Father and mother are but men, Rub more rosin on your bow, Moll, bring the 'Squire our great armchair: WHILE ZEPHYRS FAN THE VERDANT GROVES. BY JOSIAS LYNDON ARNOLD. WHILE Zephyrs fan the verdant groves, While shepherds tell the nymphs their loves, To yonder cottage of my fair My anxious footsteps tend; What joy so great as viewing there To her I fear not to disclose The feelings of my heart; She bears a part in all my woes-- If e'er she weeps, I kiss the tear, If she is pleased, joy shows me near She's youthful, innocent, and gay, But though each shepherd's heart she charms, And they before her bend, MARY WILL SMILE. BY WILLIAM CLIFTON. THE morn was fresh, and pure the gale, Where birds of love were ever pairing, The arms of ruthless war preparing. "Though now," he cried, "I seek the hostile plain, Mary shall smile, and all be fair again." She seized his hand, and "Ah!" she cried, "Wilt thou, to camps and war a stranger, Desert thy Mary's faithful side, And bare thy life to every danger? Yet go, brave youth! to arms away! My maiden hands for fight shall dress thee, And when the drum beats far away, I'll drop a silent tear and bless thee. Returned with honor from the hostile plain, "The bugles through the forest wind, The woodland soldiers call to battle,Be some protecting angel kind, And guard thy life when cannons rattle!" She sung, and as the rose appears In sunshine, when the storm is over, THE RUINS. BY SELLECK OSBORN. I've seen, in twilight's pensive hour, That dome, where grateful voices sung, Majestically grand! I've seen, mid sculptured pride, the tomb Those who, with laurelled honours crowned, I've seen in death's dark palace laid, That maiden who, while life remained, I've seen, where dungeon damps abide, He who, in reason's happier day, Nor dome, nor tower, in twilight shade, Can with such pathos touch my breast |