XXII.

The fields of nature to deform

Not always drives the furious blast,
And shall misfortune's moral storm
Gainst meek endurance ever last?

No, though unnumber'd ills assail,
Though man behold no succour nigh,
Though with the frailest of the frail
Presumption tempt the prying eye;

Yet, if the germ of virtue live,

Let constant faith her sufferings brave; Goodness is powerful to forgive,

And Heaven omnipotent to save.

Though gathering clouds life's closing hours
With dark distressful fears annoy,
Hope points to Mercy's radiant bowers,
Where Truth triumphant dwells with joy.

Cupid, with downcast, humbled mien,
Has to the Thunderer breathed his care,
The' Almighty Father smiled serene,
And granted his adorer's prayer.

Now flies he to his lost one's aid,

He gently raised her drooping head, With his bright arrow touch'd the maid, And roused her from her cheerless bed.

He animates anew her charms,

Warm o'er her breathes the light of love, Then bears her in his circling arms,

And stands before the throne of Jove.

But on the Sovereign of the Skies

What fleshly optics dare to gaze? And Psyche with averted eyes

Shrinks trembling from the' excessive blaze.

Till, Hebe raising to her lips

The ambrosial goblet foaming high,
Rapt in ecstatic trance she sips
The fount of immortality!

Purpled with roses dance the Hours,
The Graces scattering odours play,
And crown'd with never fading flowers
The Muses hymn the jocund lay.

And onward up the' ethereal arch

Glad Hymen leads the festive train, As o'er the rainbow's hues they march, And links them in his golden chain. While soon to bless the faithful pair, With eye of laughter, soul of flame, Burst into life a daughter fair,

And Pleasure was the infant's name.

GURNEY.

THE HAMPSHIRE COTTAGERS.

A Tale.

How lovely o'er thy valleys gay,

Sweet Hampshire, spreads the verdure mild! How brightly shines the morning ray

That quivers on thy woodlands wild!

Eden of England! thou art fair!

Thine is each soft and awful grace! A Claude might catch his beauty there, Or wild Salvator grandeur trace.

And there beneath' Ytene's oaks,'

Where darkly spreads the forest gloom That echoes to the woodman's strokes,

The blushing rose delights to bloom. Fair are thy villas, fairer still

The cots that skirt the green wood side; Where some lone, shallow, babbling rill Pours through the vale its silver tide. And fairest of the cottage train

That decks fair Hampshire's valleys gay,
Of clustering vine and jasmine vain,
Rose the sweet home of Gerard Grey.

All smiled without the lovely cot,
And all within of comfort spoke;
The happy peasants bless'd their lot,
And doubly bless'd the nuptial yoke.
Those walls had witness'd Gerard's birth;
And witness'd thirty years of bliss,
Since she whom best he loved on earth
Blush'd whilst he gave the bridal kiss.
One only daughter bless'd the pair;-
On the lone shrub one rose bud beam'd,-
Needs it to say how sweet, how fair,
How pure this living blossom seem'd?

But not the parent's eye alone

Dwelt on that flower without a stain;
For through the village world was known
The beauty and the worth of Jane.

To win her heart, with rustic wile
Full many a simple peasant strove,
She gave to all a grateful smile,

But William gain'd the blush of love.

A friendless orphan was the youth;

But industry, and strength, and health, Unblemish'd virtue, spotless truth,

And faithful love were William's wealth.

They both were young; but ye shall wed,' Joyous, the happy father cried, 'Together will we seek our bread,

And work for Jane our mutual pride!

'How bless'd will be the day, to see
Your lovely babes around you cling,
Hang fondly on their mother's knee,
Or infant carols gaily sing!

'Yes, ye shall wed! soon June will come,
Bless'd witness of our nuptial vows!
Then shall my cot be William's home;
My blooming Jane be William's spouse.'

Oh! gaily pass'd fair April's day
Mid watery suns and balmy showers!
Now in the pride of early May

Each meadow beams with dewy flowers; And Jane more fair, more sweet than they Trips lightly through the verdant bowers.

To meet her William flies the maid,

William, for three long days unseen! A truant from his native shade,

To Milbrook fair the youth had been.

He comes, but, oh! how changed his air!
How gloomy his o'erclouded brow!
To his sad breast he clasps the fair,
Then faltering tells his tale of woe.

VOL. II.

Y Y

Too sad, too common is the tale!
By heat, fatigue, and mirth o'ercome,
Whilst quaffing the inspiring ale,

He hears the spirit-stirring drum.

The serjeant's artful tale he hears;
The fatal oaths are quickly ta'en;-

'And soon,-ah, cease those fruitless tears! Must William leave thee, gentle Jane.'

I may not tell the mournful scene

When William left her clasping arms,-
Ye that have loved and parted been,
Ah! well ye know her fond alarms!

I may not tell what anguish rent

Her heart, when with the martial train To injured Lusitania sent,

He sail'd upon the distant main.

Oh! drooping was that lovely flower
That bloom'd so fair in April's ray!
Sad and alone the weary hour

She wept for William far away.

And oft yon towering hill she seeks,
To gaze upon the misty line

That faintly the horizon streaks,

And marks where land and ocean join.

There would she sit and muse and weep, Dwell on the light bark's shadowy form, And, as the evening breezes sweep,

Would shudder at the approaching storm.