THE ROSE.

THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,

The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.

The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,

To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.

I hastily seized it, unfit as it was

For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground.

And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,

Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd.

This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,

Might have bloom'd with its owner awile; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.

THE DOVES.

I.

REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,

While meaner things, whom instinct leads,
Are rarely known to stray.

II.

One silent eve I wander'd late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And soothed the listening dove:

III.

Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,

Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:

IV.

While innocence without disguise,

And constancy sincere,

Shall fill the circles of those eyes,
And mine can read them there;

V.

Those ills, that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er be felt by me,

Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shared with thee.

VI.

When lightnings flash among the trees,

Or kites are hovering near,

I fear lest theé alone they seize,

And know no other fear.

VII.

'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolved a union form'd for life
Death never shall divide.

VIII.

But oh! if fickle and unchaste,
(Forgive a transient thought)
Thou could become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,

IX.

No need of lightnings from on high, Or kites with cruel beak;

Denied the endearments of thine eye, This widow'd heart would break.

X.

Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, Soft as the passing wind;

And I recorded what I heard,

A lesson for mankind.

A FABLE.

A RAVEN, while with glossy breast
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And, on her wicker-work high mounted,
Her chickens prematurely counted,
(A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same,)
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day;
Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call'd it May.
adBut suddenly a wind as high,
As ever swept a winter sky,

ester

d;

ard,

Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fill'd her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough,
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears were hush'd together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,

Tis over,

and the brood is safe;

(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conjurers and old women
To tell us what is to befall,

Can't prophesy themselves at all.)

The morning came, when neighbour Hodge,
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,
And destined all the treasure there

A gift to his expecting fair,

Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray,

And bore the worthless prize away.

MORAL.

Tis Providence alone secures,

In every change, both mine and yours:

Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread;
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.