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A LAMENT.

BY MRS. OPIE.

THERE was an eye whose partial glance
Could ne'er my numerous failings see;
There was an ear that still untired

Could listen to kind praise of me.

There was a heart Time only made
For me with fonder feelings burn;
And which whene'er, alas, I roved,

Still longed and pined for my return.

There was a lip which always breathed
E'en short farewells with tones of sadness;
There was a voice whose eager sound

My welcome spoke with heartfelt gladness.

There was a mind, whose vigorous powers
On mine its fostering influence threw ;
And called my humble talents forth,

Till thence its dearest joys it drew.

There was a love that oft for me

With anxious fears would overflow;

And wept and prayed for me, and sought
From future ills to guard-but now

That eye is closed, and deaf that ear,
That lip and voice are mute for ever!
And cold that heart of faithful love,

Which death alone from mine could sever!

And lost to me that ardent mind,

Which loved my varied tasks to see; And, Oh! of all the praise I gained, This was the dearest far to me!

Now I, unloved, uncheered, alone,
Life's dreary wilderness must tread,
Till He who loves the broken heart
In mercy bids me join the dead.

But, "Father of the fatherless,"

O!Thou that hear'st the orphan's cry, And dwellest with the contrite heart,"

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As well as in "Thy place on high❞—

O Lord! though like a faded leaf,
That's severed from its parent tree,

I struggle down life's stormy tide,

That awful tide which leads to Thee ;

Still, Lord! to thee the voice of praise
Shall spring triumphant from my breast;
Since, though I tread a weary way,
I trust that he I mourn is BLEST!

SONNET.

(To a Young Lady, with the FLORA DOMESTICA.)

A GLASS which thou may'st look in, and discover
Features as fair as features well may be,

A glass thou canst not bend too fondly over,

Young LADY-FLOWER, the bard doth send to thee!
And with it this warm prayer: May thy dear bosom
Never know pain more poignant than the ROSE
That feels the wild-bee rustling in its blossom,
And only this soft pain a moment knows :
May'st thou still grow fair as the LILY grows,
Safe as the bud within the SWEET-BRIAR tree,

Be thy smile bright as HEART's-EASE round her throws,

Thy blushes pure as MAIDEN BLUSHES be!

But, Oh! when thou hast found, like these, a lover,

May'st thou not find, like these, thy ZEPHYR but a

rover!

GEORGE DARLEY.

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Tutu het by Why in ard Son ud Wilman and Crap Lordon 18

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