And days that once profusely cast

A radiant smile around my soul,

Seem not as those already past,

But still in fancy's eye to roll.

And only to recal the scene

When, yielding cheerfully to rule,

I bounded lightly o'er the green,

In journeying to the distant school*,

While caroling in cloudless sky

Appeared the lark on joyous wing,

And birds of every varied dye

Essayed with equal mirth to sing

*The road from Bulwell to Hucknall Torkard, passing through the estate of the Rev. Alfred Padley, affords in summer a delightful treat to the lovers of rural scenery. The school at Hucknall, but a few yards distant from the church in which lie the remains of the illustrious Byron, though it presents not now a like claim to distinction, was, at the period I allude to, conducted by the Rev. Joseph Bosworth, whose researches in Anglo-Saxon literature have earned for him a place in the esteem of every distinguished European scholar.

Is soon to dissipate the ills

That most afflict my languid frame, And leave the rudest storm that chills

But little more than known in name.

Then will I court the lone retreat

Where, sauntering unobserved along, Or choosing now my grassy seat,

I may enjoy the Blackbird's song.

And when in death this form shall lie, No other requiem do I crave

Than that this bird approaching nigh,

May warble o'er my silent grave.

DAISIES.

AT the dawn of Creation, while all of the spheres

Had as yet to compute their existence in years Of enduring, unchangeable Time,

A memento of love, in a plentiful shower

Of kisses from other orbs sweetened the hour
Of their greeting with Earth in her prime.

In her generous bosom the welcome begot
A reciprocal passion that, languishing not
In the hands of her Maker whose praise is

In all her dominions, insensibly reared

An abundance of miniature stars, that appeared

In the beautiful structure of daisies.

When the Sun in his splendour eclipses the light

Of the planets that shine on her mantle by night,

With serene imperturbable ray,

These little adornings of Nature supply

Her with lustre, as jewels embellish the sky
With their beams on the Milky Way.

And when the pale goddess of night again throws Her veil over the skies, and invitingly glows

In the stars that bespangle her robe ;

The daisies exhausted with laughing all day

In the arms of the grasses that join them in play,

Sleep o'er the terraqueous globe.

ON A LADY SLEEPING.

How can I refuse to comply with a duty,

Enforced with an eloquence all but divine, That a lady reclining before me in beauty

Deserves at my hand an appropriate line!

Sweet type of a seraph reposing in blisses,

Thy spirit has only the flesh to lay down; And dreaming no longer of rapturous kisses,

Away would it wing to undying renown!