She dwelleth among us, our homesteads receive her, Though with earth-clouded vision we fail to perceive her,
Yet there nathless is she, illuming, adorning,
In the meekness of twilight, the radiance of morning.
Her soul is all music, she lingereth where
Soft harmonies float on the yielding air,
And plaintive discords, like angels distrest,
Wake a marvellous chord in the human breast.
She loveth all nature-the bright and the gay;
She loveth the wealth of a midsummer day;
The peaceful sunshine that sleeps on the hills,
And sprinkles with jewels a thousand rills;
That steals thro' the lattice, and gilds the vane,
And pours like a flood over meadow and plain;
That shrouds the far distance in golden mist,
While the vales into beauty and warmth are kissed.
She loveth all nature-the wild and the free;
She loveth the spirit-toned voice of the sea,
And the clouds that fly madly before the breeze,
And the sound of the wind amongst forest trees;
The mountain torrent, the rivulet small,
And the loud-roaring, dashing waterfall;
The northern aurora, the lightning and thunder,
Dilating the awed heart with rapturous wonder.
She loveth all nature-the grand and sublime;
The mountain that standeth a land-mark for time,
Unscathed by his billows, unworn by his tides,
With sinews of granite in strength that abides;
The time-matured avalanche mutely impending,
Portentously calm-then in madness descending;
The raging volcano's long slumbering might,
The earthquake's deep voice in the stillness of night.
Nor alone in the mountains, and forests, and skies,
The delight of the spirit of poetry lies ;
For man's varied destinies claim her care,
And human affections her sympathy share;
She loveth the gentle, the humble, and pure,
The heart that can silently, strongly endure;
With the truthful and noble, the brave and the free,
There dwelleth the spirit of poetry.
Tis Bame where'er the Beart is.
"Tis home where'er the heart is;
Where'er its loved ones dwell,
In cities or in cottages,
Throng'd haunts or mossy dell:
The heart's a rover ever,
And thus on wave and wild,
The maiden with her lover walks,
The mother with her child.
'Tis bright where'er the heart is;
Its fairy spells can bring
Fresh fountains to the wilderness,
And to the desert-spring.
There are green isles in each ocean,
O'er which affection glides;
And a haven on each rugged shore,
When love's the star that guides.
'Tis free where'er the heart is ;
Nor chain nor dungeon dim,
May check the mind's aspirings,
The spirit's pealing hymn!
The heart gives life its beauty,
Its glory and its power,-
'Tis sunlight to its rippling stream,
And soft dew to its flower.
Canzanet for Three Friends.
WHEN shall we three meet again?
When shall we three meet again?
Oft shall glowing Hope retire,
Oft shall wearied Love expire,
Oft shall Death and sorrow reign,
Ere we three shall meet again!
Though in distant lands we sigh,
Parched beneath a hostile sky;
Though the deep between us rolls,
Friendship shall unite our souls ;
Oft in fancy's rich domain,
There shall we three meet again!
When around this youthful pine
Moss shall creep, and ivy twine;
When these burnished locks are grey;
Thinned by many a toil spent day;
May this long-loved bower remain,
Here may we three meet again.
When the dream of life is fled,
When its wasted lamp is dead;
When in cold oblivion's shade,
Beauty, power, and wealth are laid;
Where immortal spirits reign;
There may we three meet again!
The Flight of Time.
Too late I staid, forgive the crime,
Unheeded flew the hours,
For noiseless falls the foot of time
That only treads on Flowers.
with clear account remarks
The ebbing of the glass,
When all its sands are diamond's sparks,
That dazzle as they pass.
Oh! who to sober measurement
Time's happy swiftness brings,
When birds of paradise have lent
The plumage of their wings?
A fire's a good companionable friend
Ah, though it is an English flower
Alas-how light a cause may move
Alas they had been friends in youth
All hail to thee! radiant ruler of night
All that's bright must fade
And canst thou, mother! for a moment think
Do I not feel? The doubt is keen as steel
Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Dost thou not love, in the season of spring
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