And thou shalt fly from woe;
The one thy heedless heart will greet
With Judas smile, and thou wilt meet
In every fool a foe !"

So safely mayst thou pass from these,
And reach secure the home of peace,
And friendship find thee there.

No happier state can mortal know,
No happier lot can earth bestow,
If love thy lot shall share.

Yet still content with him may dwell
Whom Hymen will not bless,
And virtue sojourn in the cell
Of hermit happiness.

THE MORNING MIST.

LOOK, William, how the morning mists
Have covered all the scene,
Nor house nor hill canst thou behold,
Grey wood, or meadow green.

The distant spire across the vale
These floating vapours shroud,
Scarce are the neighbouring poplars seen,
Pale shadowed in the cloud.

But seest thou, William, where the mists
Sweep o'er the southern sky,
The dim effulgence of the sun
That lights them as they fly?

Soon shall that glorious orb of day
In all his strength arise,
And roll along his azure way,

Through clear and cloudless skies.

Then shall we see across the vale
The village spire so white,

And the grey wood and meadow green
Shall live again in light.

So, William, from the moral world
The clouds shall pass away;

The light that struggles through them now
Shall beam eternal day.

TO THE BURNIE* BEE.

BLITHE Son of summer, furl thy filmy wing,
Alight beside me on this bank of moss;
Yet to its sides the lingering shadows cling,
And sparkling dews the dark-green tufts emboss.

Here mayst thou freely quaff the nectar'd sweet
That in the violet's purple chalice hides,
Here on the lily scent thy fringed feet,

Or with the wild-thyme's balm anoint thy sides.
Back o'er thy shoulders throw those ruby shards
With many a tiny coal-black freckle deckt,
My watchful look thy loitering saunter guards,
My ready hand thy footstep shall protect.

Daunted by me beneath this trembling bough
On forked wing no greedy swallow sails,
No hopping sparrow pries for food below,
Nor evet lurks, nor dusky blindworm trails.
Nor shall the swarthy gaoler for thy way

His grate of twinkling threads successful strain, With venom'd trunk thy writhing members slay, Or from thy heart the reeking life's-blood drain.

Forego thy wheeling in the sunny air,

Thy glancing to the envious insects round, To the dim calmness of my bower repair,

Silence and coolness keep its hallowed ground.

Here to the elves who sleep in flowers by day
Thy softest hum in lulling whispers pour,
Or o'er the lovely band thy shield display,
When blue-eyed twilight sheds her dewy shower.

* A provincial name of the beetle coccinella, or lady-bird.

So shall the fairy-train by glow-worm light
With rainbow tints thy folding pennons fret,
Thy scaly breast in deeper azure dight,

Thy burnish'd armour speck with glossier jet.

With viewless fingers weave thy wintry tent,
And line with gossamer thy pendant cell,
Safe in the rift of some lone ruin pent

Where ivy shelters from the storm-wind fell.

Blest if like thee I cropt with heedless spoil
The gifts of youth and pleasure in their bloom,
Doom'd for no coming winter's want to toil,
Fit for the spring that waits beyond the tomb.

THE DANCING BEAR.

RECOMMENDED TO THE ADVOCATES FOR THE SLAVE TRADE.

RARE music! I would rather hear cat-courtship
Under my bed-room window in the night,

Than this scraped cat-gut's screak. Rare dancing too!
Alas, poor bruin! how he foots the pole

And waddles round it with unwieldy steps

Swaying from side to side !—The dancing master

Hath had as profitless a pupil in thee

As when he would have tortured my poor toes

To minuet grace, and made them move like clock-work

In musical obedience. Bruin! bruin!

Thou art but a clumsy biped !—and the mob
With noisy merriment mock his heavy pace,

And laugh to see him led by the nose,-themselves
Led by the nose, embruted, and in the eye
Of reason from their nature's purposes

As miserably perverted.

Bruin-bear,

Now could I sonnetize thy piteous plight,
And prove how much my sympathetic heart
Even for the miseries of a beast can feel,