PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 25 THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY. SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale, What charms in genius and refines in art; The friends of reason, and the guides of youth, From thee sweet hope her airy coloring draws, And fancy's flights are subject to thy laws; From thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows, Which only virtue, tranquil virtue, knows. When joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray, And hope's delusive meteors cease to play; When clouds on clouds the smiling prospect close, Still through the gloom thy star serenely glows; Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night With the mild magic of reflected light. SAMUEL ROGERS. 26 TIME'S CHANGES. TIME'S CHANGES. THERE was a Child, a helpless Child, Feebly its meanings stammer'd out, There was a Boy, a light-heart Boy, No dark remembrance troubled him, There was a Youth, an ardent Youth, Save Love's sweet wounds alone; TIME'S CHANGES. 27 There was a Man, a wary Man, And how to sow, and how to reap, There was an old, old, grey-hair'd One, That scarce its thin line could be seen, And who were they, those five, whom Fate I tell thee that, that Infant vain, That Boy, that Youth, that Man of gain, That Grey-beard, who did roads attain So various, they were One! NEELE. 28 THE WREATH. THE WREATH. TO A FRIEND ON A BIRTH-DAY. LET others sing the rich, the great, To greet the excellent of earth, To call down blessings on thy worth, And lo! where smiling from above, With flowerets of a thousand dyes, With all that's sweet of earth and skies, Soft breathes the vernal dawn. Come! from her stores we 'll cull the best Thy bosom to adorn ; Each leaf in livelier verdure drest, Each blossom balmier than the rest, Each rose without a thorn; Fleet tints, that with the rainbow died, Brief flowers, that withered in their pride, Shall, blushing into light, awake And kindlier bloom for thy dear sake. And first-though oft, alas! condemned, THE WREATH. The Primrose meek, with dews begemmed, Shall sparkle in the braid: And there as sisters side by side, (Genius with modesty allied,) The Pink's bright red, the Violet's blue, How soft yon Jasmine's sunlit glow, Of grace and purity, like thine, In fancifully plumed array, As ever cloud at set of day, Radiant, as joy, o'er troubles past, And whispering, "spring is come at last!" 29 Blest flowers! There breathes not one unfraught With lessons sweet and new; The Rose, in Taste's own garden wrought; The Pansy, nurse of tender thought; |