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WHEN last I roved these winding wood-walks

green, Green winding walks, and shady pathways

sweet, Oft-times would Anna seek the silent Shrouding her beauties in the lone retreat. No more I hear her footsteps in the shade : Her image only in these pleasant ways Meets me self-wandering, where in happier days I held free converse with the fair-hair'd maid. I passed the little cottage which she loved, The cottage which did once my all contain ; It spake of days which ne'er must come again, Spake to my heart, and much my heart was moved. “ Now fair befall thee, gentle maid !” said I, And from the cottage turned me with a sigh.


A TIMID grace sits trembling in her eye,
As loth to meet the rudeness of men's sight,
Yet shedding a delicious lunar light,
That steeps in kind obliious ecstasy
The care-crazed mind, like some still melody:
Speaking most plain the thoughts which do

Her gentle sprite: peace, and meek quietness,
And innocent loves, and maiden purity :
A look whereof might heal the cruel smart
Of changed friends, or fortune's wrongs unkind;
Might to sweet deeds of mercy move the heart
Of him who hates his brethren of mankind.
Turned are those lights from me, who fondly yet
Past joys, vain loves, and buried hopes regret.


If from my lips some angry accents fell,
Peevish complaint, or harsh reproof unkind,
'Twas but the error of a sickly mind
And troubled thoughts, clouding the purer well,
And waters clear, of Reason; and for me
Let this my verse the poor atonement be-
My verse, which thou to praise wert ever

Too highly, and with a partial eye to see
No blemish. Thou to me didst ever shew
Kindest affection; and would oft-times lend
An ear to the desponding love-sick lay,
Weeping my sorrows with me, who repay
But ill the mighty debt of love I owe,
Mary, to thee, my sister and my friend.



What reason first imposed thee, gentle name, Name that my father bore, and his sire's

sire, Without reproach? we trace our stream no

higher ; And I, a childless man, may end the same. Perchance some shepherd on Lincolnian plains, In manners guileless as his own sweet flocks, Received thee first amid the inerry

mocks And arch allusions of his fellow swains. Perchance from Salem's holier fields returned, With glory gotten on the heads abhorr'd Of faithless Saracens, some martial lord Took his meek title, in whose zeal he burn'd. Whate'er the fount whence thy beginnings came, No deed of mine shall shame thee, gentle name.

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JOHN, you were figuring in the gay career
Of blooming manhood with a young man's joy,
When I was yet a little peevish boy-
Though time has made the difference dis-

Betwixt our ages, which then seemed so great-
And still by rightful custom you retain
Much of the old authoritative strain,
And keep the elder brother up in state.
O! you do well in this. "Tis man's worst

To let the " things that have been" run to

And in the unmeaning present sink the past:
In whose dim glass even now I faintly read
Old buried forms, and faces long ago,

you, and I, and one more, only know.

Even te To be


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