Then that cold heart, where kindled not

One thankful glow before;

Will murmur that the pleasant lot,

It now enjoys no more.

Oh, thankless man! while round thee blows,
Heaven's mild reviving breath,
Thy dark corrupted spirit knows,
No atmosphere but death!

Until that breath of love divine,
New thoughts and feelings give ;

Breathe on that clay-cold heart of thine,
And bid thee rise and live.

-12th Month, 1841.

LIGHTS.

Sunlight is glorious, when the monarch pours
The all-penetrating ray: and moonlight's beam
Is peaceful as an angel's fairest face;

And starlight, too, is beautiful, when hosts—
The shining ones of these our lower skies-
Keep watch upon the earth. The cheerful beam
Of firelight tells of social joy, and binds

In closer bonds the cherished ones of home-
A union sweet! and twilght's pensive ray,
When falls the curtain o'er the darkened land-
Her's is a solemn spell. But ah! if these,
The feeble lights of earth, have majesty,
Or peaceful influence, or solemn power,
Who-who shall tell us of the light of heaven?
-2nd Month, 1845.

APOLOGY FOR SILENCE.

And wherefore silent is the evening stroll
Beneath the moonlit sky? And wherefore droops
The pensive head? And wherefore move the feet
As undirected? Silence oft proceeds

From lack of thought, vacuity of brain;
But often it may be the heart, so full
Of feelings exquisite and undefined,
Finds not, among its deep absorbing thoughts,
One which it can appropriately clothe

In language or in song-for they may be
Ethereal, as the glow of yonder skies,

Which, where's the artist that can fitly paint

With pencil or with pen?

bounds,

Thoughts must have

And bounds which man's conception can embrace,

Ere he can form their images in words;

But there are thoughts unbounded-thoughts that

grasp

Man's very soul-and silence is their voice.

-4th Month, 1842.

TO THE SIBTHORPIA OR CORNISH

MONEYWORT.

So modest, so gentle, so mild,

Thou creature of delicate form,

Kind nature's most favourite child,

Which she shelters so well from the storm.

Thy clustering leaflets are strung,
At the head of the streamlet so wild,
Like the curls that are gracefully hung
On the brow of a beautiful child.

-1843.

TO MARY.

My Sister, from the moment,
When on me first she smiled,
Through years of fond affection,
Has been my fellow-child.

And a few steps before me,
Did year by year advance;

Oft looking back to help me,

As doubtful steps might chance.

Must I of childhood's fancies,
Some wild vagaries sing?

When thou the barrier passest,
That endeth childhood's spring?

Nay! ask it not my sister,

But if the prospect's fair, Be thine to tell me rather,

The scenes that open there.

But thou wilt tell me sage-like,

That truly there is none,

Who once has passed that barrier,
That ever found it one.

Perhaps some gentle spirits,

Have safely passed it long, Before this rude world's discord, Disturb'd their pleasant song.

Perhaps, less deeply tainted,

With this world's moral ill, E'en when grey hairs steal o'er them, Their hearts are children still.

Their being's happy current,
Some friendly vale has found,
All sheltered from the tempests,
That mar the earth around.

Too happy if that valley

Their peaceful streamlet guide

On to some friendly harbour,

Of ocean's boundless tide.

But oft, alas! the poison,

Imparted at its source,

From this world's sordid fountain,
Spreads ruin in its course.

The vale, where nature's kindness,
Her lavish charms had placed,

That foul polluted current,

Transforms to desert waste.

The stream, that ne'er was ruffled,
Save by the falling leaves,
Some river of vast volume,

And giant force receives.

Commingled with those waters,
Its joyous dance is o'er;
So fade the joys of childhood,

To bloom on earth no more.

Yet breathes there-though time's circle
Still turn with fatal truth-

A gentle breeze, renewing
The spirit's fading youth.

In holy calm it stealeth,
Upon the listening ear;

Life's secret springs revealeth;

Be thine-be mine to hear.

-1843.

"LET US WALK IN THE LIGHT OF

THE LORD."

A morning, without clouds, serenely bright,
More and more shining to the perfect day :
A rest at noon, of joy and peace and light;
And evening melting into bliss away.

Blest course-blest hope—or long or short the span,
From morn to eve-be mine that happy day;
No vulture's eye that cloudless path may scan,
No lion's whelp may tread that sacred way!

The day-star dawneth, but the vulture's eye,

Or scorns, or heeds it not; the lion proud, Avoids the sunshine, and doth crouching lie Deep in the shady forest's thickest shroud.