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Written in GERMANY.

"Tis sweet to him who all the week
Thro' city crowds must push his way,
To stroll alone thro' fields and woods
And hallow thus the Sabbath-Day.

And sweet it is in summer bower,
Sincere, affectionate, and gay,

'One's own dear children feasting round
To celebrate one's marriage day.

But what is all to his delight

Who having long been doom'd to roam, Throws off the bundle from his back

Before the door of his own home!

Home-sickness is no baby pang,

This feel I hourly more and more,

There's healing only in thy wings

Thou Breeze that play'st on Albion's shore.





Child of the Spring! fair opening Flower! I love thine early bloom;

To snatch thee from yon sheltering bower, Let no rude hand presume.

Yet, yet protected from the blast,
Thy leaves in beauty blow;
Ah soon thy halcyon days are past,
Stern winter lays thee low.

But when revolves the varying year,
And sleeps the wasting storm,
Returning life again shall cheer,
Thy renovated form.

When nature's rougher skies are fled,
Then cloth'd in loveliest hue,

Again thou'lt lift thy gentle head,
And drink the vernal dew.

O say of what has pride and power

On life's low vale to boast?

Poor Flutterers! they but live their hour, Then mingle with the dust,

For so in life's delightful morn,
Fair laughs the sunny eye,
To some few hours of joyance born,
Beneath a cloudless sky.

So swift is pass'd our little day,
And such our transient doom;
Here let us pause, nor dare to say
What lies beyond the tomb.

To his VEIL.

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Come mute remembrancer of her, the Maid,
From whom in joyless hour I sigh'd to part,
In whose blue eye the laughing loves have played
And aim'd their recreant arrows at my heart.

Come and enfold my throbbing temples round,

And shroud me from the Summer's noon tide ray, While I to many a distant haven bound, Thoughtless of all but her, pursue my way.

When faint with toil and weary, I am laid,
Beneath some spreading tree, or sheltering bower,
With thee I'll slumber on the green-turf shade,
Safe from the humming gnat-fly's tyrant power.

Then will some courteous Sprite of Dreams renew
Those rapid hours I tasted once of bliss ;
When rose united on my raptur'd view

The kindred forms of her and happiness.

Go gentle Veil, and seek the spotless Fair,
Tell her my days are days of sorrow here;
Of blasted youth the mournful story bear,
And bid soft Pity drop one passing tear.

Tell her in thought I visit oft the shore,

Where hope once whisper'd the impassion'd tale, And say though haply we may meet no more Still on those scenes remembrance loves to dwell.

Tell her on many a giddy height I've stood,
And fearless stemm'd the vast unmeasur'd tide;
Yet never has the threatening Ocean flood
Recall'd my wandering Spirit from her side.

Tell her-but no, from thee I'll never part,
Faithful companion of my careless road


Her hands first form'd thee-come then, next my heart Thou mute memorial, be thy lov'd abode.

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