With his hard eye the traitor in my breast, That before humbler intellects is cow'd, Silently shrinking from the common crowd, And only with the highest self-possest.

ON AN INFANT.*

LOOK on this babe; and let thy pride take heed, Thy pride of manhood, intellect, or fame, That thou despise him not: for he indeed,

And such as he, in spirit and heart the same, Are God's own children in that kingdom bright Where purity is praise,-and where before The Father's throne, triumphant evermore, The ministering angels, sons of light,

Stand unreproved; because they offer there, Mix'd with the Mediator's hallowing pray'r, The innocence of babes in Christ like this: O guardian Spirit, be my child thy care, Lead him to God, obedience and bliss, To God, O fostering cherub, thine and his!

* William Knighton Tupper, the Author's second son.

EPILOGUE.

ARE there no sympathies, no loves between us?
Is my hope vain ?—I have not vext thee long,
Nor lent thee thoughts from God and good that wean us,
Nor given thee words that warp from right to wrong:
And if, at times, my too trinmphant song

Hath seem'd self-praise,-doth it indeed demean us
That when a man feels hotly at his heart

The quick spontaneous fire of thoughts and words,
He will not play the hypocrite's ill part,
Flinging aside the meed his Mind affords ?
No! with all gratitude and humbleness
I claim mine own; nor can affect to scorn
A gift, of my Creator's goodness born

Which is my grace and glory to possess.

HACTENUS:

SUNDRY OF MY LYRICS HITHERTO.

THE old man he is dead, young heir!

And gone to his long account;

Come! stand on his hearth, and sit in his chair,
And into his saddle mount!

The old man's face was a face to be fear'd,

But thine both loving and gay;

O, who would not choose for that stern white beard A bright young cheek alway?

The old man he had outlived them all,
His friends, he said, were gone;

But hundreds are wassailing now in the hall,
And true friends every one!

The old man moaned both sore and long

Of pleasures past, he said;

But pleasures to come are the young heir's song,

The living, not the dead!

The old man babbled of old regrets.

Alack! how much he owed;

But the young heir has not a feather of debts

His heart withal to load!