"But tell me, sweet star, will thy beams as they play,
Inspire my dull brain with some fanciful lay?"
'Twas silent-but sparkling and darting its rays,
It seemed to invite and encourage my gaze;
And as I continued its beams to explore,

They brightened and dazzled each moment the more.
Yet it seemed not to shine its own path to adorn.
But to guide the benighted, and cheer the forlorn.
My Susan! but no-you forbid me the rest:
Yet suffer the wish that escapes from my breast;
O may the bright beams that thy virtues display,
Direct
my dark steps through the shadowy way.

TO TWO CHESNUT TREES.

WHO will deny but there may be
Much inspiration in a tree?

Since Cowper's harp so sweetly spoke,
Fanned by the breeze of Yardly Oak.
Encouraged thus, my own I hung
Your darkly shadowed boughs among;
Thinking perchance some passing gale
Might tell affection's simple tale.

But why should fancy-used to stray Where sheds the sun his golden ray On cultured plains, and vallies gay, Or idly sport her transient hour, In magic grot, or rosy bower

Why should she fly such scenes as these,
To hover near two modest trees,
Whose only office is to wait

As centinels to guard the gate?

Is it because your branches high, Relieved against the pearly sky, Seem giant forms in Fancy's eye, When evening lets her shadows fall, And shrouds you in her sable pall?

Is it because the moon beam rests
So sweetly on your modest crests?
It is because your foliage played
In varied forms of light and shade?
Had ye no other charms than these,
Ye would not be her favourite trees;
For many a fairer have I seen,

Of richer foliage, statelier mien,

That well might claim eulogium each

The Oak, the Elm, and graceful Beech:
And let them richer, nobler be,
They are not half so dear to me.

Where Fancy most delights to stray
Affection always leads the way,
Regardless if the favourite spot
Can boast exterior charm or not;
For love bestows a secret grace
On every object, every place:
E'en were it desolate and bare,
She finds a blooming Eden there;
Quickly each hidden grace can see,
And gives enchantment to a tree.

Then well may Fancy love to stray Where thousand graces court her stay; Where ye in friendly union stand, Like loving sisters, hand in hand, Presiding o'er enchanted land.

Long may your spreading branches meet,

The guardians of that loved retreat,
Where many a tender floweret blooms
Embosomed by your waving plumes:
And Fancy still, by love conveyed,
Shall fondly linger in your shade.

TO A SISTER,

ON HER BIRTH-DAY, JANUARY 30, 1809.

Or hang like twin buds on a stalk,

(We may call ourselves flowers in song.)

The showers that kindly descend,

Have nourished us both as they passed;

And together we shiver and bend,

Assailed by the winterly blast.

But the blast, and the storm, and the shower,
Have still been commissioned to spare;
Though fatal to many a flower,

That grew in a gayer parterre:
And spreading sweet fragrancy wide,
You flourish in verdure arrayed,
While, blighted and pale, at your side,
I hang down my head in the shade.

My Ann, you had taken the lyre:
And I, from the pattern you set,
Attempted the art to acquire,

And often we played a duet :

But those who in grateful return,

Have said they were pleased with the lay,

The discord could always discern:

And yet I continued to play.

The garland the Muses have wrought,
Your temples, my Ann, to entwine,

A few of the tendrils have caught,

And so they appear upon mine:

But even the evergreens fade,

And droop on my forehead, you see; The wreath rather serves as a shade;

'Tis not ornamental to me.