindly,
It destroy'd, it now does grace.
THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES.
I Have had playmates, I have had companions. In my days of childhood, in my joyful school
clays, All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
I loved a love once, fairest among women;
I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man;
Qhost-like I paced round the haunts of my child-
Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
How some they have diod, and some they have
left me, And some are taken from mo; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
High-born Helen, round your dwelling
•Haughty beauty, thy lover's duty
High-born Helen, proudly telling
Stories of thy cold disdain;
And I no longer can complain.
These twenty years I've lived on tears,
On sighs I've fed, your scorn my bread;
Can I, who loved my beloved
Can I be moved for my beloved,
In stately pride, by my bed-side,
Deaf to my praise, my mournful lays
To that I weep, nor ever sleep,
Hehn, grown old, no longer cold,
A VISION OF REPENTANCE.
I Saw a famous fountain, in my dream,
A weeping willow lay upon that stream,
And all around the fountain brink were spread
Wide-branching trees, with dark green leaf rich clad.
Forming a doubtful twilight—desolate and sad.
The place was such, that whoso entered in,
And straight became as one that knew not sin,
Enseem'd it now, he stood on holy ground,
In sweet and tender melancholy wrapt around.
A most strange calm stole o'er my soothed sprite;
Long time I stood, aud longer had I staid. When lo ! I saw, saw by the sweet moon-light,
Which came in silence o'er that silent shade, Where, near the fountain, Something like DEsr.ira Made, of that weeping willow.garlands for her hair.
And eke with painful fingers she inwove
"The willow garland, that was for her love,
With sighs her heart nigh burst, salt tears fast fell,
As mournfully she bended o'er that sacred well.
To whom when I addreet myself to speak,
The delicate red came mantling o'er her cheek,
To the dark covert of that woody shade,
And in her goings seem'd a timid gentle maid.
Revolving in my mind what this should mean, And why that lovely lady plained so;
Perplex'd in thought at that mysterious scene. And doubting if 'twere best to stay or go,
I cast mine eyes in wistful gaze around,
When from the shades came slow a small and plaintive sound.
"Pstche am I, who love to dwell
At thy feet what thou dost see
If haply so my day of grace
"Why dost thou weep, thou gentle maid!
"O ! I have done a deed of shame,
"And who the promised spouse I declare:
"Severe and saintly righteousness
A wretched sinful creature, I
Gave to a treacherous WORLD my heart,
"Now Christ restore thee soon ".—I said, And thenceforth all my dream was fled.
DIALOGUE BETWEEN A MOTHER AND CHILD.
"O Lady, lay your costly robes aside,
Wherefore to-day art singing in mine ear
I pray thee, pretty one, now hold thy tongue, Play with the bride-maids; and be glad, my boy, For thou shalt be a second father's joy.
One father fondled me upon his knee. One father is enough, alone, fur me.
QUEEN ORIANA'S DREAM.
On a bank with roses shaded,