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Him who in moral mood this image drew;
More pleasing to the heart, and yet to Nature true.
Behold a lane retired and green,
Winding amid a forest-scene,
With blooming furze in many a radiant heap;
One colt is frisking by her side,
And one among her feet is safely stretch'd in sleep.
And lo! a little maiden stands,
With thistles in her tender hands,
Tempting with kindly words the colt to eat ;
Or gently down before him lays,
With words of solace and of praise,
Pluck'd from the untrodden turf the herbage soft and sweet.
The summer sun is sinking down,
And the peasants from the market town
With cheerful hearts are to their homes returning;
Stirring with mirth the silent air,
O'er all their eager eyes the light of laughter burning.
The ass hath got his burthen still!
The merry elves the panniers fill:
Delighted there from side to side they swing.
The creature heeds nor shout nor call,
But jogs on careless of them all,
Whether in harmless sport they gaily strike or sing.
A gipsey-group! the secret wood
Stirs through its leafy solitude,
As wheels the dance to many a jocund tune;
From the brown tents, and sparkling fires,
And silently feeds on beneath the silent moon.
The Moon sits o'er the huge oak tree,
That mocks the hour of beauty and of rest;
The soul of all her softest rays
On yonder placid creature plays,
As if she wish'd to cheer the hardships of the opprest.
But now the silver moonbeams fade,
And, peeping through a flowery glade,
STUDIES IN POETRY.
An ass stands meek and patient there,
And by her side a spectre fair,
To drink the balmy cup once more before she dies.
With tenderest care the pitying dame
And strives with laughing looks her heart to cheer;
Unconscious of the doom that waits their lady dear!
I feel this mournful dream impart
A holier image to my heart,
For oft doth grief to thoughts sublime give birth :-
I see thee bath'd in heavenly light,
Shed from that wond'rous child-The Saviour of the earth.
When, flying Herod's murd'rous rage,
When thousands rush'd to Salem's gate,
To see mid holy hymns the sinless man pass by.
Happy thou wert,-nor low thy praise,
In peaceful patriarchal days,
When countless tents slow passed from land to land
Such quiet scene did meetly grace,
Circling the pastoral camp in many a stately band.
Poor wretch!-my musing dream is o'er;
Thy shivering form I view once more,
And all the pains thy race is doom'd to prove.
But they whose thoughtful spirits see
The truth of life, will pause with me,
And bless thee in a voice of gentleness and love!
THE air of death breathes through our souls,
The dead all round us lie;
By day and night the death-bell tolls,
The face that in the morning sun
I see the old man in his grave,
The loving ones we loved the best,
And the wan moonlight bathes in rest
But not when the death-prayer is said
And holy midnight voices sweet
We know who sends the visions bright, From whose dear side they came! --We veil our eyes before thy light, We bless our Saviour's name
This frame of dust, this feeble breath The Plague may soon destroy; We think on Thee, and feel in death A deep and awful joy.
Dim is the light of vanish'd years
When Jesus calls us home.
Like children for some bauble fair
What's the grandeur of the earth
To thy kingdom all have gone.
The wondrous band;
Bards, heroes, sages, side by side,
Earth has hosts; but thou canst show
No step has come;
There fix'd, till the last thunder's sound
DOMESTIC Love! not in proud palace halls
And many a bird to warble on the wing,
When morn her saffron robe o'er heaven and earth doth fling.
O! love of loves!-to thy white hand is given
Of earthly happiness the golden key.
Thine are the joyous hours of winter's even,
When the babes cling around their father's knee;
CUPID CARRYING PROVISIONS.
THERE was once a gentle time
Thenne a rosie, dimplede cheeke,
But thatte time is gone and paste,
Oh, for the olde true-love time,