6

May France rest evermore,

Peace still possessing!

Healed be each angry sore! Long may she Him adore

Who doth to her outpour

Each truest blessing!

A Birthday Sonnet.

(To a Girl on completing her twenty-first year.)

THY life's sweet spring is past! its early flowers, Once redolent of hope and joy and love,

Droop their sad heads, desponding. Time doth

prove

All perishable; childhood's careless hours
Slip by unheeded. Onward still we move
From infancy to age, but feel the change

Scarce more than trees their growth. Spring's genial showers

Give place to summer's sun; each hath its range.
Maiden thy summer's first morn on thee smiles;
'Tis time youth's crop should ripen; ay! and yield
Virtue's choice fruit, unspoilt by vice's wiles.
May guardian spirits be thy guide and shield;
Thus shall autumnal glories on thee wait,
And winter find thee ready for thy fate!

(Sent to Miss "May" F., on her departure to India.)

I

PAUSE yet awhile, old Winter drear!

Restrain thy rapid flight;

For once, I bid thee linger here,

Since with thee one must disappear

Most precious in my sight.

2

Not now, alas! shall smiling spring
Raise gladness in my heart,

Though fresh flowers in its train it bring,
And blithesome birds to chirp and sing;

For oh! 'twill bid me part

3

From her! the fairest flower that blows,

Combining all in one ;—

The lily, violet, and rose;

Bearing rich gifts from each, she goes

To regions of the sun.

4

And summer too, though bright and gay,

Shall strike my heart with chill;

Its smiles will seem but to betray;

For what is summer without "May"?

Oh, 'tis but winter still!

5

Yet one blest flower the earth shall bear

On many a lonely spot;

The sight of it shall oft soothe care,

While from my heart ascends the prayer, "Sweet May, Forget-me-not!"

The Lily of the Vale.

I

FAIR, modest flower! whose drooping bells

Sweetest of scents exhale;

In grove or garden none excels

The "Lily of the Vale."

2

The elfin queen her court doth hold

Within thy belfry pale,

And doth to thee her charms unfold,

Sweet "Lily of the Vale."

3

There nightly she delights to hear
Some lover's plaintive tale,
Sprinkling with many a dewy tear
Each "Lily of the Vale."