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Something of beauty from thy brow,

Something of lightness from thy tread, Hath passed- yet thou art dearer now

Than when our vows were said. A softer beauty round thee gleams

Chastened by time, yet calmly bright; And from thine eye of hazel, beams

A deeper, tenderer light

An emblem of the love which lives

Through every change, as time departs; Which binds our souls in one, and gives

New gladness to our hearts ! Flinging a halo over life

Like that which gilds the life beyond ! Ah! well I know thy thoughts, dear wife!

To thoughts like these respond. The mother, with her dewy eye,

Is dearer than the blushing bride
Who stood, three happy years gone by,

In beauty by my side!
Our Father, throned in light above,

Hath blessed us with a fairy child-
A bright link in the chain of love-

The pure and undefiled :

TO MY QUAKER COUSIN. " Don't tell me of the feelings, the fine sensibilities, the hope and joy, and the true poetry of man's life being blunted by the increase of years! Why, I'll hate old age, if it is true! Make this, if thee pleases, no longer an apology for the laziness thee is guilty of when thee ceases to give us and every body the scintillations of thy poetical genius.' It is not that thy days are in the yellow leaf,' but that they are days of downright-laziness !"

Extract from her letter. Yes, thou art right, sweet coz! I own

I am a lazy rhymer-very,-
And seldom gives my harp a tone

Of willing music, sad or merry ;
Its strings are snapped, or out of tune,

And I myself am out of fashion,
For wailing ditties to the moon

Was never my peculiar passion. I never wet my thirsty lip

At Helicon's inspiring fountain, Nor even in fancy took a trip

To meet the Muses on their mountain. The voice of Fame is sweet enough,

Doubtless, for devotees who love her, But then her hill is quite too rough

And steep for me to clamber over.

Rich in the heart's best treasure, still

With a calm trust we'll journey on, Linked heart with heart, dear wife! until

Life's pilgrimage be done!
Youth-beauty-passion-these will pass

Like every thing of earth away-
The breath-stains on the polished glass

Less transient are than they.

Lazy and uninspired, can I

Write for thee canzonet or sonnet? Or, smitten by thy beauty, try

To perpetrate a song upon it ? No-though thy charms of face and form

Would madden, like a heavenly vision, When wine and love had rendered warm

Some dreamer of the fields Elysian!

But love dies not- the child of God

The soother of Life's many woes-
She scatters fragrance round the sod

Where buried hopes repose !
She leads us with her radiant hand

Earth's pleasant streams and pasture by, Still pointing to a better land

Of bliss beyond the sky!

No-though the wicked world should sweas

Thou art the latest importation
From that bright realm where seraphs are

Bending for aye in adoration !
For beauty is at discount now

With the dull muse that weaves my numbers, Nor laughing eye, nor polished brow,

Gleams on her in her dreamless slumbers.

MARY HOWITT. Priestess of Nature! in the solemn woods

And by the sullen sea, whose ceaseless roar

Speaks of God's majesty for evermore, And where the cataracts dash their shattered floods Down to the iris-girdled gulfs which yawn

Eternally beneath, thy hand hath reared

Altars whereon no blood-stain hath appeared-
But there, at dewy eve, or kindling dawn,
Meek-hearted children, with their offerings

Of buds or bursting flowers, together kneel

In gladdest worship, till their spirits feel
A new and holier baptism; while the springs
Of joy are opened, and their waters flow
Forth to the laughing light, exulting as they go!

But, for the brightness of thy yonth,

And for the chastened love I bear thee, And for thy gentleness and truth,

Which even thievish Time must spare thee, And for thy heart which overflows

With kindness for the wronged and lowly, And for thy guileless soul which glows

With tenderest feelings, pure and holyAnd for that fervent zeal for Right

Which burneth in thy bosom ever, And for that steadfast faith whose might

In perils's hour shall fail thee never

Shutting from the spirit's eye, Light and glory from on highThink of these-and falter not! Toil-until the slave is brought

Up to light!

For human sympathies, which bring

True hearts around thee to adore theeFor these, dear coz! I kneel and fing

The tribute of my song before thee. Others may sonnetize the spell

That lives within thy radiant glances, And lying bardlings boldly tell

That loveliness around thee dances ; Vows may be offered thee in rhyme,

And worship paid in common metre But these will pass with passing time,

For beauty than the wind is fleeter.

What thongh Hate Darkly scowls upon yonr path? Fear not ye the tyrant's wrath-

Hope, and waitFor though long the strife endure, Freedom's triumph shall be sure Toil in faith, for God hath spoken, Every fetter shall be broken,

Soon or late.

Be mine the better task to find

For thee a tribute undegrading : Flowers from the garden of the mind,

Fragrant and pure, and never fadingGems from the mines of knowledge won,

Brighter than fancy ever paintedAn offering to lay upon

The altar of a heart untainted.

Not in vain
Hath been heard your voice of warning-
Lo! a better day is dawning;

And again
Shall be heard, from sea to sea,
Loudest songs of jubilee,
Bursting from a franchised nation,
As it leaps in exultation

From the chain !

So, when the hand of Time hath reft

From face and form thy youthful graces, A tenderer beauty shall be left

To sanctify their fading traces;
A chastened radiance, born of Thought,

Around thy path shall then be shining, With more than earthly brightness fraught,

To gild and bless thy life's declining !

STANZAS,

THE FREEMAN. He worthy is of freedom-only he

Who claims the boon for all--and, strong in right,

Rebukes the proud oppressor by whose might The poor are crushed-for Truth hath made him free, And Love hath sanctified his liberty! When Tyranny his horrid head uprears,

And blasts the earth with pestilential breath,

Girded with righteousness and strong in faith, He stems the tide of wrong; nor scoffs, nor jeers, Nor ruffian threats, nor fierce mobocracy, Can daunt his soul, or turn him from the path

Where duty points. Not his the craven heart

That shrinks when tyrants bluster in their wrath ; But well in Freedom's strife he bears his part.

TO THE ABOLITIONISTS OF AMERICA.

Toil and pray! Groweth flesh and spirit faint ? Think of her who pours her plaint

All the dayHer—the wretched negro wife, Robbed of all that sweetens lifeHer—who weeps in anguish wild For the husband and the child

Torn away!

Nature's ties,
Binding heart with kindred heart,
Rent remorselessly apart-

Tears and sighs,
Shrieks and prayers unheeded given,
Calling out from earth to heaven-
All that speaks the slave's distress-
All that in his cup doth press

Agonies

SOLITUDE.
The ceaseless hum of men-the dusty streets,

Crowded with multitudinous life-the din

Of toil and traffic—and the wo and sin, The dweller in the populous city meetsThese have I left to seek the cool retreats

Of the untrodden forest, where, in bowers

Builded by Nature's hand, inlaid with flowers, And roofed with ivy, on the mossy seats

Reclining, I can while away the hours
In sweetest converse with old books, or give
My thoughts to God-or fancies fugitive

Indulge, while over me their radiant showers Of rarest blossoms the old trees shake down,And thanks to Him my meditations crown!

Wo and blight, Broken heart and palsied mind, Reason crushed and conscience blind,

Darkest night

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ARCHY MOORE.

Ye may tread on the poor—but not long !

Ye may torture the weak--while ye dare ! r. As I stood upon the forecastle and looked to. But wo!—for the arm of a People is strong, wards the land, which soon seemed but a little streak

When nerved by revenge and despair ! in the horizon, and was fast sinking from our sight, I Let the fetter be tightened !—the sooner 't will break! seemed to feel a heavy weight drop off me. The chains

Trample on!—and the serf shall more quickly awake! were gone. I felt myself a freeman; and as I watched the fast-receding shore, my bosom heaved with a

My country!- the land of my birth! proud scorn-a mingled feeling of safety and disdain.

Farewell to thy fetters and thee! *-« Farewell, my country!'—such were the thoughts The by-word of tyrants—the scorn of the earththat rose upon my mind, and pressed to find an utter

A mockery to all shalt thou be! ance from my lips,---- and such a country! A land Hurra! for the sea and its waves ! boasting to be the chosen seat of liberty and equal

Ye billows and surges-all hail! rights, yet holding such a portion of her people in My brothers henceforth--for ye scorn to be slaves, hopeless, helpless, miserable bondage !

As ye toss up your crests to the gale! • Farewell my country! Much is the gratitude Farewell to the land of the “ charter and chain,"and thanks I owe thee! Land of the tyrant and the My path is away o'er the fetterless main! slave, farewell !! "16 And welcome, welcome, ye bounding billows

A SUMMER MORNING IN THE COUNTRY. and foaming surges of the ocean! Ye are the em. blems and the children of liberty-1 bail ye as my

How sweetly on the hill-side sleeps

The sunlight with its quickening rays ! brothers !--for, at last, I too am free! — free!

The verdant trees that crown the steeps free !! "- Archy Moore, Vol. II. p. 146-7.

Grow greener in its quivering blaze: From my heel I have broken the chain !

While all the air that round us floats
I have shivered the yoke from my neck!

With subtile wing, breathes only life-
Free !--free!-as the plover that rides on the main And, ringing with a thousand notes,
As the waters that dash o'er our deck!

The woods with song are rife.
In my bosom new feelings are born-

Why, this is Nature's holiday ! New hopes have sprung up in my path

She puts her gayest mantle onAnd I leave to my country defiance and scorn,

And, sparkling o'er their pebbly way, The curse of a fugitive's wrath !

With gladder shout the brooklets run; My country ?--away!—for the gifts which she gave

The birds and breezes seem to give Were the whip and the fetter-the life of a slave! A sweeter cadence to their songThank God! that a limit is set

A brighter life the insects live To the reach of the tyrant's control!

That float in light along. That the down-trodden serf may not wholly forget

" The cattle on a thousand hills," The right and the might of his soul !

The fleecy flocks that dot the vale, That though years of oppression may dim

All joy alike in life, that fills The fire on the heart's altar laid,

The air, and breathes in every gale! Yet, lit by the breath of Jehovah, like Him

And who that has a heart and eye
It lives, and shall live, undecayed !

To feel the bliss and drink it in,
Will the fires of the mountain grow feeble and die ? But pants, for scenes like these, to fly
Beware!—for the tread of the Earthquake is nigh! The city's smoke and din-
Proud Land !-there is vengeance in store

A sweet companionship to hold

With Nature in her forest-bowers,
For thy soul-crushing despots and thee-

And learn the gentle lessons told
When Mercy, grown faint, shall no longer implore,
But the day of thy recompense be-

By singing birds and opening flowers ?

Nor do they err who love her lore-
When thy cup with the mixture of wrath
Shall be full—the Avenger, in power,

Though books have power to stir my heart,

Yet Nature's varied page can more
Shall sweep like a tempest of fire o'er thy path,

Of rapturous joy impart !
Consuming the tree and the flower-
And thy mountains shall echo the shriek of despair,

No selfish joy-if Duty calls,
While the smoke of thy torment shall darken the air!

Not sullenly I turn from these

Though dear the dash of waterfalls, Wo! wo! to the forgers of chains,

The wind's low voice among the trees, Who trample the image of God :

Birds, flowers, and flocks-for God hath taught Calls for vengeance the blood of the bondman, which -Oh, keep, my heart! the lesson stillstains

His soul, alone, with bliss is fraught, The cursed and the verdureless sod!

Who heeds the Father's will !

EXPOSTULATION.

Their own peculiar music on the air,

And glancing in the sunshine radiantly. “Like thee, oh stream! to glide in solitude

Now their clear tones are hushed-for the Frost-King Noiselessly on, reflecting sun or star,

Hath thrown his fetter on them, and evoked Unseen by man, and from the great world's jar

The voice of melody that dwelt with them Kept evermore aloof—methinks 'twere good

In the bright sunny hours, and they are staid To live thus lonely through the silent lapse

In their free current, frozen, murmurless. Of my appointed time.” Not wisely said,

Unthinking Quietist! The brook hath sped Where stays the sunshine ? Hath it learned that Its course for ages through the narrow gaps

Earth of rifted hills and o'er the reedy plain,

Is chilled through all her veins, and for some grudge Or 'mid the eternal forests, not in vain

That seemed forgotten long ago, resolved The grass more greenly groweth on its brink, To let it freeze for ever? Or, perchance,

And lovelier flowers and richer fruits are there, The sun himself is frozen. If that cloud,
And of its crystal waters myriads drink,

That hangs so like a pall along the sky,
That else would faint beneath the torrid air. Would move his body corporate, and begone

Back to his ocean-mansion, we might learn

Whether the sun be dead or slumbering. Inaction now is crime. The old earth reels

Inebriate with guilt; and Vice, grown bold, Ho! bring my cloak, Katurah ! Heap the wood

Laughs Innocence to scorn. The thirst for gold On the hot hearth—draw up the high-backed screen: Hath made men demons, till the heart that feels Let the winds whistle now, if so they willThe impulse of impartial love, nor kneels

I care but little for their minstrelsy, In worship foul to Mammon, is contemned.

So I can shut from me their freezing breath. He who hath kept his purer faith, and stemmed Well-I am warm and quiet; but, i' faith, Corruption's tide, and from the ruffian heels

I pity the poor wight that's forced to face Of impious tramplers rescued periled Right,

Old Boreas to-day. Necessity Is called fanatic, and with scoffs and jeers

Alone will call forth travellers, and—ugh! ugh! Maliciously assailed. The poor man's tears

This cough-ugh! ugh !—will kill me presently Are unregarded—the oppressor's might

An' I am not more careful. Oh, the seams Revered as law-and he whose righteous way Around the doors and windows are unclosed. Departs from evil, makes himself a prey.

List !-List !-a roll of list! I will not freeze

In my own domicil. Heap on the wood,
What then? Shall he who wars for Truth succumb and throw another mantle round me-there!

To popular Falsehood, and throw down his shield,
And Jrop the sword he hath been taught to wield or the light skaters on the frozen lake-

Hark! as I live, I hear the ringing sound
In Virtue's cause? Shall Righteousness be dumb,

And see how merrily they wheel away Awe-struck before Injustice? No !-a cry,

In swift gyrations o'er the glassy ice, 6. Ho! to the rescue!” from the hills hath rung,

As if a power were given them to fly! And men have heard and to the combat sprung

The happy dogs!-Heaven grant they may not freeze. Strong for the right, to conquer or to die!

I thought no boy would venture out to-day l'p, Loiterer! for on the winds are flung

For sport or labor, an' he were not flogged
The banners of the Faithful !-and erect

For tarrying within. Well, after all,
Beneath their folds the hosts of God's Elect
Stand in their strength. Be thou their ranks among. And I remember me when I was young,

It may not be so very cold for them,
Fear not, nor falter, though the strife endure,

How little cared I for the biting frost,
Thy cause is sacred, and the victory sure.

So I might whirl upon the ringing steel
Merrily on, surrounded by a group

As happy as myself, all life and joy!
THE OLD MAN'S SOLILOQUY,

But s’death: a few short years will make a change

In a man's ser.sitiveness, 'specially (The middle of December— Thermometer at Zero.)

When they bring with them gout and rheumatism, This feels like winter! Ugh! how bitterly Toothachs and agues, fevers and catarrhsCometh the keen northwester! In the west and worse, far worse than aught, ay, than all else, Dark clouds are piled in gloomy masses up, Dread hypochondria! They will find it so, And from their folds comes freezingly the breath Those merry boys now skating on the lakeOf the Storm-Spirit, couched and shrouded there. If they, like me, indulge in turtle-soup, But yestermorn the streams were murmuring Sauces, and pies, and cakes, and the whole round With their low, silvery voices, pouring forth Of eatables and drinkables which load

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