That mirthful innocence which never cloyed, Nor with a pang thy mother's peace alloyed, By grace refined, now dignifies the scene With all the virtues of a heavenly mien.

The task I yield already in despair

Of treating rightly what I ne'er can share, Till in my death those gifts are also mine, Which in this life, dear maid, are only thine.

TO AMANDA.

THERE are visions so bright

In the stillness of night,

When thy lips are implanted on mine,

That the angels above

Might surrender their love,

To inherit such kisses as thine.

The aërials sigh,

As they hurry fast by,

To partake of the joy that is ours;

And disporting away,

Flit along through the day,

In the hope to obtain it in flowers.

And the fairies emerge

From the silvery verge

Of the fountains in which they reside,

To be charmed with the air

Of so happy a pair,

And then back to their element glide.

The glad rays of the sun

In their brilliancy run,

To embrace us before they depart;

And the glimmering moon

Rushes on with a boon

Of enchantment for each other's heart.

An ethereal breeze

Ever plays on the trees,

When we walk in the loneliest shade;

And the songs of the birds

Are the music of words

That we breathe in the redolent glade.

As the meteors rise

To our view in the skies,

They invoke a perpetual rest

On the bosoms that wear

Not a vestige of care,

But are always unspeakably blest.

TO THE THRUSH.

HERALD of spring! thy quickening call
To unawakened joy inspires

The listless grove, the fields, and all
Inherent hope with fond desires;

While storms, arrested by thy spell,

Shrink back in frozen wilds to dwell.

The Genii of the woods revere

Thee as the soul of fabled Pan, Enlivening with thy strains the ear

Of generous and untutored man ; And, smiling in their woodland flowers, They lure thee to their sylvan bowers.

Lavish of song, thy music fills

The distant plain with varied mirth, That wakes the voice of echoing hills,

Till all the teeming face of earth,

Responsive to thy vocal sweets,
The story of thy love repeats.

The shade of heathen Druid holds

Communion with thy sprightly race,

In mystic language that unfolds

Its virtue in the pleasing grace Of mistletoe, dispensing charms To Britons with extended arms!

Pomona, with indulgent hand,

Invites thee to her rich domain;

Yea, cultured and uncultured land

Attest thy undisputed reign;

While admiration seals the tongue

When listening to thy welcome song!

E