Retire, Retire! these tepid airs Are not the genial brood of May; That sun with light malignant glares, And flatters only to betray. Stern winter's reign is not yet past- And nips your root, and lays you low. Alas! for such ungentle doom! But I will shield you; and supply Come, then-ere yet the morning ray Has drunk the dew that gems your crest, Ye droop, foud flowers! But did ye know And spread their leaves with conscious pride. For there has liberal Nature join'd Come, then-ere yet the morning ray O! I should think, that fragrant bed By one short hour of transport there! More blest than me, thus shall ye live While I, alas! no distant date, Mix with the dust from whence I came, Without a stone to tell my name. WRITTEN TWO YEARS AFTER THE PRECEDING. Gifford. I wish I was where Anna lies, I wish I could! for when she died I lost my and life has proved But who, when I am turn'd to clay, And pluck the ragged moss away, And weeds that have "no business there?" And who with pious hand shall bring To scatter o'er her hallowed mould? And who, while memory loves to dwell Shall feel his heart with passion swell, And I did it; and would fate allow Should visit still, should still deplore,But health and strength have left me now, And I, alas! can weep no more. Take then, sweet maid! this simple strain, Thy grave must then undeck'd remain, And can thy soft persuasive look, Thy voice that might with music vie, Thy air, that every gazer took, Thy spirits, frolicksome as good, Thy courage by no ills dismay'd, Thy patience by no wrongs subdued, Thy gay good humour-can they fade? CONTEMPLATIONS ON THE OCEAN. Lord Byron. THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods, What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean roll! When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convuls'd-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Dark heaving ;-boundless, endless, and sublime— Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime - The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. THE PROGRESS OF LIFE. Anon. I dreamed-I saw a little rosy child, With flaxen ringlets in a garden playing; Now stopping here, and then afar off straying As flower or butterfly his feet beguiled. 'Twas changed. One summer's day I stepped aside, To let him pass; his face had manhood's seeming, And that full eye of blue was fondly beaming On a fair maiden whom he called "his Bride!" The heavens were clouded!—and I heard the tone REMORSE, AND THE CONSEQUENCES OF A CONTINUED COURSE OF PROFLIGACY. Crabbe. HIMSELF he scorn'd, nor could his crime forgive, He fear'd to die, yet felt asham'd to live: Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress, |