Whilst heavy sighs proclaimed all joy was fled From him, the childless father, who gazed on Scenes, which brought memories of the loved and gone. There the green oak in civil triumph bore The torn remains of the once favorite kite; And the rose-tree displayed a beauteous store Of rosy flowers, which budding, joy'd the sight; And sideways spread a mound of unmown grass, O'er which such bounding feet were used to pass: All these seem'd shrouded in eternal night, Since from their view the father could but borrow Thoughts of past joy, to deepen present sorrow. The bell ceased tolling-and the solemn tread The village children had forgot their play; They missed their loved companion-he who'd chase Their fleetest footsteps oft, and win the race; THE TWIN SISTERS. 3. R. Taylor. I saw them first one summer's day Twin sisters were they, having each Two stars in the calm depths of heaven, In the same diadem. They were together night and day If one were gay, through both their hearts To them distrust and selfishness Were utterly unknown, Their hearts were two sweet instruments I saw them first one summer's day, And then in childish waywardness And round and round the garden chased Oh! what a happy shout they raised And then they talked of future days, Until another butterfly Recalled them to the chase. At length they set them down to rest And sadness settled like a cloud And they looked in each others face and said, 'Poor children in the wood.' They were happy all the summer day, When they knelt to say their evening prayers And the father and mother kissed their babes, It was a blessed sight. The morrow I was far away, Musing with many fears, How those sweet creatures would be changed In ten or twenty years, And I thought about their sweet good night, Till my heart was moved to tears. ON VICISSITUDE. Gray. Now the golden morn aloft Waves her dew bespangled wing With vermeil cheek, and whisper soft, She woos the tardy spring; Till April starts, and calls around The sleeping fragrance of the ground, And lightly o'er the living scene Scatters her freshest, tenderest green. New-born flocks, in rustic dance, Yesterday the sullen year Saw the snowy whirlwind fly; Mute was the music of the air, The herd stood drooping by; Their raptures now, that wildly flow, No yesterday nor morrow know; 'Tis man alone, that joy descries With forward and reverted eyes. |