TO A POETICAL FRIEND.

WHY SO misname the writer's task?

The honour all is hers;

"A favour, " ifa Poet ask,

A favour he confers.

Yet to fulfil the kind request
Is skill she dare not own;—

Who to a poet can suggest

A thought to him unknown?

What can the roving eye explore
That earth or heaven displays,
But his has glanced upon before,
With more enraptured gaze?

Or should a heart its tale reveal
Of hidden joy or woe;—

What is there that a heart can feel,
But his must better know?

Forbear a further plea to bring,
Since taste and truth agree,

That none can touch the sacred string
With truth and taste, but he.

TO A FRIEND.

SWEET Jessamine, long may thy elegant flower
Breathe fragrance and solace for me;

And long thy green sprays overshadow the bower
Devoted to friendship and thee.

The eye that was dazzled where lilies and roses
Their brilliant assemblage displayed,
With grateful delight on thy verdure reposes,
-A tranquil and delicate shade.

But ah, what dejection that foliage expresses,
Which pensively droops on her breast!
The dew of the evening has laden her tresses,
And stands like a tear on her crest.

I'll watch by thy side through the gloom of the night,
Impatient till morning appears;

No charm can awaken this heart to delight,
My Jessmine, while thou art in tears.

But soon will the shadows of night be withdrawn, Which ever in mercy are given;

And thou shalt be cheered by the light of the morn, And fanned by the breezes of Heaven.

And still may thy tranquil and delicate shade

Yield fragrance and solace to me;

For though all the flowers in my garden should fade, My heart will repose upon thee.

TO THE SAME, ON HER BIRTH-DAY,

APRIL 16TH.

WITH garlands of primroses crowned,

And smiling through eloquent tears—

Her violets springing around,

Sweet April returning appears:

Though showers have darkened her changeable sky

To me she is fairer than blooming July.

For sparkling with sunbeams I see,

In April's fair retinue here,
What still is accounted by me

The loveliest day in the year:

And soft gratulations shall ever ascend,

To welcome the morning that gave me a friend.

But what to that morning I owe,

Which dawned on my infantile state-
What blessings it came to bestow-

What light it has shed on my fate

What sweet it has yielded, what balm for distress;

I ask not the language of

That day on my infancy beamed:

My smiles bade it welcome—and these,
Prophetic of happiness seemed:

And might not the tears which unconsciously fell,
Possess a significant meaning as well!

O friend of my

bosom! I stray

Through life's chequered vallies with thee:

If clouds ever darken thy way,

Their shadows must fall upon me:

While stars that illumine thy pilgrimage, shine,
With beams of encouraging mercy on mine.

Then whether it enter arrayed
In all the fair colours of spring,
Or wrapped in as hoary a shade

As winterly tempests can bring,

This day to my heart will for ever appear
The brightest, the loveliest day in the year.

TO THE SAME, ON HER BIRTH-DAY.

MUCH wishing, dear Susan, I something could say
Expressive of friendship and joy on this day,

I sent an express, my shy muse to invite,
And waited, in very necessitous plight;
But being on higher employment intent,
A truly discouraging message she sent-
That all applications at present were vain,
On account of a certain poetical swain,
Who now has some business to do in her way,
That must be completeds by Susan's birth-day,
So bowing submissive, with diffidence due,

I determined to try what alone I could do.
But hard was the task;-not a wish could I bend
In the shape of a line with a rhyme at the end.
And though the north wind has been blowing all day,
Not one single thought has it wafted this way.

I went to the window, since nature's green vest
Some feeling poetic is wont to suggest.

But drear was the prospect that waited me there;
I looked at the trees, but their branches were bare;

And I nearly had given it up in despair,

When a little pale star through the twilight that shone, Smiled kindly upon me, and bid me go on.