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This is, indeed, a dread and awful thing!
TO THE GNAT.
WHEN by the greenwood side, at summer eve,
-Ah! now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly, Unsheaths its terrors in the sultry air ! No guardian sylph, in golden panoply!, Lifts the broad shield, and points the glitt'ring spear. Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings, Thy dragon-scales still wet with human gore. Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings! - I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more!
ROGERS. i Complete armour.
POWER AND GENTLENESS ;
THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET.
NOBLE the mountain stream,
Glory is in its gleam
Mark how its foamy spray,
Mimics the bow of day,
Thence in summer-shower,
Could majesty and power
Trac'd by the brighter hue
It flows through flow'ry meads,
Its quiet beauty feeds
Gently it murmurs by
A dirge-like melody,
More gaily now it sweeps
And o'er the pebbles leaps,
May not its course express,
The charms of gentleness,
What are the trophies gain'd
To that meek wreath unstain'd,
Niagara's streams might fail,
But Egypt would turn pale
THE WIDOW'S SON.
ALAS! while health and hope were high,
And scarce was manhood's spring begun -
And smote the widow's son !
Struck with the blight of slow decline ;
His ardent spirit droop and pine.
The rose upon his cheek, she knew,
A tint of fading loveliness,
The pale moon, cold and comfortless.
When that false flush forsook his cheek,
And spoke the pang he would not speak, And froze her fears to certainty. Nor deem it strange that hope had power To soothe her soul in such an hour.
Where time has rent the lordly tower
And moss entwines the arches grey, Springs many a light and lovely flower
That lends a lustre to decay. Thus, while existence wanes away,
Consumption's fever'd cheek will bloom, And beauty's brightest beams will play,
In mournful glory, o'er the tomb.
The spirit of her son to cheer
With hopes she now had ceas'd to feel, From that dread stroke which menac'd near
A few short bitter days to steal ;
To soothe the languor of decay
Still found her watching by his bed,
To see him die - and thus to die
Of youth had pass'd unclouded by
He told not — mute, and meekly still,
He bow'd him to Jehovah's will, Nor murmur'd at the stern decree; For gently falls the chastening rod On him whose hope is in his God. For her, too, who beside his bed
Still watch'd with fond maternal care,
For her he breath'd the pious prayer —
And turn his pallid face away,