Perhaps e'en now thy thoughts return
To when in summer's moonlight walk,
Of all that now is thine to learn,

We framed no light nor fruitless talk.

We spake of knowledge, such as soars

From world to world with ceaseless flight; And love, that follows and adores,

As nature spreads before her sight.

How vivid still past scenes appear!

I feel as though all were not o'er;
As though 't were strange I cannot hear
Thy voice of friendship yet once more.
But I shall hear it; in that day

Whose setting sun I may not view,
When earthly voices die away,

Thine will at last be heard anew.

We meet again; a little while,

And where thou art I too shall be. And then, with what an angel smile Of gladness, thou wilt welcone me!

HYMN.

Mr Gon, I thank thee! may no thought E'er deem thy chastisements severe; But may this heart, by sorrow taught, Calm each wild wish, each idle fear

Thy mercy bids all nature bloom;
The sun shines bright, and man is gay;
Thine equal mercy spreads the gloom
That darkens o'er his little day.

Full many a throb of grief and pain

Thy frail and erring child must know; But not one prayer is breathed in vain, Nor does one tear unheeded flow.

Thy various messengers employ;
Thy purposes of love fulfil;
And, mid the wreck of human joy,
May kneeling faith adore thy will!

ON LISTENING TO A CRICKET.

I LOVE, thou little chirping thing,

To hear thy melancholy noise;
Though thou to Fancy's ear may sing
Of summer past and fading joys.

Thou canst not now drink dew from flowers,
Nor sport along the traveller's path;
But, through the winter's weary hours,
Shalt warm thee at my lonely hearth.
And when my lamp's decaying beam

But dimly shows the lettered page
Rich with some ancient poet's dream,
Or wisdom of a purer age-
Then will I listen to the sound,

And, musing o'er the embers pale
With whitening ashes strewed around,
The forms of memory unveil;

Recall the many-colored dreams

That fancy fondly weaves for youth When all the bright illusion seems The pictured promises of Truth; Perchance observe the fitful light,

And its faint flashes round the room, And think some pleasures feebly bright May lighten thus life's varied gloom.

I love the quiet midnight hour,

When Care and Hope and Passion sleep,
And Reason with untroubled power
Can her late vigils duly keep.

I love the night; and sooth to say,
Before the merry birds that sing
In all the glare and noise of day,
Prefer the cricket's grating wing.

A SUMMER NIGHT.

How sweet the summer gales of night,
That blow when all is peaceful round,
As if some spirit's downy flight

Swept silent through the blue profound!
How sweet at midnight to recline
Where flows their cool and fragrant stream!
There half repeat some glowing line,

There court cach wild and fairy dream;

Or idly mark the volumed clouds

Their broad deep mass of darkness throw, When, as the moon her radiance shrouds,

Their changing sides with silver glow; Or see where, from that depth of shade, The ceaseless lightning, faintly bright, In silence plays, as if afraid

To break the deep repose of night; Or gaze on heaven's unnumbered fires, While dimly-imaged thoughts arise, And Fancy, loosed from earth, aspires To search the secrets of the skies;

What various beings there reside;

What forms of life to man unknown, Drink the rich flow of bliss, whose tide Wells from beneath the eternal throne; Or life's uncertain scenes revolve, And musing how to act or speak, Feel some high wish, some proud resolve Throb in the heart, or flush the cheek.

Meanwhile may reason's light, whose beam Dimmed by the world's oppressive gloom, Sheds but a dull unsteady gleam,

In this still hour its rays relume.

Thus oft in this still hour be mine
The light all meaner passions fear,
The wandering thought, the high design,
And soaring dreams to virtue dear.

A WINTER MORNING.

THE keen, clear air-the splendid sight-.
We waken to a world of ice;
Where all things are enshrined in light,
As by some genii's quaint device.

'Tis winter's jubilee: this day

Her stores their countless treasures yield; See how the diamond glances play,

In ceaseless blaze, from tree and field.

The cold, bare spot, where late we ranged,
The naked woods are seen no more;
This earth to fairy-land is changed,
With glittering silver sheeted o'er.

The morning sun, with cloudless rays,

His powerless splendor round us streams, From crusted boughs and twinkling sprays Fly back unloosed the rainbow beams. With more than summer beauty fair,

The trees in winter's garb are shown: What a rich halo melts in air,

Around their crystal branches thrown! And yesterday-how changed the view From what then charmed us; when the sky Hung, with its dim and watery hue,

O'er all the soft, still prospect nigh! The distant groves, arrayed in white, Might then like things unreal seem, Just shown awhile in silvery light,

The fictions of a poets' dream.

Like shadowy groves upon that shore,

O'er which Elysium's twilight lay,
By bards and sages feigned of yore,
Ere broke on earth heaven's brighter day

O God of nature! with what might
Of beauty, showered on all below,
Thy guiding power would lead aright
Earth's wanderer al! the love to know.

OH, stay thy tears! for they are blest

Whose days are past, whose toil is done; Here midnight care disturbs our rest,

Here sorrow dims the noon-day sun.

For laboring Virtue's anxious toil,

For patient Sorrow's stifled sigh.
For faith that marks the conqueror's spoil,
Heaven grants the recompense,―to die.
How blest are they whose transient
years
Pass like an evening meteor's light;
Not dark with guilt, nor dim with tears;
Whose course is short, unclouded, bright!
How cheerless were our lengthened way,

Did Heaven's own light not break the gloom, Stream downward from eternal day,

And cast a glory round the tomb!

Then stay thy tears: the blest above

Have hailed a spirit's heavenly birth,

Sung a new song of joy and love,

And why should anguish reign on earth?

TO A FRIEND AFTER HER MARRIAGE

NAY, ask me not now for some proof that my heart Has learn'd the dear lesson of friendship for thee; Nay, ask not for words that might feebly impart The feelings and thoughts which thy glance

cannot see.

Whate'er I could wish thee already is thine; The fair sunshine within sheds its beam through thine eye;

And Pleasure stands near thee, and waits but a sign, To al! whom thou lovest, at thy bidding to fly.

Yet hereafter thy bosom some sorrow may feci, Some cloud o'er thy heart its chill shadow may

throw:

Then ask if thou wilt, and my words shall reveal The feelings and thoughts which thou now canst not know

FUNERAL HYMN.

He has gone to his God, he has gone to his home,
No more amid peril and error to roam.
His eyes are no longer dim,

His feet no more will falter,
No grief can follow him,

No pang his cheek can alter.

There are paleness and weeping and sighs below
For our faith is faint, and our tears will flow
But the harps of heaven are ringing;
Glad angels come to greet him,
And hymns of joy are singing,

While old friends press to meet him.

Oh! honored, beloved, to earth unconfined,
Thou hast soared on high, thou hast left us behind
But our parting is not for ever:

We will follow thee by heaven's light,
Where the grave cannot dissever

The souls whom God will unite.

OH! NE'ER UPON MY GRAVE BE SHED

OH! ne'er upon my grave be shed

The bitter tears of sinking age, That mourns its cherished comforts dead, With grief no human hopes assuage. When, through the still and gazing street, My funeral winds its sad array, Ne'er may a Father's faltering feet Lead with slow steps the church-yard way

"T is a dread sight,-the sunken eye,

The look of calm and fixed despair, And the pale lips which breathe no sigh, But quiver with the unuttered prayer. Ne'er may a Mother hide her tears,

As the mute circle spreads around; Or, turning from my grave, she hears The clods fall fast with heavy sound. Ne'er may she know the sinking heart, The dreary loneliness of grief, When all is o'er,-when all depart,

And cease to yield their sad relief; Nor, entering in my vacant room,

Feel, in its chill and lifeless air,
As if the dampness of the tomb

And spirits of the dead were there.
Oh! welcome, though with care and pain,
The power to glad a parent's heart;
To bid a parent's joys remain,

And life's approaching ills depart.