Imatges de pÓgina

And sowing bitter seeds to choke the soil,
Where erst the tendrils of Affection sprung,
And Faith-aspiring heavenward-rooted stood!

Back |-backl-release the torrent thou controll'st
'It will but sweep away the idle weeds,
With some few flowers, scarcely worth a care,
That grow round Feeling's ever sacred well;
And fairer ones may spring again, to grace
The once fair spot thou wouldst for aye despoil !

In Joy's bright hour, thy cynic smile may glance
And yet not chill the heart o'er which it speeds;
For Hope sits smiling in her blinding light,
And thy cold spite amid its sheen is quench d.
But, oh! in anguish,—'mid Destruction's work,
'Mid ruin'd fragments of the heart's dear joy,-
Who—who can bear thy glance, thou pitiless ?-
Is't not enough to look on spoils like these-
Upon Hope's fane in ruins, yet to weep-
To weep-that one poor boon of gentle Grief !--
But thou must come and scorch those tears to flame ?
Thou art the tempting fiend of fell Despair
The ignis fatuus of Sorrow's night,
Leading the wayworn soul, through cheerless tracks,
To Desperation's wildly-foaming shore,
Where rings thy madd’ning laughter through the air :
Thy mocking finger, becking on to death,
Points to the wave, and Frenzy does the rest !

Yet is thy dread existence oft a dream,
Conjured by wounded pride or slighted love,
Or Hope, or Trust, or Friendship's name betray'd,
Or of some heart by human hatred cursed
A dream, to cheat the world, and hide the pangs
That, arrow-like, transfix the humbled soul,
Beneath thy panoply of haughty pride,
Too thin, at times, to hide the bosom's throes -

I'll none of thee, thou king of sad pretence-
Thou mockery of Feeling's calm repose I
Hence, with thy flimsy vesture l-Demon, hence !-
Grief's gushing founts thy hand can never close!



O’er Nature's lovely scenes I look,

When Morn her beamy train
First dips within the crystal brook,

Then speeds across the plain
A humid gem to sprinkle o’er

Each leaf and tiny flow'r,
Till, spreading forth her wing to soar,

She shines in all her pow'r;
While “ Speed the plough!" I blithely sing,
With “ Speed the plough!" the echoes ring:
God speed the plough!" is Nature's voice-
Its triumphs make the earth rejoice.

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