Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
The cold phosphoric fires decay.
That is the grave to Lucy shown,-
The soil a pure and silver sand,
The green, cold moss above it grown,
Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand:
In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,

There let my maiden form be laid,
Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,
Nor for new guest that bed be made.
There will the lark, -the lamb, in sport,
In air, on earth, -securely play,
And Lucy to my grave resort,

As innocent, but not so gay.
I will not have the churchyard ground,
With bones all black and ugly grown,
To press my shivering body round,
Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.
With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,
In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
Through which the ringed earth-worms creep;
And on the shrouded bosom prey;
I will not have the bell proclaim

When those sad marriage rites begin,-
And boys, without regard or shame,
Press the vile mouldering masses in.
Say not, it is beneath my care;

I cannot these cold truths allow :-
These thoughts may not afflict me there,
But, oh! they vex and tease me now.
Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,

That man a maiden's grave may trace;
But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
And let affection find the place.
Oh! take me from a world I hate,-
Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
And, in some pure and blessed state,
Let me my sister minds behold :
From gross and sordid views refined,
Our heaven of spotless love to share,-
For only generous souls design'd,
And not a man to meet us there.

RECONCILIATION.

Mr Damon was the first to wake
The gentle flame that cannot die;
My Damon is the last to take
The faithful bosom's softest sigh:
The life between is nothing worth,
Oh! cast it from my thought away;
Think of the day that gave it birth,
And this, its sweet returning day.
Buried be all that has been done.

Or say that naught is done amiss;
For who the dangerous path can shun
In such bewildering world as this?
But love can every fault forgive,
Or with a tender look reprove;
And now let naught in memory live,
But that we meet, and that we love.

WOMAN.

PLACE the white man on Afric's coast,
Whose swarthy sons in blood delight,
Who of their scorn to Europe boast,
And paint their very demons white:
There, while the sterner sex disdains
To soothe the woes they cannot feel,
Woman will strive to heal his pains,
And weep for those she cannot heal.
Hers is warm pity's sacred glow,-
From all her stores she bears a part;
And bids the spring of hope reflow,

That languish'd in the fainting heart. "What though so pale his haggard face, So sunk and sad his looks," she cries: "And far unlike our nobler race, With crisped locks and rolling eyes; Yet misery marks him of our kind,We see him lost, alone, afraid! And pangs of body, griefs in mind, Pronounce him man, and ask our aid. "Perhaps in some far distant shore

There are who in these forms delight; Whose milky features please them more Than ours of jet, thus burnish'd bright; Of such may be his weeping wife, Such children for their sire may call; And if we spare his ebbing life,

Our kindness may preserve them all." Thus her compassion woman shows; Beneath the line her acts are these; Nor the wide waste of Lapland snows Can her warm flow of pity freeze ;"From some sad land the stranger comes, Where joys like ours are never found; Let's soothe him in our happy homes, Where freedom sits, with plenty crown'd.

"'Tis good the fainting soul to cheer, To see the famish'd stranger fed; To milk for him the mother-deer,

To smooth for him the furry bed. The powers above our Lapland bless With good no other people know; T' enlarge the joys that we possess, By feeling those that we bestow!" Thus, in extremes of cold and heat, Where wandering man may trace his kind; Wherever grief and want retreat,

In woman they compassion find: She makes the female breast her seat, And dictates mercy to the mind. Man may the sterner virtues know, Determined justice, truth severe; But female hearts with pity glow,

And woman holds affliction dear: For guiltless woes her sorrows flow, And suffering vice compels her tear,'Tis hers to soothe the ills below, And bid life's fairer views appear. To woman's gentle kind we owe What comforts and delights us here; They its gay hopes on youth bestow, And care they soothe and age they cheer.

THE WRETCHED MIND.

And now his freedom he attain'd-if free The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be; The playful children of the place he meets; Playful with them he rambles through the streets; In all they need, his stronger arm he lends, And his lost mind to these approving friends.

That gentle maid, whom once the youth had Is now with mild religious pity moved; [loved, Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be; And as she trembling speaks, his lively eyes Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs; [vade Charm'd by her voice, the harmonious sounds inHis clouded mind, and for a time persuade: Like a pleased infant, who has newly caught, From the maternal glance, a gleam of thought; He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear, And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear!

Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes, In darker mood, as if to hide his woes;

But, soon returning, with impatience seeks [speaks;
His youthful friends, and shouts, and sings, and
Speaks a wild speech, with action all as wild-
The children's leader, and himself a child;
He spins their top, or, at their bidding, bends
His back, while o'er it leap his laughing friends;
Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more,
And heedless children call him Silly Shore.

THE DREAM OF THE CONDEMNED.

WHEN first I came Within his view, I fancied there was shame, I judged resentment; I mistook the airThese fainter passions live not with despair; Or but exist and die:-Hope, fear, and love, Joy, doubt, and hate, may other spirits move, But touch not his, who every waking hour Has one fix'd dread, and always feels its power. He takes his tasteless food; and, when 'tis done, Counts up his meals, now lessen'd by that one; For expectation is on time intent, Whether he brings us joy or punishment.

Yes! e'en in sleep th' impressions all remain; He hears the sentence, and he feels the chain; He seems the place for that sad act to see, And dreams the very thirst which then will be! A priest attends-it seems the one he knew In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his terrors take a sudden flightHe sees his native village with delight; The house, the chamber, where he once array'd His youthful person; where he knelt and pray'd: Then too the comforts he enjoy'd at home,

The days of joy; the joys themselves are come;

"Yes! all are with him now, and all the while
Life's early prospects and his Fanny smile:
Then come his sister and his village friend,
And he will now the sweetest moments spend
Life has to yield:-No! never will he find
Again on earth such pleasure in his mind.
He goes through shrubby walks these friends among,
Love in their looks and pleasure on their tongue.
Pierced by no crime, and urged by no desire
For more than true and honest hearts require,
They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed
Through the green lane, then lingerin the mead, -
Stray o'er the heath in all its purple bloom,
And pluck the blossom where the wild bees hum;
Then through the broomy bound with ease they pass,
And press the sandy sheep-walk's slender grass,
Where dwarfish flowers among the gorse are spread,
And the lamb browses by the linnet's bed! [way
Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their
O'er its rough bridge-and there behold the bay!-
The ocean smiling to the fervid sun-

The waves that faintly fall and slowly run-
The ships at distance, and the boats at hand:
And now they walk upon the sea-side sand,
Counting the number, and what kind they be,
Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea:
Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold
The glittering waters on the shingles roll'd:
The timid girls, half-dreading their design,
Dip the small foot in the retarded brine,
[flow,
And search for crimson weeds, which spreading
Or lie like pictures on the sand below;
With all those bright red pebbles, that the sun
Through the small waves so softly shines upon;
And those live-lucid jellies which the eye
Delights to trace as they swim glittering by:
Pearl-shells and rubied star-fish they admire,
And will arrange above the parlour fire-
Tokens of bliss!"

A SEA FOG.

WHEN all you see through densest fog is seen; When you can hear the fishers near at hand Distinctly speak, yet see not where they stand; Or sometimes them and not their boat discern, Or, half-conceal'd, some figure at the stern; Boys who, on shore, to sea the pebble cast, Will hear it strike against the viewless mast; While the stern boatman growls his fierce disdain, At whom he knows not, whom he threats in vain.

'"T is pleasant then to view the nets float past, Net after net, till you have seen the last; And as you wait till all beyond you slip, A boat comes gliding from an anchor'd ship, Breaking the silence with the dipping oar, And their own tones, as labouring for the shore; Those measured tones with which the scene agree, And give a sadness to serenity.