TO A CHILD

EMBRACING HIS MOTHER.

I.

LOVE thy mother, little one!

Kiss and clasp her neck again,—

Hereafter she may have a son

Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain.

Love thy mother, little one!

II.

Gaze upon her living eyes,

And mirror back her love for thee,Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs To meet them when they cannot see. Gaze upon her living eyes!

III.

Press her lips the while they glow

With love that they have often told,——
Hereafter thou may'st press in woe,
And kiss them till thine own are cold.
Press her lips the while they glow!

IV.

Oh, revere her raven hair!

Altho' it be not silver-grey;

Too early Death, led on by Care,

May snatch save one dear lock away.

Oh! revere her raven hair!

V.

Pray for her at eve and morn,

That Heaven may long the stroke defer,

For thou may'st live the hour forlorn

When thou wilt ask to die with her.

Pray for her at eve and morn!

STANZAS.

FAREWELL Life! my senses swim,
And the world is growing dim:
Thronging shadows cloud the light,
Like the advent of the night—

Colder, colder, colder still,
Upward steals a vapour chill ;
Strong the earthy odour grows-
I smell the mould above the rose !

Welcome Life! the Spirit strives!
Strength returns and hope revives;
Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn
Fly like shadows at the morn,-

O'er the earth there comes a bloom;

Sunny light for sullen gloom,

Warm perfume for vapour cold

I smell the rose above the mould!

April, 1485.

TO A FALSE FRIEND.

OUR hands have met, but not our hearts;

Our hands will never meet again.

Friends, if we have ever been,

Friends we cannot now remain :

I only know I lov'd you once,

I only know I lov'd in vain ;

Our hands have met, but not our hearts;

Our hands will never meet again!

Then farewell to heart and hand!

I would our hands had never met:
Even the outward form of love

Must be resign'd with some regret.

Friends, we still might seem to be,

If my wrong could e'er forget

Our hands have join'd but not our hearts:

I would our hands had never met!

THE POET'S PORTION.

WHAT is a mine-a treasury—a dower—
A magic talisman of mighty power ?
A poet's wide possession of the earth.
He has th' enjoyment of a flower's birth
Before its budding-ere the first red streaks,
And Winter cannot rob him of their cheeks.
Look-if his dawn be not as other men's!
Twenty bright flushes- ere another kens
The first of sunlight is abroad-he sees
Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees,
And opes the splendid fissures of the morn.
When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn
Linger for harvesting? Before the leaf

Is commonly abroad, in his pil'd sheaf
The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame.
No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name,