My early hopes were, as thy dawning, bright, My youthful visions, as thy colours, gay;

The winged hours that wafted new delight, On noiseless pinions sped unheard away.

No lingering moment mark'd time's rapid flight, Nor caution watch'd the storm that ambush'd lay, Till o'er my head it burst with furious sway,

Shrouded the smiling scene in sudden night; Dash'd from my lips the tasted cup of bliss, And whelmed me in despair's profound abyss.

VERSIFICATION

Of a remark of Pliny- that all the elements were, in their turn, hostile to man, except the earth, who sustained him with the kindness of a mother, furnished an antidote for every poison that he might draw from her, and provided him with a couch of rest at his death.

[From the North American Review.]

MAN, on the mingled elements depends For food, for warmth, for solace, and for breath, Yet foes attack him in the garb of friends, To work his woe, and haste his hour of death. Air, the sweet air, his feeble frame that feeds, Mounts with the tempest, on the whirlwind speeds;

Breaks the strong trees that o'er his mansion spread,
Strews the lov'd roof in ruins o'er his head;

Lifts the white surge, the angry ocean sweeps,
And whelms the vessel in the foaming deeps.

The limpid water, which his health sustains,
And sends new vigour through his wasted veins,
Rising in wrath, a sudden deluge pours

To waste his crops, and desolate his shores.
His tall domes sink,-his lofty fabrics float-
Where bloom'd his gardens, frowns a stagnant moat.
Slow, humid vapours from the bound arise,
And pestilential fogs obscure the skies.

The cheerful flame, his torpid blood that warms,
Blown to quick vengeance, like a fury storms;
Amid the shouts of fear, and terror's cry,
Winds its red volumes round the midnight sky;
Consumes the fabric that his labour rear'd,
Destroys the form, by ties of love endear'd;
Blackens his beauty, lays his glory low,
Feeds on his wealth, and riots in his woe.

See where its strength by marble bonds comprest, In earth's dark caverns, heaves her tortur'd breast; Bursts from its vault, the trembling mountain rends, In streams of wild, sulphureous wrath descends; Blasts the green forests, ravages the plains, Destroys the vineyards, cottages, and swains, Rolls over cities vast its whelming tide,

O'er regal palaces, and tow'rs of pride;

Their sculptur'd grandeur feeds the transient blaze,
And o'er their heads the burning billow plays.
Then oh, is man, with heaven's deputed sway,
At once the sport, the victim, and the prey?
Have all the elements combin'd as foes,
His harm to compass, and his good oppose?
No; one alone, the hapless being spares,
Wages no war, and no resistance dares.

Yes, earth, kind earth, her new-born son beholds, Spreads a soft shelter, in her robe enfolds,

Still, like a mother kind, her love retains,

Cheers by her sweetness, with her food sustains;
Paints her fair flow'rs to wake his infant smile,
Spreads out her fruits to soothe his hour of toil;
Renews her prospects, versatile and gay,
To charm his eye, and cheat his cares away;
And if her roseate buds, a thorn conceal,
If some sharp sting the roving hand should feel,
A med'cine kind, the sweet physician sends,
And where her poison wounds, her balm defends.
But when, at last, her drooping charge declines,
When the dear lamp of life no longer shines
When o'er its broken idol, friendship mourns,
And love, in horror, from its object turns-
E'en while affection shudders, as it grieves,
She to her arms, her mould'ring son receives,
Sings a low requiem, to her darling birth,

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;

Return! thou lov'd one, to thy parent earth."

Safe in her bosom, the deposit keeps,

Until the flame that dries the watery deeps,

Spreads o'er the parching skies its quenchless blaze,
Reddens her features, on her vitals preys.

Then, struggling in her last, convulsive throes,
She wakes her treasure from his deep repose,
Stays her last groan, amid dissolving fires,
Resigns him to his Maker, and expires.

TIME AND PLEASURE.

[From the North American Review.]

WHILE Time's vast car with furious force,
O'er Pleasure's fields its path pursued;
She tried each art to stop his course,
And thus rebuk'd, besought, and woo'd.

"How dar'st thou o'er my garden ride,
"The haunt of beauty, youth, and love;
Thy iron wheels crush all its pride,

"And fright the songsters from my grove.

"Look at the ruin thou hast made!

My Paradise is half defac'd;

"Where thou hast pass'd 'tis all decay'd,

"All leafless, desolate, and waste.

"These brilliant flow'rs before thee view,
"Whose odours all the air perfume;
"For pity do not crush them too;

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Spare me these few, for thee they bloom.

"Stay then awhile, and rest thee now,
"Here in my bow'r thy dwelling keep;
"I'll twine my roses round thy brow,
“And lull thee in my lap to sleep.

"See Love and Beauty kneeling there,
"To beg, entreat thee to remain.
"Shall Beauty breathe a fruitless prayer,
"And winning Love implore in vain?

Why thus mispend thy precious hours; "What whim impels thy wayward mind To fly from Pleasure's couch of flow'rs, "And linger when on thorns reclin'd?

"Why, why this hurry to be gone,

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"When all my bliss depends on thee? Dear, do not drive so madly on,

"O stay one moment here with me.

"What, wilt thou go?-then I'll not stay,

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Thy car shall be my blest abode;

"I'll sing to cheer thy weary way,

"And scatter flow'rs along the road."