With spirit, genius, eloquence supplied,
Lived long, wrote much, laughed heartily, and died;
The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew
Bon-mots to gall the Christian and the Jew;
An infidel in health, but what when sick?
Oh-then a text would touch him at the quick;
View him at Paris in his last career,
Surrounding throngs the demigod revere:
Exalted on his pedestal of pride,
And fumed with frankincense on every side,
He begs their flattery with his latest breath,
And, smothered in 't at last, is praised to death!
Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door,
Pillow and bobbins all her little store;
Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay,
Shuffling her threads about the livelong day,
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light ;
She, for her humble sphere by nature fit,
Has little understanding, and no wit,
Receives no praise; but, though her lot be such,
(Toilsome and indigent) she renders much;
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true—
A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew ;
And in that charter reads, with sparkling eyes,
Her title to a treasure in the skies.
Oh, happy peasant! Oh, unhappy bard!
His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward;
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come,
She never heard of half a mile from home:
He, lost in errors, his vain heart prefers,
She, safe in the simplicity of hers.
THE ADVENTURER ON THE SEA OF LIFE.
Of pleasure haply waft him, and he bounds
Exultingly upon the flatt'ring main;
Nor heeds the inexperienced boy the hints
Of prudence, and the counsels of the wise.
He steers impetuously through dancing waves,
And oceans of illusive bliss, till now—
Crashing upon her keel, his vessel lies
A total wreck upon th' undreaded reef!
"Avoid the shoal!" the sacred preacher cries:
The volumes of the dead and living ope
The monitory page, alas! in vain,
If Passion hold the helm, and Pleasure fill
The swelling sail; though Reason, Conscience, say "Avoid the shoal!" the voyager is lost!
MAIDEN! with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies
Like the dusk in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!
Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
As the dove, with startled eye,
Sees the falcon's shadow fly?
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
That our ears perceive no more,
Deafened by the cataract's roar?
Oh, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands,-life hath snares!
Care and age come unawares !
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered ;-
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,
To embalm that tent of snows.
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
Oh, that dew, like balm, shall steal
Into wounds that cannot heal,
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal;
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.
DAUGHTER, the Book Divine,
To which we turn for aid,
When prosperous skies unclouded shine,
Or dark-winged storms invade,
Is ever open to thine eye.
Imprint it on thy soul,
And wisdom that can never die
Shall thy young thoughts control.
Sweetest, the cheek of bloom,
Alas! how soon 't will wear
The clay-cold colouring of the tomb : Then while thine own is fair,
Low at His feet imploring fall,
Who loves the humble mind,
And whose high promise is, that all
Who early seek shall find.
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