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While Cam's ideal current glided by,
And antique towers nodded their foreheads high,
But Fortune, who had long been used to sport
Far happier they who, fixing hope and aim
Enter betimes with more than martial fire
Stifle the contradictions of their fate,
And to one purpose cleave, their Being's godlike mate!
* There is now, alas! no possibility of the anticipation, with which the above Epistle concludes, being realised: nor were the verses ever seen by the Individual for whom they were intended. She accompanied her husband, the Rev. Wm. Fletcher, to India, and died of cholera, at the age of thirty-two or thirty-three years, on her way from Shalapore to Bombay, deeply lamented by all who knew her.
Her enthusiasm was ardent, her piety steadfast; and her great talents would have enabled her to be eminently useful in the difficult path of life to which she had been called. The opinion she entertained of her own performances, given to the world under her maiden name, Jewsbury, was modest and humble, and, indeed, far below their merits; as is often the
[I OFTEN ask myself what will become of Rydal Mount after our day. Will the old walls and steps remain in front of the house and about the grounds, or will they be swept away with all the beautiful mosses and ferns and wild geraniums and other flowers which their rude construction suffered and encouraged to grow among them ?-This little wild flower-"Poor Robin" -is here constantly courting my attention, and exciting what may be called a domestic interest with the varying aspects of its stalks and leaves and flowers. Strangely do the tastes of men differ according to their employment and habits of life. "What a nice well would that be," said a labouring man to me one day, "if all that rubbish was cleared off." The "rubbish" was some of the most beautiful mosses and lichens and ferns and other wild growths that could possibly be seen. Defend us from the tyranny of trimness and neatness showing itself in this way! Chatterton says of freedom-"Upon her head wild weeds were spread" and depend upon it if "the marvellous boy" had undertaken to give Flora a garland, he would have preferred what we are apt to call weeds to gardenflowers. True taste has an eye for both. Weeds have been called flowers out of place. I fear the place most people would assign to them is too limited. Let them come near to our abodes, as surely they may without impropriety or disorder.]
Now when the primrose makes a splendid show,
case with those who are making trial of their powers, with a hope to discover what they are best fitted for. In one quality, viz., quickness in the motions of her mind, she had, within the range of the Author's acquaintance, no equal.
* The small wild Geranium known by that name.
And, as his tufts of leaves he spreads, content
Mixed with the green, some shine not lacking power
The season) sprinklings of ripe strawberry fruit.
Should sometimes think, where'er they chance to spy
What recompense is kept in store or left
How just, how bountiful, the hand of Heaven.
SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE.
[THIS poem was first printed in the Annual called the "Keepsake." The painter's name I am not sure of, but I think it was Holmes.]
THAT happy gleam of vernal eyes,
To scenes Arcadian, whispering, through soft air,
And happiness that never flies-
What mortal form, what earthly face
'Mid that soft air, those long-lost bowers,
The sweet illusion might have hung, for hours.
That touchingly bespeaks thee born
TO A REDBREAST-(IN SICKNESS.)
[ALMOST the only verses by our lamented Sister Sara Hutchinson.]
STAY, little cheerful Robin! stay,
And at my casement sing,
Though it should prove a farewell lay
And this our parting spring.
Though I, alas! may ne'er enjoy
A charm, that thought can not destroy,
Methinks that in my dying hour
Thy song would still be dear,