It flows through flowery meads,
Gladdening the herds which on its margin browse,
The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.
The village churchyard :-its low, plaintive, tone,
For worth and beauty modest as its own.
More gaily now it sweeps
By the small school-house, in the sunshine bright; And o'er the pebbles leaps,
Like happy hearts by holiday made light.
May not its course express,
In characters which they who run may read,
The charms of gentleness,
Were but its still small voice allowed to plead?
What are the trophies gain'd
By power, alone, with all its noise and strife,
To that meek wreath, unstain'd,
Won by the charities that gladden life?
Niagara's streams might fail,
And human happiness be undisturb'd :
But Egypt would turn pale,
Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curb'd!
FAIR enchantress, gaily kind,
Sweet the dream inspired by thee;
Ever bless thy poet's mind
With thy heavenly energy,
Thine, oh! Hope, the magic art,
To charm the sorrows of the heart;
To chase the fond, the plaintive sigh,
With visions of felicity!
Ah! when real joys are o'er,
And love and peace delight no more,
Then thy melting syren-voice
Bids the pensive mind rejoice.
Ah! thy dreams are too beguiling ;
Ah! thy prospect is too smiling.
Welcome still, thy dear illusions;
Ever sweet thy wild effusions;
"Fair enchantress, gaily kind,
Ever bless thy poet's mind,"
Thine the inspiring song of peace,
Soon the plaint of woe shall cease;
Soon again a brighter guest
Calm the mourning soul to rest.
Roses in thy path shall bloom;
Think, oh! think of joys to come!
Come, Hope, and all my steps attend,
Oh! ever be my bosom friend;
To me thy fairest dreams impart,
And whisper comfort to my heart.
Oh! shed thy sweet, enchanting ray,
To bless my wild, romantic way.
In thy magic scene we view
Gay delusions, seeming true.
"Sweet musician, gaily kind,
Ever bless thy poet's mind!"
ALL Wisdom's ways are smooth and fair,
No treasures can with hers compare ;
More precious than the ruby bright,
She leads to honour and delight.
Seek her, and she is quickly found,
With never-fading olives crown'd.
Riches may fly within an hour,
Pale sickness wither Beauty's flower,
Death may our dearest friendships sever,
And rend the social tie for ever;
Ah! what but Wisdom then remains,
To cheer the heart beneath its pains!
To bid each murmuring thought arise,
And soar with rapture to the skies.
She calms the passions of the breast
With soothing hopes of future rest;
And, like a minister of Heaven,
She tells us “mortals are forgiven."
Then Ophir's gold to her is nought,
Nor polish'd silver finely wrought;
Nor all the jewels of the mine,
Compared with Wisdom's gem divine.
SLOWLY and softly let the music go,
ye wind upwards to the gray church-tower; Check the shrill hautboy,-let the pipe breathe low, Tread lightly on the pathside daisy-flower;
For she ye carry was a gentle bud,
Loved by the unsunn'd drops of silver dew;
Her voice was like the whisper of the wood
In prime of even, when the stars are few.
Lay her all gently in the flowerful mould;
Weep with her one brief hour; then turn away,—
Go to Hope's prison,-and from out the cold
And solitary gratings many a day
Look forth: 'tis said the world is growing old,—
And streaks of orient light in Time's horizon play.
Now Autumn strews on every plain
His mellow fruits and fertile grain;
And laughing Plenty, crown'd with sheaves,
With purple grapes, and spreading leaves,
In rich profusion pours around
Her flowing treasures on the ground.
Oh! mark the great, the liberal Hand,
That scatters blessings o'er the land;
And to the God of Nature raise
The grateful song, the hymn of praise.
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