Tufted moss and ivy-twine, Few and simple flowerets these, THE ADVENTURE OF A STAR. ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY, A STAR would be a flower; So down from heaven it came, There on a bank, beneath the shade A landscape stretching ten yards round: From gazing through th' eternity of space! Gay plants on every side Únclosed their lovely blooms, And scattered far and wide The butterfly, the bee, And many an insect on the wing, Full of the spirit of the spring, Flew round and round in endless glee, Now all the flowers were up and drest Auriculas, like belles and beaux, The brilliance of their gold brocade. While Rosebuds scarcely showed their hue, Till their own nightingale, who tarried long, And yet their failing breath Was sweeter in the hour of death Than all the lavish fragrance of the time. Amid this gorgeous train Our Star shone forth in vain; Through whose fine gloom it strove to twinkle, Than the bright spangle in a drop of dew: No fellowship the stranger found. These lowliest children of the earth, Save from the hand of lady fair, Plucked one and then another, A sister or a brother, From its elastic stalk, Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye. Thus all day long that Star's hard lot, While bliss and beauty ran to waste, Was but to witness on the spot Beauty and bliss it could not taste. At length the sun went down, and then Its faded glory came again, With brighter, bolder, purer light It kindled through the deepening night, Till the green bower, so dim by day, Still sighed to find itself alone, Within a hairbreadth of the pole: The Star, then, wiser for its folly, knew Resolved no more to roam. One hint the humble bard may send To shine in her own character! Oh! may she be content to grace, On earth, in heaven, her proper place! HANNAH. AT fond sixteen my roving heart Where circling woods embowered the glade, I stole her hand, it shrunk,—but, no; With all the fervency of youth, Not with a warmer, purer ray, But, swifter than the frighted dove, The Angel of Affliction rose, Yet, in the glory of my pride, I stood, and all his wrath defied; stood, though whirlwinds shook my brain, And lightnings cleft my soul in twain. I shunned my nymph;-and knew not why I shunned her, for I could not bear Yet, sick at heart with hope delayed, The storm blew o'er, and in my breast 'T was on the merry morn of May, Then, as I climbed the mountains o'er, I saw the village steeple rise,— I reached the hamlet:-all was gay; I met a wedding,—stepped aside; -There is a grief that cannot feel- -My heart grew cold,-it felt not then: DEPARTED DAYS: A RHAPSODY. Written on visiting Fulneck, in Yorkshire, where the Author was educated, in the DAYS of my childhood, hail! Down in the visionary vale, Before mine eyes appear, Joys of my early hours! The swallows on the wing, The bees among the flowers, The butterflies of spring, Light as their lovely moments flew, Were not more gay, more innocent, than you: And fugitive as they, Like butterflies in spring, Like bees among the flowers, Like swallows on the wing, 1 |