And in blossomed vale and grove
Every shepherd knelt to love.

Then a rosy, dimpled cheek,
And a blue eye, fond and meek;
And a ringlet-wreathen brow,
Like hyacinths on a bed of snow:
And a low voice, silver sweet,
From a lip without deceit;
Only those the hearts could move
Of the simple swains to love.

But that time is gone and past,
Can the summer always last?
And the swains are wiser grown,
And the heart is turned to stone,
And the maiden's rose may wither;
Cupid's fled, no man knows whither.
But another Cupid's come,
With a brow of care and gloom:
Fixed upon the earthly mould,
Thinking of the sullen gold;
In his hand the bow no more,
At his back the household store,
That the bridal gold must buy:
Useless now the smile and sigh:
But he wears the pinion still,
Flying at the sight of ill.

O, for the old true-love time,
When the world was in its prime !

HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

[1785-1806.]

TO THE HERB ROSEMARY.

Come, press my lips, and lie with

me

Beneath the lowly alder-tree,

And we will sleep a pleasant sleep, And not a care shall dare intrude, To break the marble solitude So peaceful and so deep.

And hark! the wind-god, as he flies,
Moans hollow in the forest trees,
And sailing on the gusty breeze,
Mysterious music dies.
Sweet flower! that requiem wild is
mine,

It warns me to the lonely shrine,

The cold turf altar of the dead;
My grave shall be in yon lone spot,
Where as I lie, by all forgot,

A dying fragrance thou wilt o'er my
ashes shed.

TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE.

MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire!

Whose modest form, so delicately fine, Was nursed in whirling storms, And cradled in the winds.

Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway,

And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw

To mark his victory.

In this low vale, the promise of the

year,

THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

WHEN marshalled on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky; One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem:
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud, the night was dark,

The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed The wind that tossed my foundering bark.

Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to

stem;

When suddenly a star arose,

It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease;

93

Shall we build to the purple of
Pride-

The trappings which dizen the proud?
Alas! they are all laid aside;
And here's neither dress nor adornment
allowed,

thrall,

of the shroud.

the dark stone,

Are the signs of a sceptre that none may disown!

The first tabernacle to Hope we will build,

And look for the sleepers around us to rise; The second to Faith, which insures it fulfilled;

And the third to the Lamb of the great sacrifice,

Who bequeathed us them both when he rose to the skies.