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And watchful share for days and years,
Thy sorrows, joys, sighs, smiles, and tears!
For good and guiltless as thou art,

Some transient griefs will touch thy heart,
Griefs that along thy alter'd face

Will breathe a more subduing grace,
Than ev❜n those looks of joy that lie
On the soft cheek of infancy.

Though looks, God knows, are cradied there
That guilt might cleanse, or sooth despair,

Oh! vision fair! that I could be

Again as young, as pure as thee!

Vain wish! the rainbow's radiant form
May view, but cannot brave the storm;
Years can bedim the gorgeous dies
That paint the bird of paradise,
And years, so fate hath order'd, roll
Clouds o'er the summer of the soul.
Yet, sometimes, sudden sights of grace,
Such as the gladness of thy face,
O sinless babe! by God are given
To charm the wanderer back to heaven.

No common impulse hath me led
To this green spot, thy quiet bed,
Where, by mere gladness overcome,
In sleep thou dreamest of thy home.
When to the lake I would have gone,
A wondrous beauty drew me on,
Such beauty as the spirit sees

In glittering fields, and moveless trees,
After a warm and silent shower,
Ere falls on earth the twilight hour.
What led me hither, all can say,
Who, knowing God, his will obey.
Thy slumbers now cannot be long:
Thy little dreams become too strong

For sleep, too like realities:
Soon shall I see those hidden eyes!
Thou wakest, and, starting from the ground,
In dear amazement look'st around;
Like one who, little given to roam,
Wonders to find herself from home!
But, when a stanger meets thy view,
Glistens thine eye with wilder huc.
A moment's thought who I may be,
Blends with thy smiles of courtesy.
Fair was that face as break of dawn,
When o'er its beauty sleep was drawn
Like a thin veil that half-conceal'd
The light of soul, and half-reveal'd.
While thy hush'd heart with visions wrought,
Each trembling eye-lash moved with thought,
And things we dream, but ne'er can speak,
Like clouds came floating o'er thy cheek,
Such summer-clouds as travel light,

When the soul's heaven lies calm and bright;
Till thou awok'st,-then to thine eye
Thy whole heart leapt in ecstasy!

And lovely is that heart of thine,
Or sure these eyes could never shine
With such a wild, yet bashful glee,
Gay, half-o'ercome timidity!
Nature has breath'd into thy face
A spirit of unconscious grace;

A spirit that lies never still,

And makes thee joyous 'gainst thy will.
As sometimes o'er a sleeping lake
Soft airs a gentle ripling make,
Till, ere we know, the strangers fly,
And water blends again with sky.

Oh! happy sprite! did'st thou but know
What pleasures through my being flow

From thy soft eyes, a holier feeling

From their blue light could ne'er be stealing,
But thou wouldst be more loth to part,

And give me more of that glad heart!
Oh! gone thou art! and bearest hence
The glory of thy innocence.

But with deep joy I breathe the air
That kiss'd thy cheek, and fann'd thy hair,
And feel though fate our lives must sever,
Yet shall thy image live forever!

JOHN WILSON.

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TO AN EARLY VIOLET.

WHY lovely stranger rear thy head;
Within this spot so wild and sere?
No hand of lover decks thy bed,
No feet of beauty linger here.

Why waste thy fragrance here, ah! why?
Seek'st thou fond welcome at my home?
The tyrant Care has dimm'd that eye,
Which lov'd o'er Nature's breast to roam.

She, kind instructress, taught in youth,
My simple heart a feeling true:
A taste for science, friendship, truth;
But ting'd the boon with Sorrow's hue.

As yet no tepid breezes blow,

From realms where golden Summer sleeps;
The gloomy monarch, Winter, slow
Retires across the northern steeps.

O hide thee! evening's vapours chill
Shall soon thy tender flow'rets shroud;
Adown the base of yonder hill,
I see intwine the gath'ring cloud.

Why, solitary stranger, why
So anxious to behold the day?
The sun that wak'd thy morning sigh,
Mourns now obscur'd his evening ray.

And see, where on untiring wing
The swallow flees the spreading rack;
Precursor of the coming spring,
He hies him to the goddess back.

Hark! how the northern tempest swells,
Amid the groves of murmuring pine!
Forsaken beauty shut thy bells,
For never ending night is thine.

But long as blushing Love shall sigh
In willing ears the tender vow,
So long Hyperion's amorous eye,
Shall ne'er view sweeter flower than thou.

The night is past, the storm is o'er,
And Nature wakes from wonted rest;
I'll give this little wither'd flower,
Asylum in my aching breast:-

Its fate and mine so well agree,
"Twill teach me earthly hopes are vain:
For faithless Laura smil'd on me,

Then broke my heart with cold disdain.

SPRING IN PHILADELPHIA COUNTY.

Apostrophe to the Loxia Cardinalis.

Crested bird of plumage red
Com'st to see is winter fled?

Inciter to the farmer's toil,
Welcome to our grateful soil!

'G.

YOL. I.

Yet still the frost endures the morn

Spangles the swamp and studs the thorn,
Its brilliant gems on every bush,
Unmelting, slight Aurora's blush;
And pendent willows, crystals weeping,
Still inform us Sol is sleeping.

Pretty bird of plumage red

Thou stayst!-then sure is winter fled.

Quickly the cold dispels. Each stream
Swells high with joy. What fishes teem
Swift ascending from the sea,

To bathe in fresh variety.

Our steady sunshine warmer glowing,
Light more flaval round us throwing
Glads our eyes, and sprights the veins
Of our misses, and our swains.

Pretty bird of plumage red

Thou bidest here, and winter's fled.

Now smoothly roll your giant tides
Rivers of freedom! safely rides

The anchor'd vessel; joyous sounds
The "yoe heave oh," along your bounds,
The sailor bending o'er the yard,

Gaily performs his toil so hard.

And soon descend with swelling sails
Favoured by Zephyr's steadying gales
Fleets of gallant merchantmen
From the prospering town of Penn,
No icy rocks the waves now bear
Dertructive of the pilot's care.

Pretty bird of plumage red

Well notest thou the winter's fled.

To where rough cataracts impede,
Now the shoaling shad proceed
With herrings sporting in their van
Thicker and broader in the spam

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