As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.
Spurr'd by contumely,
Into her rest.-
Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast !
Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour !
THE PLEA OF THE MIDSUMMER FAIRIES.
'Twas in that mellow season of the year
When the hot sun singes the yellow leaves
Till they be gold, and with a broader sphere
The Moon looks down on Ceres and her sheaves;
Wiren more abundantly the spider weaves,
And the cold wind breathes from a chiller clime ;-
That forth I fared, on one of those still eves,
Touch'd with the dewy sadness of the time,
To think how the bright months had spent their prime.
So that, wherever I address'd my way,
I seem'd to track the melancholy feet
Of him that is the Father of Decay,
And spoils at once the sour weed and the sweet ;,
Wherefore regretfully I made retreat
To some unwasted regions of my brain,
Charm'd with the light of summer and the heat,
And bade that bounteous season bloom again,
And sprout fresh flowers in mine own domain.