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Still one of Adam's heirs,
Though doomed by chance of birth
To dress so mean, and to eat the lean
Instead of the fat of the earth;
To make such humble meals
As honest labor can,
A bone and a crust, with a grace to God,
And little thanks to man!

A spade a rake a hoe
A pickaxe, or a bill !
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow,
A flail, or what ye will—
Whatever the tool to ply,
Here is a willing drudge,
With muscle and limb, and woe to him
Who does their pay begrudge |

Who every weekly score
Docks labor's little mite, .
Bestows on the poor at the temple door,
But robbed them over night.
The very shilling he hoped to save,
As health and morals fail,
Shall visit me in the New Bastile
The Spital, or the Gaol!


O SAw ye not fair Ines P
She's gone into the west,
To dazzle when the sun is down,
And rob the world of rest:

She took our daylight with her,
The smiles that we love best,
With morning blushes on her cheek,
And pearls upon her breast.

O turn again, fair Ines,
Before the fall of night,
For fear the moon should shine alone,
And stars unrivalled bright;
And blesséd will the lover be
That walks beneath their light,
And breathes the love against thy cheek
I dare not even write |

Would I had been, fair Ines,
That gallant cavalier,
Who rode so gayly by thy side,
And whispered thee so near !—
Were there no bonny dames at home,
Or no true lovers here,
That he should cross the seas to win
The dearest of the dear 2

I saw thee, lovely Ines,
Descend along the shore,
With bands of noble gentlemen,
And banners waved before:
And gentle youth and maidens gay,
And snowy plumes they wore; —
It would have been a beauteous dream,
—If it had been no more

Alas, alas! fair Ines,
She went away with song,

With music waiting on her steps,
And shoutings of the throng;
But some were sad, and felt no mirth,
But only music's wrong,
In sounds that sang farewell, farewell,
To her you’ve loved so long.

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines :
That vessel never bore
So fair a lady on its deck,
Nor danced so light before, —
Alas for pleasure on the sea,
And sorrow on the shore -
The smile that blest one lover's hear
Has broken many more


SUMMER is gone on swallows’ wings,
And earth has buried all her flowers:
No more the lark, the linnet sings,
But silence sits in faded bowers.
There is a shadow on the plain
Of Winter ere he comes again, –
There is in woods a solemn sound
Of hollow warnings whispered round,
As Echo in her deep recess
For once had turned a prophetess.
Shuddering Autumn stops to list,
And breathes his fear in sudden sighs,
With clouded face, and hazel eyes
That quench themselves, and hide in mist.

Yes, Summer's gone like pageant bright;

Its glorious days of golden light
Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver,
Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river.
Gone the sweetly-scented breeze
That spoke in music to the trees;
Gone for damp and chilly breath,
As if fresh blown o'er marble seas,
Or newly from the lungs of Death.
Gone its virgin roses’ blushes,
Warm as when Aurora rushes
Freshly from the god's embrace,
With all her shame upon her face.
Old Time hath laid them in the mould;
Sure he is blind as well as old,
Whose hand relentless never spares
Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs!
Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now
From where so blushing-blest they tarried
Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough,
Gone; for Day and Night are married.
All the light of love is fled :
Alas! that negro breasts should hide
The lips that were so rosy red,
At morning and at even-tide

Delightful Summer! then adieu Till thou shalt visit us anew : But who without regretful sigh Can say adieu, and see thee fly? Not he that e'er hath felt thy power, His joy expanding like a flower That cometh after rain and snow, Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow:—

Not he that fled from Babel-strife
To the green Sabbath-land of life,
To dodge dull Care 'mid clustered trees,
And cool his forehead in the breeze, –
Whose spirit, weary-worn perchance,
Shook from its wings a weight of grief,
And perched upon an aspen-leaf,
For every breath to make it dance.

Farewell!— on wings of sombre stain, That blacken in the last blue skies, Thou fly'st; but thou wilt come again On the gay wings of butterflies. Spring at thy approach will sprout Her new Corinthian beauties out, Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words Will grow to songs, and eggs to birds; Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers, And April Smiles to sunny hours. Bright days shall be, and gentle nights Full of soft breath and echo-lights, As if the god of sun-time kept His eyes half-open while he slept. Roses shall be where roses were, Not shadows, but reality; As if they never perished there, But slept in immortality: Nature shall thrill with new delight, And Time’s relumined river run Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright As if its source were in the sun

But say, hath Winter then no charms ? Is there no joy, no gladness, warms

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