TO MY MOTHER.

AND can'st thou, Mother, for a moment think,
That we, thy children, when old age shall shed
Its blanching honours on thy weary head,
Could from our best of duties ever shrink?
Sooner the sun from his high sphere should sink
Than we, ungrateful, leave thee in that day,
To pine in solitude thy life away,

Or shun thee, tottering on the grave's cold brink.
Banish the thought! —where'er our steps may roam,
O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree,
Still will fond memory point our hearts to thee,
And paint the pleasures of thy peaceful home;
While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage,
And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age.

YES, 'twill be over soon.

--

- This sickly dream Of life will vanish from my feverish brain; And death my wearied spirit will redeem From this wild region of unvary'd pain. Yon brook will glide as softly as before, —

Yon landscape smile, yon golden harvest grow,— Yon sprightly lark on mounting wing will soar When Henry's name is heard no more below. I sigh when all my youthful friends caress, They laugh in health, and future evils brave; Them shall a wife and smiling children bless,

While I am mouldering in my silent grave. God of the just, -Thou gavest the bitter cup; I bow to thy behest, and drink it up.

TO CONSUMPTION.

GENTLY, most gently, on thy victim's head,
Consumption, lay thine hand!—let me decay,
Like the expiring lamp, unseen, away,
And softly go to slumber with the dead.
And if 'tis true, what holy men have said,
That strains angelic oft foretell the day

Of death, to those good men who fall thy prey, O let the aërial music round my bed,

Dissolving sad in dying symphony,

Whisper the solemn warning in mine ear: That I may bid my weeping friends good-bye Ere I depart upon my journey drear :

And, smiling faintly on the painful past,

Compose my decent head, and breathe my last.

TRANSLATED

FROM THE FRENCH OF M. DESBARREAUX.

THY judgments, Lord, are just; thou lov'st to wear
The face of pity and of love divine;

But mine is guilt thou must not, canst not spare,
While heaven is true, and equity is thine.

Yes, oh my God! - such crimes as mine, so dread,
Leave but the choice of punishment to thee;
Thy interest calls for judgment on my head,

And even thy mercy dares not plead for me!
Thy will be done since 'tis thy glory's due,
Did from mine eyes the endless torrents flow;
Smiteit is time-though endless death ensue,
I bless the avenging hand that lays me low.
But on what spot shall fall thine anger's flood,

That has not first been drench'd in Christ's atoning blood?

POEMS

OF A LATER DATE.