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Ah! no; she darkly sees the fate of man—
Primeval hope, the Aonian muses say,
Sprung on the viewless winds to heaven again
All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind,
Thus while Elijah's burning wheels prepare
Auspicious Hope! in thy sweet garden grow Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe: Won by their sweets, in nature's languid hour, The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower; There, as the wild bee murmurs on the wing, What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring! What viewless forms the iEolian organ play, And sweep the furrowed lines of anxious thought away!
THE HEAVENLY REST.
There is an hour of peaceful rest,
There is a soft, a downy bed,
There is a home for weary souls,
By sin and sorrow driven;
There faith lifts up the tearful eye,
The heart with anguish riven; And views the tempest passing by, The evening shadows quickly fly, And all serene in heaven!
There fragrant flowers immortal bloom,
And joys supreme are given:
THE WORLD PASSES AWAY.
This world is all a fleeting show,
The smiles of joy, the tears of woe,
And false the light on glory's plume,
Poor wanderers of a stormy day,
TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
Cold, cold lies the sod on a heart once as warm
And sadly and wild moans the winter storm
VOL. II. F
As the dew that moistens the rose at dawn
Gives the violet many a tear;
So bright in the morning of life she shone,
That her fragrance still lives, while her spirit is gone,
Embalming her memory here.
As the summer sun, at the close of the day,
So her viewless spirit, as soaring on high,
Oh! who ever gazed on a form so fair,
In the cold embrace of death?
The snowy brow and the raven hair,
And the smile that the lips was wont to wear,
Fled not with the parting breath!
There needs not the art of the senlptor to tell