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VII.

COMPOSED A FEW DAYS AFTER THE FOREGOING.

WHEN haughty expectations prostrate lie,
And grandeur crouches like a guilty thing,
Oft shall the lowly weak, till nature bring
Mature release, in fair society

Survive, and Fortune's utmost anger try;
Like these frail snow-drops that together cling,
And nod their helmets smitten by the wing
Of many a furious whirl-blast sweeping by.
Observe the faithful flowers! if small to great
May lead the thoughts, thus struggling used to stand
The Emathian phalanx, nobly obstinate ;
And so the bright immortal Theban band,
Whom onset, fiercely urged at Jove's command,
Might overwhelm, but could not separate!

VIII.

THE Stars are mansions built by Nature's hand;
The Sun is peopled; and with Spirits blest,
Say, can the gentle Moon be unpossest?.
Huge Ocean shows, within his yellow strand,
A Habitation marvellously planned,

For life to occupy in love and rest;
All that we see is dome, or vault, or nest,
Or fort, erected at her sage command.

Is this a vernal thought? Even so, the Spring
Gave it while cares were weighing on my heart,
Mid song of birds, and insects murmuring ;
And while the youthful year's prolific art-

Of bud, leaf, blade, and flower was fashioning

Abodes, where self-disturbance hath no part.

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LADY! the songs of Spring were in the grove
While I was shaping beds for winter flowers;
While I was planting green unfading bowers, but
And shrubs to hang upon the warm alcove,

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And sheltering wall; and still, as fancy wovess 90T

The dream, to time and nature's blended powers,II

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A labyrinth, Lady! which your feet shall rove. 1-> Yes! when the sun of life more feebly shines, 1}} Becoming thoughts, I trust, of solemn gloom out. Or of high gladness you shall hither bring site or I And these perennial bowers and murmuring pines \/ Be gracious as the music and the bloom,v,10 And all the mighty ravishment of spring, floor

X.

TO THE LADY MARY LOWTHER,

WITH A SELECTION FROM THE POEMS OF ANNE, COUNTESS OF WILCHELSEA; AND EXTRACTS OF SIMILAR CHARACTER FROM OTHER WRITERS; TRANSCRIBED BY A FEMALE FRIEND.

LADY! I rifled a Parnassian Cave
(But seldom trod) of mildly-gleaming ore;
And culled, from sundry beds, a lucid store
Of genuine crystals, pure as those that pave
The azure brooks where Dian joys to lave
Her spotless limbs; and ventured to explore
Dim shades for reliques, upon
Lethe's shore,

Cast up at random by the sullen wave.

To female hands the treasures were resigned;

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From stain or taint; in which thy blameless mind

May feed on thoughts though pensive not austere; Or, if thy deeper spirit be inclined

To holy musing, it may enter here.

XI.

THERE is a pleasure in poetic pains

Which only Poets know; 'twas rightly said;

Whom could the Muses else allure to tread

Their smoothest paths, to wear their lightest chains? When happiest Fancy has inspired the Strains,

How oft the malice of one luckless word

Pursues the Enthusiast to the social board,

Haunts him belated on the silent plains!

Yet he repines not, if his thought stand clear
At last of hindrance and obscurity,

Fresh as the Star that crowns the brow of Morn;

Bright, speckless as a softly-moulded tear

The moment it has left the Virgin's eye,

Or rain-drop lingering on the pointed Thorn.

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