Thou changest not-but I am changed' Since first thy pleasant banks I ranged'; And the grave stranger', come to see The playplace of his infancy', Has scarce a single trace of him' Who sported once upon thy brim. The visions of my youth are past— Too bright', too beautiful', to last. I've tried the world'-it wears no more The coloring of romance it wore. Yet well has nature kept the truth She promised to my earliest youth'; The radiant beauty, shed abroad On all the glorious works of God', Shows freshly, to my sobered eye', Each charm it wore in days gone by.

A few brief years shall pass away', And I, all trembling', weak, and gray', Bowed to the earth', which waits to fold My shes in the embracing mold', (If, haply, the dark will of fate Indulge my life so long a date',) May come for the last time to look Upon my childhood's favorite brook. Then dimly on my eye shall gleam The sparkle of thy dancing stream', And faintly on my ear shall fall Thy prattling current's merry call; Yet shalt thou flow as glad and bright As when thou met'st my infant sight.

And I shall sleep'-and on thy side',
As ages after ages glide',

Children their early sports shall try',
And pass to hoary age', and die.
But thou, unchanged from year to year',
Gaily shalt play and glitter here';
Amid young flowers and tender grass
Thy endless infancy shall pass';
And, singing down thy narrow glen',
Shalt mock the fading race of men.

LESSON LXXXIII.

THE YELLOW VIOLET.

WHEN beechen buds begin to swell',
And woods the bluebird's warble know',
The yellow violet's modest bell

Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume',

Sweet flower', I love, in forest bare',
To meet thee', when thy faint perfume
Alone is in the virgin air.

Of all her train', the hands of Spring
First plant thee in the watery mold',
And I have seen thee blossoming

Beside the snow-bank's edges cold.

Thy parent sun', who bade thee view

Pale skies', and chilling moisture sip', Has bathed thee in his own bright hue', And streaked with jet thy glowing lip.

Yet slight thy form', and low thy seat',
And earthward bent thy gentle eye',
Unapt the passing view to meet',

When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh.

Oft, in the sunless April day',

Thy early smile has stayed my walk', But midst the gorgeous blooms of May', I passed thee on thy humble stalk.

So they', who climb to wealth', forget
The friends in darker fortunes tried.
I copied them-but I regret'

That I should ape the ways of pride.

And when again the genial hour
Awakes the painted tribes of light',
I'll not o'erlook the modest flower

That made the woods of April bright.

LESSON LXXXIV.

EPITHALAMIUM.

I SAW two clouds at morning
Ting'd with the rising sun`;
And in the dawn they floated on',
And mingled into onè:

I thought that morning cloud was blest',
It mov'd so sweetly to the west.

I saw two summer currents

Flow smoothly to their meeting',

And joined their course, with silent forcé,
In peace each other greeting':

Calm was their course through banks of green',
While dimpling eddies play'd between.

Such be your gentle motion',

Till life's last pulse shall beat';

Like summer's beam, and summer's stream',

Float on', in joy, to meet'

A calmer sea, where storms shall ceasè-
A purer sky', where all is peacè.

LESSON LXXXV.

CHANGES ON THE DEEP.

A GALLANT ship'! and trim and tight',
Across the deep she speeds away',
While mantled with the golden light'
The sun throws back at close of day.
And who, that sees that stately ship'
Her haughty stem in ocean dip',
Has ever seen a prouder one'
Illumined by a setting sun'?

The breath of summer sweet and soft

Her canvass swells', while, wide and fair',

And floating from her mast aloft',

Her flag plays off on gentle air.
And as her steady prow divides
The waters to her even sides',
She passes, like a bird, between'
The peaceful deep and sky serene.

And now grave twilight's tender veil'
The moon, with shafts of silver, rends';
And down on billow, deck, and sail',
Her placid luster gently sends.
The stars, as if the arch of blue'
Were pierced to let the glory through',
From their bright world look out and win
The thoughts of man to enter in.

And, many a heart that's warm and true'
That noble ship bears on with pride';
While, 'mid the many forms, are two'
Of passing beauty, side by side.
A fair young mother standing by
Her bosom's lord', has fixed her eye',
With his, upon the blessed star'
That points them to their home afar.

Their thoughts fly forth to those, who there'
Are waiting now, with joy, to hail'
The moment that shall grant their prayer',
And heave in sight their coming sail.
For, many a time the changeful queen'
Of night has vanish'd', and been seen',
Since o'er a foreign shore to roam',
They passed from that dear, native home.

The babe, that on its father's breast',
Has let its little eyelids close',
The mother bears below to rest',

And sinks with it in sweet repose.
The while a sailor climbs the shroud',
And in the distance spies a cloud':
Low, like a swelling seed, it lies',

From which the towering storm shall rise.

The powers of air are now about'

To muster from their hidden caves';
The winds unchained come rushing out',
And into mountains heap the waves.
Upon the sky the darkness spreads'!
The tempest on the ocean treads';
And yawning caverns are its track'
Amid the waters wild and black.

Its voice-but, who shall give the sounds
Of that dread voice'?-The ship is dashed'
In roaring depths—and now, she bounds
On high', by foaming surges lashed.
And how is she the storm to bide'?
Its sweeping wings are strong and wide'!
The hand of man has lost control'
O'er her! his work is for the soul!

She's in a scene of nature's war.

The winds and waters are at strife';
And both, with her, contending for'

The brittle thread of human life'
That she contains'; while sail and shroud
Have yielded', and her head is bowed.
Then, who that slender thread shall keep'
But He, whose finger moves the deep'?

A moment-and the angry blast'

Has done its work', and hurried on.
With broken cables', shivered mast',
With riven sides', and anchor goné,
Behold the ship in ruin lie';

While from the waves a piercing cry'
Surmounts the tumult high and wild',

And sounds to heaven', 'My child'! my child'!'

The mother, in the whelming surge',

Lifts up her infant o'er the sea',
While lying on the awful verge'
Where time unveils eternity-
And calls to mercy from the skies',
To come and rescue, while she dies',
The gift that, with her fleeting breath',
She offers from the gates of death.