PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 25

THE PLEASURES OF MEMORY.

SWEET MEMORY, wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours,
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.
Ages and climes remote to thee impart

What charms in genius and refines in art;
Thee, in whose hand the keys of science dwell,
The pensive portress of her holy cell;
Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp
Oblivion steals upon her vestal lamp.

The friends of reason, and the guides of youth,
Whose language breathed the eloquence of truth;
Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught
The great in conduct, and the pure in thought;
These still exist, by thee to fame consigned,
Still speak and act, the models of mankind.

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.

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TIME'S CHANGES.

TIME'S CHANGES.

THERE was a Child, a helpless Child,
Full of vain fears and fancies wild,
That often wept and sometimes smil'd,
Upon its mother's breast;

Feebly its meanings stammer'd out,
And totter'd tremblingly about,
And knew no wider world without
Its little home of rest.

There was a Boy, a light-heart Boy,
One whom no troubles could annoy,
Save some lost sport, or shatter'd toy,
Forgotten in an hour;

No dark remembrance troubled him,
No future fear his path could dim,
But joy before his eyes would swim,
And hope rise like a tower.

There was a Youth, an ardent Youth,
Full of high promise, courage, truth,
He felt no scathe, he knew no ruth,

Save Love's sweet wounds alone;
He thought but of two soft blue eyes,
He sought no gain but Beauty's prize,
And sweeter held Love's saddest sighs
Than Music's softest tone.

TIME'S CHANGES.

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There was a Man, a wary Man,
Whose bosom nurs'd full many a plan
For making life's contracted span
A path of gain and gold;

And how to sow, and how to reap,
And how to swell his shining heap,
And how the wealth acquired to keep
Secure within its fold.

There was an old, old, grey-hair'd One,
On whom had fourscore winters done
Their work appointed, and had spun
His thread of life so fine,

That scarce its thin line could be seen,
And with the slightest touch, I ween,
'T would be as it had never been,
And leave behind no sign.

And who were they, those five, whom Fate
Seem'd as strange contrasts to create,
That each might in his different state
The others' pathways shun?

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.

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THE WREATH.

THE WREATH.

TO A FRIEND ON A BIRTH-DAY.

LET others sing the rich, the great,
The victor's palm, the monarch's state,
A purer joy be mine-

To greet the excellent of earth,

To call down blessings on thy worth,
And for the hour that gave thee birth,
Life's choicest flowers entwine.

And lo! where smiling from above,
(Meet helpmate in the work of love,)
O'er opening hill and lawn,

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,
Like merit to the shade--

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,
In blended rays, shall greet our view,
Each lovelier for the other's hue.

How soft yon Jasmine's sunlit glow,
How chaste yon Lily's robe of snow,
With Myrtle green inwove,
Types, dearest, of thyself and me→
Of thy mild grace and purity,
And my unchanging love;

Of grace and purity, like thine,
And love, undying love, like mine.

In fancifully plumed array,

As ever cloud at set of day,
All azure, vermeil, silver-gray,
And showering thick perfume,
See how the Lilac's clustered spray
Has kindled into bloom,

Radiant, as joy, o'er troubles past,

And whispering, "spring is come at last!"

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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;