That are this morning blown!

Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, Yet, yet I fear to have him fully shown.

But he hath eyes so large, and bright,
Which none can see, and doubt
That Love might thence his torches light
Though Hate had put them out!
But then to raise my fears,

His voice-what maid soever hears
Will be my rival, though she have but ears.

I'll tell no more! yet I love him,

And he loves me; yet so,

That never one low wish did dim
Our love's pure light, I know-
In each so free from blame,

That both of us would gain new fame,
If love's strong fears would let me tell his name!

IMITATED FROM THE WELSH.

F, while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon my heart-
Feel how it throbs for you!

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your Lover!

That thrilling touch would aid the flame,
It wishes to discover.

THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET

AGAIN.

COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS AND IN ABSENCE.

IM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar,

O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car!
Bend o'er the traces, blame each lingering
dove,

And give me to the bosom of my Love!
My gentle Love! caressing and carest,
With heaving heart shall cradle me to rest;
Shed the warm tear-drop from her smiling eyes,
Lull with fond woe, and medicine me with sighs;
While finely-flushing float her kisses meek,
Like melted rubies, o'er my pallid cheek.
Chilled by the night the drooping rose of May
Mourns the long absence of the lovely day:
Young day, returning at her promised hour,
Weeps o'er the sorrows of her favourite flower,-
Weeps the soft dew, the balmy gale she sighs,
And darts a trembling lustre from her eyes.
New life and joy the expanding floweret feels:
His pitying mistress mourns, and mourning heals!

1796.

TO AN INFANT.

H! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!
I did but snatch away the unclasped knife:
Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish
cry!

Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe,
Tutored by pain each source of pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Yet art thou wise, for 'mid thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!
Man's breathing miniature! thou mak'st me sigh—
A babe art thou-and such a thing am I!

To anger rapid and as soon appeased,

For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased,

Break friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow,

Yet snatch what coals of fire on pleasure's altar glow!

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my mortal frame,
Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet
As on I totter with unpractised feet,

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy!

ON THE CHRISTENING OF A FRIEND'S

CHILD.

I.

HIS day among the faithful placed,
And fed with fontal manna,

O with maternal title graced-
Dear Anna's dearest Anna!-

II.

While others wish thee wise and fair,

A maid of spotless fame,

I'll breathe this more compendious prayer―
Mayst thou deserve thy name!

III.

Thy mother's name-a potent spell,

That bids the virtues hie

From mystic grove and living cell

Confessed to fancy's eye;—

IV.

Meek quietness without offence;

Content in homespun kirtle;

True love; and true love's innocence,

White blossom of the myrtle!

V.

Associates of thy name, sweet child!

These virtues mayst thou win;

With face as eloquently mild,

To say, they lodge within.

E

VI.

So, when her tale of days all flown,

Thy mother shall be missed here;

When Heaven at length shall claim its own,

And angels snatch their sister;

VII.

Some hoary-headed friend, perchance,

May gaze with stifled breath;

And oft, in momentary trance,

Forget the waste of death.

VIII.

Even thus a lovely rose I viewed,

In summer-swelling pride;

Nor marked the bud that, green and rude,
Peeped at the rose's side.

IX.

It chanced, I passed again that way,
In autumn's latest hour,

And wondering saw the selfsame spray
Rich with the selfsame flower.

X.

Ah, fond deceit! the rude green bud
Alike in shape, place, name,

Had bloomed, where bloomed its parent stud,
Another and the same!

1796.