EAL gently thou! whose heart hast won
The young bird from the nest away,
Where careless 'neath a vernal sun
She gaily caroll'd day by day.
The haunt is lone (the heart must grieve), From whence her timid wing doth soar; The pensive list at hush of eve,
Yet hear her gushing song no more.
Deal gently with her: thou art dear
Beyond what vestal lips have told-
And, like a lamb, from fountain clear
She turns confiding to the fold.
She round thy sweet domestic bower
The wreaths of changeless love shall twine,
Watch for thy step at vesper hour,
And blend her holiest prayer with thine.
Deal gently thou, when far away
'Mid stranger scenes her foot shall rove, Nor let thy tender cares decay
The soul of woman lives in love.
And should'st thou wondering mark a tear
Unconscious from her eyelid break,
Be pitiful, and soothe the fear
That man's strong heart can ne'er partake.
A mother yields her gem to thee
On thy true breast to sparkle rare;
She places 'neath thy household tree
The idol of her fondest care;
And, by thy trust to be forgiven
When judgment wakes in terror wild,
By all thy treasured hopes of heaven-
Deal gently with the widow's child.
L. H. SIGOURNEY.
HE snowdrop, nature's timid child,
Awakes to life bedew'd with tears;
And flings around its fragrance mild;
And, where no rival flowerets bloom,
Amid the chill and barren gloom,
This beauteous gem appears.
All weak and wan, with head reclined
On its pure couch, the drifted snow,
It trembles, while the ruthless wind
Bends its slim form-the tempest lowers-
Its emerald eye drops crystal showers,
On its cold bed below.
Where'er I find thee, gentle flower,
Thou still art sweet and dear to me;
For I have known the cheerless hour-
Have seen the sunbeams cold and pale-
Have felt the chilly wintry gale,
And wept and shrank like thee.
I THINK ON THEE IN THE NIGHT.
THINK on thee in the night,
When all beside is still,
And the moon comes out, with her pale, sad
To sit on the lonely hill;
When the stars are all like dreams,
And the breezes all like sighs,
And there comes a voice from the far-off streams, Like a spirit's low replies.
I think on thee by day,
'Mid the cold and busy crowd,
When the laughter of the young and gay
Is far too glad and loud.
I hear thy soft, sad tone,
And thy young sweet smile I see : My heart, my heart were all alone,
But for its dreams of thee !
Y father oft would speak
Your worth and virtues; and, as I did grow
More and more apprehensive, I did thirst
To see the man so praised; but yet all this
Was but a maiden longing, to be lost
As soon as found; till, sitting at my window,
Printing my thoughts in lawn, I saw a god
I thought (but it was you) enter our gates;
My blood flew out and back again as fast,
As I had put it forth and sucked it in
Like breath; then was I called away in haste
To entertain you. Never was a man,
Heav'd from a sheep-cot to a sceptre,
Rais'd so high in thoughts, as I; you left a kiss
Upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
From you for ever; I did hear you talk
Far above singing; after you were gone
I grew acquainted with my heart, and search'd
What stirr'd it so. Alas! I found it love.
BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.
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