THEY err who deem thee of celestial race,
Nymph of the ceaseless smile,
Thine is no Angel face,
O treacherous Hope, who flatterest to beguile.
Thou wert, indeed, fair spirit, born in heaven;
But from the realm of bliss
Thy faithless form was driven
With those who plung'd into the deep abyss.
So still thy dazzling lineaments display
The hue of heavenly birth;
And mortals own thy sway,
Deem'd the good Angel of the sons of earth.
Thou, when the traveller of the moonless night
Gropes o'er the moor his way,
Shewest the watry light
That tempts the wretched wanderer far astray.
The dear illusion makes his heart rejoice,
He hastens wildly on-
And now he lifts his voice
And louder now-and now the light is gone.
Thou hearest him as to the water side
A wretched man he moves,
And when beneath the tide,
Groaning, he sinks, remembering all he loves.
And when the mountainous ocean swells and raves, When the ship sinks beneath,
Thou makest on the waves
The mariner endure protracted death.
Long buoy'd by thee, with miserable eye
He gazes round and round,
And thinks he can descry
The distant vessel o'er the billows bound.
Oh happy, if by no vain wish possess❜d,
When mid the waters cast,
Despair had fill'd his breast,
Soon had he perish'd, and the pang been past.
Fool! he who trusts thee in the evil hour,
Thou parasite of grief,
Whose false and boasting power
Can only promise, never bring relief.
BURST into life, 'midst loud and wanton jeers,
Thy feeble cries, sweet Innocent, were drown'd:
But summon'd hence, 'midst friends dissolv'd in tears,
Be thou, still pure, in holy rapture found.
WHEN lifting high the rosy glass,
Each comrade toasts his favorite lass,
To his fond bosom near;
Ah! how can I the nectar sip,
Or Anna's name escape my lip,
When Mary is my dear?
Around it flies, dare I profane
My love? ah! no! they ask in vain
My charmer's name to hear:
Or to content the throughtless crew,
I sigh and give the toast to Sue,
But Mary is my dear.
The plenteous bowl will vanquish care,
And soothe the anguish of despair;
Ah! remedy severe !
Delusive poison! from me, fly,
Nor thou, sweet memory, ever die,
While Mary is my dear.
Be patient yet, my Soul, thou hast not long
To groan beneath accumulated wrong :
Soon, very soon, I trust, the galling yoke
That clogs thee now, for ever shall be broke.
It comes, thy freedom comes, from grief arise
Prepare exulting for thy native skies.
Soon, very soon, this world's unholy dreams,
Its poor possessors, and their trifling schemes,
Shall worthless seem to thee, as leaves imbrown'd,
That blasts autumnal scatter o'er the ground,
O then, from all of earthly taint made free,
What scenes unthought, thy blessed eyes may see!
Perhaps, commission'd thou shalt bend thy flight,
Where worlds and suns roll far from mortal sight,
And hail'd by beings pure, who know no care,
Thy gracious Master's high behests declare:
Or raptur'd bend, amid the seraph band,
That round the throne of light, attending stand,
To golden harps their dulcet voices raise,
And ceaseless hymn the great Creator's praise.
O while such hopes await, can aught on earth,
My conscious soul, to one sad sigh give birth?
Be far each anxious thought: no more repine,
Soon shall the crown of Amaranth be thine.
Written at a period of dangerous illness.
IN CONSEQUENCE OF THE SCARLET FEVER.
WHILST FEVER from the sultry East,
Effus'd her venom pale;
Her raven "snuff'd the promised feast,”
And croak'd in every gale.
In yon' low dell, where nigh the thatch
The hops in clusters spread,
I saw the unconscious victim stretch
His little hands for aid;
Or, vainly pant for zephyrs cool
Within that streamy creek;
Or there, beside the rush-green pool,
Betray the burning cheek.
I saw the maid, who sweetly bloom'd,
Draw quick her poison'd breath;
And those fine eyes, that love illum'd,
For ever clos'd in death.
Yet, "here (I cried) this sloping hill
Hygeia! be thy care!
As freshness from the shade and rill,
Shall fan the tainted air.
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