Now when the storm more feebly blows,
And cold plants creep through wasted snows,
When summer lifts her fleeting wings,
With ardour to his task he springs,
Blesses the hand that gilds the scene,
And kindly spreads the sky serene.
Nor wintry storms to him are drear,
Though hoarse they thunder in his ear,
Who in his humble cell at rest
Feels peace divine inspire his breast;
And sees fair hope in roseate bloom
Descend to share his clay built room.
Thus to his silent grave he goes,
And meekly sinks to long repose,
In firm belief at last to hear
The strong Archangel rend the sphere,
The trump proclaim the day of doom,
A hand break up his ice-bound tomb,
And bear him where no pain shall come,
No winter shroud the scene with gloom,
No stream congeal, no tempest rise,
No gloomy cell or darken'd skies,
No withering plant, no flinty soil,
Or pining want, or fruitless toil,
No lamp emit a glimmering ray,
No setting sun forsake the day;
But light shall beam before unknown
From Him who sits upon the throne,
And joy, and peace, and love shall cheer
The son of wintry realms severe,
Who, ransom'd by his Saviour's blood,
Cleans'd in that fountain's healing flood,
Still meek and uncomplaining trod,
And found a mansion with his God.
HOW oft, reviving Invalid, would'st thou,
When vernal plants diffus'd their blossoms fair,
Salute the opening scene with cheerful brow,
And hail the genial freshness of the air.
How oft would'st thou the passing hour beguile, Though health refus'd to flush thy cheek again, Oh, I shall miss thy custom'd morning smile, Though pale beneath the shaft of lingering pain.
Placid and gentle ev'n in life's decline,
Though no fair hand thy lonely path did strew, Well pleas'd to see the joys of youth, though thine, Chill'd by the hand of age, were faint and few.
Buried and stiff, awhile thy form must rest,
The cold, damp earth thy dream of life must blot. Thus all, like thee, shall sink on Natures breast, Like thee be mourn'd a moment-then forgot.
ON THE DOVE'S LEAVING THE ARK.
STILL did an unseen Being guide
The lonely vessel o'er the tide,
And still, with steady prow, it braves
The fury of the foaming waves.
While fierce the deluge pours its stream,
The thunders roll-the meteors gleam,
When Ocean's mighty cisterns broke,
And earth like a rent cottage shook,
And slowly as its axle turn'd,
The wat'ry planet mov'd and mourn'd;
Though trembling at the tempest's ire,
Or scorching in the lightning's fire,
While holding in her firm embrace
The remnant of a wasted race,
Still o'er the waves the wandering ark
Roam'd like some lone, deserted bark.
But now the storm has hush'd its ire,
The warring elements retire;
And from his curtains, dusk and dun
Look'd forth, once more, th' astonish'd sun.
What saw he there? Young Nature's face
With smiles, and joy, and beauty fair?
No! not one feature could he trace
To tell him life was ever there;
Save when that little bark was seen
To shew him where her pride had been.
But now from that secure abode
A winged stranger went,
And from the casement open'd wide
A joyful flight she bent;
High mounting seem'd to seek the sky
With forward breast, and sparkling eye,
Like captive set at liberty.
So went the dove on errand kind,
To seek a mansion for mankind,
Tho' scarce her meek eye dar'd to trace
The horrors of that dreadful place.
The waves with white and curling head
Swept above the silent dead,
The heaving billows' dashing surge
Hoarsely swell'd the hollow dirge;
The heavy weight of waters prest
The mighty monarch's mouldering breast,
The giant chief, the sceptred hand,
The lip that pour'd the loud command ;
The blooming cheek-the sparkling eye,
Now shrouded in the sea-weed lie.
But still the pensive stranger spread
Her white wing o'er that Ocean dread,
And oft her anxious eye she cast
Across that dark and shoreless waste.
For evening clad the skies in gloom,
And warn'd her of her distant home.
The stars that gemm'd the brow of night
Glanc'd coldly on her wavering flight,
In tears, the moon with trembling gleam
Withdrew her faint and faded beam,
And o'er that vast and silent grave
Was spread the dark and boundless wave.
With beating heart, and anxious ear,
She strove some earthly sound to hear,
In vain no earthly sound was near.
It seem'd the world's eternal sleep
Had settled o'er that gloomy deep,
Nor slightest breath her bosom cheer'd,
Her own soft wings alone she heard.
But still that fearful dove preserv'd,
With unabating care,
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