When thus were all their honours shorn, And blushed and brightened, as the morn Till o'er each parent's drooping head My friends! in youth's romantic prime, Like these twin Roses spend your time, Then be your breasts as free from cares, And in the infant bud that blows Mark the dear promise of a rose, That o'er your withering hours shall shine, Till, planted in that realm of rest, Amidst the gardens of the blest, You flower afresh, like Aaron's rod, TO AGNES. REPLY TO SOME LINES, BEGINNING, "ARREST, O TIME! THY FLEETING COURSE." TIME will not check his eager flight, Though gentle Agnes scold, For 't is the Sage's dear delight To make young ladies old. Then listen, Agnes, friendship sings; And pluck from his careering wings Adorned with these, defy his rage, Start not; old age is Virtue's prime: Clad in the spoils of vanquished Time Beyond that vale, in boundless bloom, AN EPITAPH. ART thou a man of honest mould, The sun that wakes yon violet's bloom, The roving wind shall pass away, THE OLD MAN'S SONG. SHALL man of frail fruition boast? There was a time-that time is past - Like me through varying seasons range, In infancy, my vernal prime, Amusement plucked the wings of Time, Summer my youth succeeded soon, And Pleasure held the reins till noon, Like autumn, rich in ripening corn, Close followed age, infirm old age, When shall I fall before his rage, I long to cast the chains away, Life lies in embryo-never free THE GLOWWORM. The male of this insect is said to be a fly, which the female caterpillar WHEN Evening closes Nature's eye And tempt the rover through the dark. Conducted by a sweeter star Thus in this wilderness of tears, Unhappy he, whose hopeless eye BOLEHILL TREES. A conspicuous plantation, encompassing a school-house and playground, on a bleak eminence at Barlow, in Derbyshire; on the one hand facing the high moors, on the other overlooking a richly-cultivated, well-wooded, and mountainous country, .near the seat of a gentleman where the writer has spent many happy hours. Now peace to his ashes who planted yon trees, In lofty luxuriance they wave with the breeze, On the brow of the mountain, uncultured and bleak, Like the lock on the forehead of Time. A landmark they rise;-to the stranger forlorn, 'Tis rapture to spy the young beauties of Morn The homeward-bound husbandman joys to behold, Their branches yet gleaming with purple and gold, The maidens that gather the fruits of the moor,* * Through the blue dazzling distance of noon-light explore The trees that remind them of home! The children that range in the valley suspend Their sports, and in ecstacy gaze, When they see the broad moon from the summit ascend, Oh! sweet to my soul is that beautiful grove, It gladdens my spirit, it soothes from afar With tranquil and tender delight, It shines through my heart, like a hope-beaming star It tells me of moments of innocent bliss, For ever and ever gone o'er; Like the light of a smile, like the balm of a kiss, Yet wherefore of pleasures departed complain, That leave such endearment behind? Though the sun of their sweetness be sunk in the main, Then peace to his ashes who planted those trees! Nor marble nor brass could emblazon his fame, Ah! thus when I sleep in the desolate tomb, * Bilberries clusterberries and cranberries. |