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THE FORCE OF NATURE. 'Twas on a cliff whose rocky base

Baffled the briny wave:
Whose cultur'd heights their verdant store,

To many tenants gave.
A mother led by rustic cares,

Had wander'd with her child;
Unwean'd, the babe, yet on the grass

He frolick'd and he smil'd.
With what delight the mother glow'd

To mark her infant boy!
How oft would pause amid her toil,

To contemplate her joy!
Yet soon by other cares estrang'd,

Her thoughts the child forsook;
Careless he wanton'd o'er the plain,

Nor caught his mother's look.
Cropp'd was each flower that caught his eye,

Till scrambling o'er the green,
He gain d the clift's unshelter'd edge,

And pleas’d survey'd the scene.
'Twas now the mother from her toil,

Turn'd to behold her child:
The infant gone!-her cheek was flush’d,

Her wand'ring eye was wild-
She saw him on the cliff's rude brink

Now careless peeping o'er;
He turn'd and to his mother smil'd,

Then sported as before.
. Sunk was her voice, 'twas vain to fly;

'Twas vain the brink to brave!0, Nature, it was thine alone

To prompt the means to save!

She tore the 'kerchief from her breast,

And left her bosom bare:
He saw-delighted, left the brink,

And sought to banquet there.

WHERE as dewy twilight lingers,

O’er the balmy air, love,
Harps seem touch'd by fairy fingers;
Wilt thou meet me there, love?

Where as dewy, &c.
While the rapid swallows flying,
And each distant murmur dying,
Leaves alone around us sighing;
Wilt thou meet me there love?

Where as dewy, &c.
Where soft gales from beds of flowers

Fragrant incense bear, love,
Sweet as eastern maiden's bowers;

Wilt thou meet me there, love?
While the bird of love is singing,
Liquid notes around us flinging,
Rapture to the full heart bringing;
Wilt thou meet me there, love!

Where as dewy, &c.

ERE AROUND THE HUGE OAK. ERE around the huge oak, that o'ershadows yon

mill, The fond ivy had dar'd to entwine; Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,

Or a rook built his nest on the pine
Could I trace back the time, of a far distant date,

Since my forefathers toil'd in this field;
And the farm I now hold on your honor's estate,

Is the same which my grandfather till’d.

He, dying, bequeath'd to his son a good name,

Which, unsullied, descended to me; For my child I've preserv’d it, unblemish'd with shame, And it still from a spot shall go


SHE walks in beauty like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less

Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in ev'ry raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure-how dear the dwelling place.
And on that cheek and o'er that brow

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow

But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

IT IS NOT THE TEAR. It is not the tear at this moment shed,

When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him; That can tell how belov'd was the soul that's filed,

Or how deep in our heart we deplore him; "Tis the tear through many a long day wept,

Through a life by his loss all shaded, 'Tis the sad remembrance fondly kept,

When all other griefs are faded.

Ob! thus shall we mourn, and his memory's light,

While it shines thro' our hearts, will improve them; For worth shall look fairer and truth more bright,

When we think how he liv'd but to love them. And as buried saints the grave perfume,

Where fadeless they've long been lying;
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet’ning bloom,

From the image he left there in dying.

AH! WHY DID I GATHER. Ah! why did I gather this delicate flower,

Why pluck the young bud from the tree? 'Twould there have bloom'd lovely for many an hour,

And how soon will it perish with me? Already its beautiful texture decays,

Already it fades on my sight;
'Tis thus that chill rancor too often o’erpowers

The moments of transient delight.
When eagerly pressing enjoyment too near,

Its blossoms we gather in haste;
How oft thus we mourn with a penitent tear,

O’er the joys which we lavish'd in waste:
This elegant flower, had I left it at rest,

Might still have delighted my eyes;
But pluck'd prematurely, and plac'd in my breast,

It languishes, withers, and dies.

AWAKE THE HARP'S SLUMBER. AWAKE the harp's slumber to pleasure's soft lay,

The taper shall dart its beams through the hall; From the tempest of war, and the battles loud bray,

We'll dearly obey mirth's heart-thrilling call. Ah! change the light strain, bid the sorrow arise,

To the ghost of each warrior, as pensive it flies;)


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THEY bore him from his barren shore,

The country of his birth;
From leafless wastes and icefields hoar,

And all most lov'd on earth.
They ask'd him but to leave his tribe,

And then he should command
Riches and wealth-and for that bribe
He left

native land.
They showed him sunny islands spread"

Beneath unclouded skies,
Where orange groves hung overhead,

And glance the bright fire-fies:
They carried him to beauteous bowers,

By fragrant breezes fann'd: What car'd he for their trees and flowers ?

'Twas not his native land!
On through the waters flew the bark,

And Albion's white cliffs rose;
He would have been more glad to mark

The glare of his own snows.
And many a blithe and joyous sound

Came from the crowded strand;
But coldly glanc'd his eye around,-

'Twas not his native land! Strangers were kind to him, and tried,

Vainly, to make him blest; But all their efforts he defied

His bosom knew no rest.
He saw a mother fondly kiss

The infant in her hand,
And anguish wrung his heart, for his

Was in his native land.

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