The fervent youth released from care,

Now ravages the bounteous fields, Unmindful of the wild despair

To which the injured songster yields,

When all its hope, and all its toil,
Serve only to augment his spoil.

Ah! would that thy diffusive song

Might reach the unrelenting heart Of those who, thus offending, long

To share the joy thou canst impart :

So timely and so chaste a call

Should bring unmeasured peace to all.

When feeling lends a gracious ear

To musings that thou wouldst inspire,

It is not oft the rising tear

Of pity fills the breast with ire,

To show that man, except in name,
Is but a type of guilt and shame.

But hearken ye who court the truth

Of language that the soul reveals; While sordid desecrating youth

The nestling of the blackbird steals, The Muse, in stern indignant verse, Shall yet the wanton crime rehearse.

And sing, thou cheering Cuckoo, sing, If melody possess the charm

Of blending with the mantled spring,

The virtue of its soothing balm; And rival tongues shall all rejoice

To hail thy soft approving voice.

STANZAS.

WHEN, in the calm of Summer's eve,
So pleasing to the wearied mind,

I've seized upon the short reprieve
Suspended care has left behind,

To hail the bland refreshing air

Along the neighbouring landscape driven,

And taste commingled odours rare,

Made sweeter by the dews of heaven,

Unconsciously I've reached the glade,

Where not a sound has met my ear,

Or look of soul-inspiring maid

My eye, to intercept the tear Impending when, at such an hour,

Has transiently appeared in sight, Some lovely form I've known to lower

In everlasting dreamless night.

The Moon, perhaps, as yet concealed
By richly intervening shade,

Has now her modest charms revealed,

And o'er my path in brightness played. This heart attuned to lighter throb,

In honour of the gracious call,

Has quickly checked each rising sob,
And dared another tear to fall.

But Summer's eve and shining Moon
Refuse to linger on their way,

While clouded skies too oft at noon

Convert to lonely night my day.

Then is it that I court the smile

Which never yet was shed in vain, And feel my anguish all the while Sustaining less its weight of pain.

Then is it, hear me ye who doubt

The sacred charm of woman's love,

That all is dreariness without

The light she brings me from above.

THE DREAM.

In the darkness of night, when around me pervaded
A stillness conducive to tranquil repose,
A vision of feminine beauties invaded

My slumber with thoughtfulness as it arose.

Unlike the degenerate daughters of pleasure,

Whom fancy adorns with superfluous wreaths,

They were richly endowed with that heavenly treasure Which love in its sweetest simplicity breathes.

Not a countenance beamed but with kindly emotion,
To learn that each other was equally blest;

Not an incident rose to disturb the devotion
That seemed on this lovely assemblage to rest.

Elated with joy at the fancied possession

Of all that extravagant hope could desire,

I gazed on the scene till its fervid impression

Transported my soul with celestial fire.