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LP PS s'i-^'O rf AD VERTISEMENT. 4*^ SomeoftJie follomna; sketches have been already published in the JfVedericton newspapers ; and their collection in the present instance — though in a diminutive form— mil at least tend to preserve them for one whose solicitude for their welfare cannot be looktd upon loith wonder. It wen needless to add, that if they may be the means of communicat- ing any pleasure to the friendly reader^ th» avihor mil have his reward. FVederictonj January 4, 1843. 4i V3 * V fiOIilTUBE. in the ance — for one idtr. uniccU- reward. Thf! Sun is rising high, one lonely cloud, Draws its fantastic form along the bright Blue arch of heav'n. Retiring from the loud And ceaseless noise, where these lone shades invite, I sit me down with silence, to indite My pensive song : sweet contemplation come ! And aid my artless musings, while I write The charms of solitude, the woodland home, The calm abode of peace, where strife can never come. The mountain rose just blushing from its bud, The stately pine that lifts its branches far, Hiding fiom gaudy day the gushing flood, So purely chaste that e'en the morning star May scarcely view its bosom from afar ; Children of nature, these I love to trace ; These the companions of my fancy are, Deception lurks not in iheir artless face. Nor guilt with them abides^ark parent of disgrace I Here let me rest, in this secluded green. Where flow'rs half hid the verdant shade adorn ; — lake artless beauty blushing to be seen— Still bending with the dexA^rops of the morn, Far in the shade, on natui^e's bosom born, And nurs'd in silence, on their beds they bloom, But ere the fickle moon has fill'd her horn, The lilies droop— the roses meet their doom, And tha wild desert blast is rich with their perfnme. 163224 Tis thus with Genius — o'er the spacious earth, It flies abroad, and millions oWn its sway, When the poor fragile stem which gave it birth Lies blasted, wither'd, in the face of day : For worth departed, nations may repay *rhe ready tear, the monumental «iri», "Tis well perha|Vs— but ah !- tfte4itttnble clay, No more alas ! With love of fame shall bum, No more life's storms shall di-ead^ or hope for joy's return, And sad alas ! aniJ iiutfi^(y«il is t^h* trftk, Ordain'd t<) follow faney* ftifetfedr fire ; Who chsWe the ^atttorh fhrc^ a life of paiil^ At laiat to «iB0 it tremble and fex|)i¥e : Prom such, thfe cautious, and the (jold ¥6ti*e, As prudehfte bidit, or irtt»]f6st lead^ the way ; Unus'd to jiid^ though ever Wont t' ««dM^e Th6 fond, W6 Witching sW^tncss of the lay^ 1:*f«rt*ei«tethfe%t?&%bdm heatt Whi«h yet it <5*toftot sWfty ! In friendly ^SS^ tike mm, ^ ^^tt "ite^W^, Ne'er to the Vir«ti6«s md ilfHe Wife^ dteny^d ; From life's loti^ tufttultft iiiid its sick'hirtg WoW, Its glarfe, m%iciyth, ftfe ^rilft and Vt^s prfdte :_ ,^ ' Happy White fi?okH the bustling *te«e Wfe M«e, To drink the ri^l, 0t tr^wa the fteWry l*jd ; To taste thfe SW^tls ff«^ nfetote^s liftftd' ^ii^Ifd.^ To range the fields by My ^^Wdfei titod^ ' Aiifl imoi iflarti 'b^dd, bnt ^r* upJi - Where life's VSlfst ills Iffttfiddfea to arrtmda. Leave us to tastfe^he jorfs iof feftlssfi^l solitude. Thrice happy he who in the vale of life, Has found some spot from noisy folly free ; Where meek-ey'd peace ne'er feels the shaft of strife, Unus'd ill courts or crowds to bend the knee : Untaught to buffet life's tempestuous sea, Without one favour from the world to crave ; N«)r gorg'd by wealth, nor shrunk by Poverty, Till heaven at last recals the life it gave. And the green fern waves o'er the lonely hermit's grave t A IftORIVIIVG HEFftiCCTIOIf • The first faint beam of morning silvers o'er The river's breast, soft mirror of the sky ! The hills lift up their heads in deep repose, ^ Each on its everlasting base siistaitied : While o'er their summits, plac'd in dark array, The cloudy sentinels of heaven advance With silent p.ice their ever varying forms. The moo'i dim-shining like some half quench'd brand, Seen between distant mountains, only shews Her orb as if to mock the world's deep gloom. Now slow retiring to their daily lair, The timid deer and wary fox' pursue Their woodland track,' oft starting at the sound Of distant bell from fold or pasture borne ; And ever as the night bird flaps her wing, Or shooting upwards from their wat'ry home, The scaly tenants of the cavern'd deep, Essay to taste the night breeze on its way } The boatman weary leans upon his oar, strife, 9 grave t i brandy And Blowly drifts along the placid stream. Now sleep, with bands from leaves of poppies wore, Ties down each eyelid soft, that clos'd in peace When night resum'd the sceptre of the skies, And curtain'd ronnd the weary for repose. Yet there are some who seek the couch of rest But not to sleep ; the mind mysterious power ! Ur^^'d by strong passion shakes its humble home wfth throes convulsive ; such as earth must feel, When central fires within her bosom fed. Search round the dismal place they have consum'd, Spurning their prison house,— yet still confin'd ! To such remembrance in her ceaseless stream, Bears nought but evil : each succeeding wave, Freighted with sorrow whelms the burning heart, And then retires to give another place. To pain the soul afresh. These tell of wrongs Received, and cherished hopes forever crush'd j Tho' fancy nurs'd them early into bloom, And caught the dews of heaven and sunshine too To form an Iris — emblem of their fate ! Then rise the ghastly shadows of the past — The tears of friend&-^the scorn of fees confest— The multitude's loud laugh — the world's disdain — The secret glance of envy— the bold stare Of wonder pointed to the victim's brow — And worst, the seeming sympathy that probes Each wound, but just to learn how deep it lies. Anon, the future turns her ample page. And hope with sunbeam pencil flutters round For aught to point at — ^but alas ! in vain. Then comes despair, and fills the gloomy space With dire forbodings, images of woe ! Each avenue that leads to joy, cut off ; The world, a lone and dreary waste, and time But lent to teach us how to bear its ills — What wonder then the broken heart should deem, Its greatest bliss forgetfulness of woe, Its greatest pain, a thought of former joy ! ii» Il «^^ Now from those hCcneB which virtne dreadb t/) name; Tive oiijld of guilt with noiaoless step roturna ; And oft pgrverts thai p<^«r whick mm^ the man. rhe noblest bom pursues t|is way< All niglil, that messenger ef peace has strove, To point fm erring brn^her to the skies ; Or breath'd those prayers which am§eis love to bear As incenae i^ to heaven. His cries were haasd, And mercy stooping firpm its aphere, embrac'd The Prodigal, and made hint heir of heoiren. Soon, o\5«r anomUain, river, wood and field, The rising sun shall oast his gokbn beams ; Awak'ning life and luumaony and love, O'er the wide landscape. Forth iboni bail and bow'r, (With views iftore difiweait than the loads thoy take,) The busy multitudes of mien shaU swaras. Some to leiMw their teal upon tdae plaiils, As did their fajdMrs for long ages past-^^r- Son* of^thesoil, deef> fooled in their lands ^ Others t^iWicotiitiM liaait^ftvl a», and vieiv Those baauteoup colouw ef liie nionwng sky ; To bow at natapi^i gionious fttmne, and l^el ' Her soothing powers diJBpeiiBiiig heaiiith and joy, Fresh from the hand of Gac. Others a^^in, tange w to al| liae .j[|)lendiniis of Jtl^e Jij^, ke unconscious of eaith^ laizBst :diaii!i8, "ifc^Where gold mpy tujt )b^ &u»d««|«ss .quiddiy «i, Mutt'ring. duBif tfcougbts. of mm^agss and honds^ And vested rights, las Afamnum ginrba ihem naiiitos. Here «oo, ^:«»nsJof pieasuie, '(falsely xtawi^) Fly from their city ^hauats to lim an >hoHr, In heaven's ow^ ennshine. Tjfewse tho' sttange it seeja ■-.i' • ) name', 3 num. ht ray I bear I faow'r, ay take,) Id) . I ilseexA Riot by choke in folly's boisterous sea ; And like tho hideous lu Jiistecs of the deep, But stop to breaUie, then seek the dark again. Here — and perchance tl y foremost after dawn, To brush ^he df w-drope from these clust'ring flowers—^ The child of getiiut seeks this lonely spot, To hold commuwon-*-not with ailfieh friends — Who smile to wound, and flatter to betray-*. But far around, above, beneath, he finds Companions meet to cht er him on his way. The rocks, the fields, t;>e uivm failing spring, That bubbles from its fountain, where the winds Kiss its cold bosom op'ning to the day — The clouds that flit alori'^ the morning sky, And the young birds that soar, a«d soaring blend, Their first sweet songs to greet the arising sun — The noble river hast'ning on to meet ' The all-devouring ocean, where its waves ^ Are toss'd as if in scorn to meet a foe — These, and a thousand others, voiceless deem'd, Because the world^s dull ear they cannot charm, He hears, and on the wings of every breeze, Pours his sweet aspirations in return. What tho' o'er him sad jienury may cast Her cold dark shadows, prison'd in her train, She cannot steal the saciod gift of heaven, The first the dearest birthright of lua soul. ' Here, as in mockery of the pride of man, Two wide extremes of ciiaracter are join'd, The miser who is prodigal of time, Bart'ring his health and happiness for gold ; And the mad prodigal who holds each sin With miser care, nor drops it till he dies. Such, as they throng the public walks of life, Cloth'd in deep selfishness — that monster crime, First born of sinful nature — ^leave small space For virtue's humble sonsj who di-ead their touch, As shrinks the Indian from his crested fi^e. No grey disjointed circle here is found, B f I 15 To tell of Dmid riies in dges gone ; When the pale frenzied priest in sight of God Exulting spill'd his deP^in'd broil^er's blood, ' And thought the sacrifice a boon for heaven : But here perchance the Indian warrior stood In battle's frci^t, andl met his swarthy foe ? ' While death look'd on impatient of dalay, To seize the werker victim. Captives led Along the margin of this limpid stream, The vanquish'd in their sorrow may [lave oass'd To swell the triumphs of the savage field. ' ' Ah ! who can tell the future ? Mighty time • Thy steps anj on the mountains, and they fall Thy breath is on the rivers, and they shrink ' To puny streams, umiotic'd as they flow. Thou see'st the rise of empires and docline, And cities' flourish with their domes and towers And glitt'ring palaces the pride of Kings :— Anon they waste away, and ruin sows His deadly nightshade o'er their tombless graves Or if a vesti£-e of their place remain, The slimy crocodile luid bittern keep, Each gloomy crevico and dismantled wall By right of long possession. Thus the world Proves—tho' unwilling— irom the book of time That man's fix'd dwelling is not under heaven. n OM the' BIRTH OF THE PRIMCE, Brittannia ! bid thy thundets roar In mighty homage to the day ; High on thy sea-surrounded shore Let the green waves exulting play : And bid the standard proudly flow. That never sank beneath a loe, Then marshal forth the brave in arms, Who make thy weal their constant care ; And bring thy daughters in their charms, First of their sex — surpassing fair — And let one strain their lips employ, — The tribute of a nftiion'S joy ! Bid Erin's heartd of love and '^ar, Bid Scotia's h^r^yvet'rans rise, Bid Ocean's loneliest Rock afar. All send their plaudits to the skies^ : And summer Isles in eastern seas,. Spread far and wide the spicy breeze. The Islands o'er whose coral groves, The South-sea ocean spreads its foam ; Wliere blest, retired, the native roves, Nor seeks remote a happier home ; Shall hear the news, and gladly own, The Heir of Albion's pearl-built throne. Hindostan's myriads loud shall cheer, The Royal scion of her kings ;— Columbia's loyal sons bliall hear, " rn^ the ocean's waste shall roll God ».ve the Priuce!" from pole to pole. Prince of the great ! no slave may .share Or^'L"T*T'» «<*'«' <=•*■"« wHh thee- Or If he breathe thy native air, ' I ne sun, that ever gUds thy erounds Sees not a slave withiutheilSr Tt^voice is but to infant's wail, Th^Sr* ■""« long prevS , ' Thy childish sorrows to beeuile Ere dian^^d thy erased courofdi,w«, *or ftntaw'8 sceptre wd her crownT ^To catl'Th *'""r'* **«« *«" P'oss, The in^/5 *y.»a>l^to hear thy voic^- ifl^mjurd, to TOplore redress. 1 he great, to banquet and reioice • ' Ere nj^a^ur'd out thy mortal day, May he their portion of tLworW, ^Zr'!'" •"u"' <"«»fonntag blight, ' From slavish error's dangerous ch«m Prom Private frand-frorfZLh,' MayHoavei^-S^^r^^'-. ,^;^, , ! j ' 3isa ^ i3T- - ::r - 2 IS AN EI^EGY. Teaes a»id smiles togetheir bleiidingf, Oft possess a magi(J power, When the brihy drops descending, Glitter like some sunny shft^er j But the helpless child of sorrow Bruis'd and smitten as he lies. From kind tears no bliss can boirow, Tears are strangelrs to his ey^s. Yes, the sons of grief have spoken, As the desert winds they sigh— " Lo ! the wretch whose heart is broken. Finds the souMe bf t^rs is dry !'» Yet if copious litreams distilling, Might but warm that breast of thine, Friendship's holiest fount revealing. None should flow more free than mine. Though the mutual ties that bound us. Long have ceas'd to urge their sway ; Yet had friendship thrown around us. Bonds I cannot cast away. In my bosom memory lingers, Past enjoyments to recall ; Like the simbeam's golden fingers, Bright in some deserted hall. Qlust'ririg round the 38^bath buell ; Prompt as the :6^rst sound arises, F^r to bear tlie holy knell ; -.til b t4 Gentle spirits stood around him, —Gentle still in life was he— TiH each earthly tie that bound hirn, Burst, and lel't liis spirit free. Yet these bonds full long detain'd him, Strugghng in a house of pain ; Parents children, wife, restrain'd him, mj~ ^^ nature's silken chain : Thus the willow, old or blighted. Bends its branches to the earth '; These, to earth again united, Give the stock a second birth. But his tent of clay forsaken, ^ost in death^s unlovely gloom ; r - Will my friend no more awaken _ From tl^e slumber of th6 tomb ?— - Hold the windis, and bind the ocean- Bid old time forget his sway- Yet shall faith with firmHi«voe«Mi, Point the Resurrection da v! VERSES TO A CHARITARLE i.ADY. Lady ! 'tis said that Eden's tr1hrmiv« i^a»,,«-« Shrunk at the toiich of woman's daring hand ; fers Which God had planted in that happy land. ^ ii And oft when nations mourn or kindreds grieve, We hear the dull response of many a tongue : '' For such we weU may blame our mother Eve, Who brav'd the wrath of heaven and did the wrong. Each tolling bell that wounds its airy sp^ce, Like voice of death exulting o'er his prey ; But tells the fate descending through our race, The sad inheritance of Ufe's short day. But lady, though our life is doom'd to fail, Though pain and guef the tremW'ing world ei^lore, Though death's lone voids is heard in many a gale, Ana Eden's beauteous flowers may bloom no more: Yet heav'n ordain'd in pity, that the hand, ^ Which wrought in paradise our desp'rate fall ; '^ Should since, stretqh'd forth ineach devoted land, Bear the full cup of earthly bliss to all. Oh ! what were m^ 4©priv'd of woman's smile, H^r "sweet society and winjiing care?" A savage, with full cunning to beguile, And force, each weaker brother to ensnare. Wide as the spacious earth her love extends— Like oil o'er ocean's raging billows cast. With man's fierce passions her sweet influence blends, And woman's voice is heard to still the blast. Beside the couch where poverty and pa,in Mingle the bitter draught of human ill ; Womitfi is ever found, nor found in vain, An angel's cheering iriission to fulfil. « Then who the shifting problem shall explain, * —With Charity's white flag aloft unfurVd?*-- EvE turn'd an Edeij, to a wprld of pain, . / Her daughters make, an Eden of the.yjoyld ! , H ! I TflfE LOST CHIJLB. Mute h the plaintiVe Whip^pdot-trin The woods are hiish'd in deep repcJse • And echo lingers on the hill, As night's advancing ishadows close. ** m^° his Jonely ^oodfend bow'r, The insetiit bird has wing'd his way : And twilight's soft and soothing power Uer nature holds its tranquil sway. As night extends its -itnprnlifttp i The armies of the sky are seen, MMshal'd in heaven's resplendent plain. With meteor banners rais'd between. Around the lonely forest clear, Where Dugald^s humble mansion stood : «o sound assails the listning ear, To break the silence of the wood. But why sits Dugald in We shed, - - wu ^*^'*"<'^ Ji<*tt in his lair ? When late his partner join'd the dead, Heaven left a, soft, his smile to share: And^is there n6t one nameless ftraoe ' vvmeh bu^v memory h«iy explore : Reflected m the boy's sw«et face, To shew Ws mother's charms once more? w r II i -J , J Hark ! from the cot a voice is heard, It bursts upon the Jistless air ; And where nor voice nor zephyr stin'd, Loud rise the wailings of despair. »Tis Dugald's voice— the strong man weepi, ^Though fain to curb each rising moattrr O'er yon far hill his watch he keeps, His watch, alas ! is kept gJone, As late his arm had kill'd in flight, The swiftest moose deer of the plain j The red man claim'd it as his right, The Scptisn held his trophy »lain : But foolish held^r-revenge not dow, Has dash'd the white man's cup of joy $ The savage raaxk'dliim as his foe. And now has robbed him of his boy ! 3ut ere the latest trace of day Had vanish'd from the glowing ve§t j He mark'd the Indian's devious way, And hope stiW lingers in hip breast. All night he slept not, and the beam Of morn had scarcely ting'd the sky ; When forth he went o'er hill and stream, ]Resoly'd to gain Ji^is hoy, .or die, What if the Indian's dreadful spear. Should shed liis blood in forest wild ? He had a heart its point to bear, . But not a hegrt .to lose his child. And as the mists of night were driven, Before the morning's balmy air ; His tearful eye was rais'd tq heaven, In all the eloquence of. prayer. Forth from his path, with nJtoble bound, Tlie grey fox scarce awaken'^ sprung— The woodman's eyes but sought the ground, Unus'd, his fm^y rifle hung. Deep heatr'd his breath, his^heek was pale, His locks rdtj^iv'd the morfting dew ,♦ While quick atong the new madfe trail, With all affection's Speed- he flew. Now from a hill's steep summit gain'd, His sight through morning's mists he strain'd, Where deep with healnen's ethereal blue. The broad St: LaWience melt his vie^ ; Rolling away his ample floods, 'Mid frowning rocks and gloomy woods. ' Here sat thiB e^Je, forest feing, There the slow herbn flappf'd fidr wing ; And rising boldly on his Wiay, ' The hungry raven sought his prey j Intent to gorge his restless maw. In Schlosser^s Woods, or Ghippewa. Close to this i^t, a vapour hung, Which o'er the scene its shadow flung. And as in dark gfey Wreaths it ciirPd, Where down that feteep, the towent hurl'd, The floods gave fbirth a fearful sound, And shook th' aflTiighted hills around. Unheard, a thousand thunders' roar, Might burst on that resounding i^ore ; So close the folds of that deep cloud, The fearful din arose so loiid, No wonder DugaM stopp'd to t^raoe, The boldest scene on nature's face ! 'Twas but a poiint-^-a moment won. By nature from her suff'iping son ; ' " My child ! my child !" he madly cried. And hasten'd to the river's side. t* Aeain he pftus a ; mete was a cove, Xre the™ eep eddying waters drove, Ere yet Hke captive bird wchao'd. The rapids' >,earest verge they gained, There, first confMs'd, the trail he !»?'' . Bv mm a wand'ring footmark Qto«. This way and that, he tries in vain, 'Till tortur'd patience turns to pain s JnceCetoWenhettftshiseye- Alan ! the source of t^ars is dry. Thus while he strain'd both eye ami ear, Aught of the foe to see or hear ; Say was it fancy that portray d Yon willow bending in the ehade , ^ «h scarce the lightest siiirmier breeze Wav'd the tall branches of the trees ? 'Twas no delusion—at one bound, He cleai'd the intejrvfening ground, And big with passion stood beside ^e tree to which hi0 son ^vas tied , One moment, and he fondly prest, His boy in silence to hjs breast. ^No^courage D'^^^^. ^^^^^i^ft ' A heart less firm than toe t'», ^ Collect thy senses— rouse thy might . Near where the settler's son was bound, Three waxriors lay in sleep profound , Their lullaby the torrent gave, _ Their " light canoes" just Wd the wave , Two, to an aged elm made fast, Alike defy'd the stream or blast ; The third, for sudden action mept Was free, but near its owner s feet . "^So;;har;hac"otth..escu^^^^ 'Tis vain among these woods to fly-^. With Indiar'« eyc^, and Indian s feet, id fcc^^ Jn sight so keen, in chase «o rfeei, No equal means can he employ, Thus cumber'd with his helpless boy. Now the bold project tries his brain, fiut reason tells the project vain ; Sway'd as by hearen at length he strode, And cast their arini^ beneath the flood ; One paddle to the stream convey'd, •:— The rest a warrior's pillow made — Then loos'd his son and silent bore, His treaMr'd burthen to the shore. Oh i if the farther side he gain, Hid f66s might find each effort vain f A hundred arms would there unite. To guard the gallant Dugald's rightj And dear the savage horde should pay The forfeit of so bold a fray. Now now, his utmost strength he tries, And o'er the stream his vessel flies ; While oft, a backward look he throws. To watch the slumber of his foes : They move, they rise, his flight they view,- They raise the Warhoop, and pursue ! As Some dark cloud by storms unbound, Whose shadow Sweeps the sun-lit ground, Swift in their qourse, on, on, they come, Half hid in wreaths of Whit'ning foam. The first canoe, two warriors borfe— • One, ptess'd her as with magic oar ; And as she held her threatening way, One, held a knife prepar'd to slay : While further up the sweeping tide. To stop retreat on either side, Tlie third, his active paddle plied. Poor Dusrald marks with anxious eve; Small chance to fight, but less to fly ; Above him, sits his wary foe, — The falls' deep thunder rolls below j V i ll> f 4 ¥ 4 Ah -f 4 *t^his way or that, 'tis mortal pairi, ' by man, or by his maker slain. His paddle 41OW aside is thrown, *■ * he grasps a weapon longer known ; * A brother's gift, ere Dugald sought, 'Thy wilds Columbia ! even in thought. though long and loud — the rifle's sound By that dread waterfall is drown'd ; The ey^, the bullet's course can tell, Where mnocent of life it fell ; It struck the paddle as it play'dj And snapt the handle from the blade ; The splinter with the Indian lay — 'The better portion floats away ! Dugald regains his tiny oar, And tries his chance for life once ihore; Alas ! the rapids' dreadful scope. Leaves scanty room for Dugald's hopie : For now within the whelming flood Sweep the pursuers and pursu'd* i^ow EJugald I thy good paddle*T)ly — henceforth, no foe thy strength shall try. Save the strong floods — the Indians sweep Like seabirds o'er the stormy df^p— Their distant brother ere too late, Sees and avoids his comrades' fate ; Whilst they resolv'd, meet death's dread form, Their souls a portion of the storm ! As the huge engine's ceaseless play, I^ives some lone vessel on her way, So true so constant and so strong, The settler urg'd his craft along ; One moment, onths flood he ^^ains The next, he lies as held in chains : But ah ! his strength is doom'd to fail. He sits exhausted sad and pale ) i "s*^ fiis gallant race i» nearly run, He sinks beside his weeping son ! • * # * ♦ * That dark and helpkss momem pttst, His tartan coat away he cast ; Again he grasps his maple blade, By sweat and blttod adhesive made ; Each burning vein anew distends, Each joint is knit, each muscle bends, Heaven with fresh strength his hand suppUes- His buoyant hopes once more arise — From flood and foe the Scot is free, Beneath Goat Island's friendly lee ! That day, above the fells' deep roar, A clear and beauteous rainbow rose ; Like some bright spirit bending o'er, The scene of Dugald's recent woes. And ere the sun his aenith gain'd. His signal caught the mainland view ; Nor idle long, his friends remain'd, Q,uick o'«r the stream their shallop flew : They touch the Isle, and safe return, While many a heart is ftill with joy : Nor envy's self, those (ears could mourn, Which Dugald wept upon his bov I ; i Jr Si V:ARL.Y PIBTV. Written for a young Lad/y^s Album. j\ Sweet is the light of early morn, When merging from the'r ocean bed, The welcome sunbeams far adorn Each lordly home and lowly shed ; — But holier far, the first bright beam, The spirit sheds o'er life's dark stream. Sweet is the earliest breath of spring, When o'er the gray-clad earth it goes ; And every green and living thing, Walc'd by its touch luxuriant grows ; — But sweeter far the heavenly power, That hallows youth's short dang'rous hour. Sweet are the notes that oft ascend, Prom sun-lit plain or shady grove ; Wjpien clear harmonious voices blend, ^n one loud song of new-born love ; — But sweeter, lovelier, far arise The soul's first breathings to the skies. *Tis sweet to view the summer's rose, Expanding into early bloom : While every tardy breeze that blows, Is laden with the rich perfume ; — But richer than the scents of even, The young heart's incense mounts to heaven. '*Pi f] M II I There is a flower more blooming far, Thin ever grew on earth's cold breast } There is a more resplendent star, Than ever deck'd the sky's bright crest ;■ That flower, that jstar, is o 'ly found. To bloom, to shine on holy ground. And ik that fair and fragile flower Has brav'd the elemental war ; And oft in*nature's darkest hour Is seen the light of that clear star ;— 'Tis faith in God, and rigid truth, The prop of age, the guide of youth I it I # *■ V