Seest thou not, in clearest days,
Oft thick fogs cloud Heaven's rays?
And that vapours which do breathe
From the Earth's gross womb beneath,
Seem unto us with black steams
To pollute the Sun's bright beams,
And yet vanish into air,
Leaving it unblemished fair?
So, my Willy, shall it be
With Detraction's breath on thee:
It shall never rise so high
As to stain thy poesy.
As that sun doth oft exhale
Vapours from each rotten vale,
Poesy so sometime drains
Gross conceits from muddy brains;
Mists of envy, fogs of spite,
Twixt men's judgments and her light;
But so much her power may do,
That she can dissolve them too.
If thy verse do bravely tower,
As she makes wing she gets power;
Yet the higher she doth soar,
She's affronted still...

Hast thou longed through weary days
For the sight of one loved face?
Mast thou cried aloud for rest,
Mid the pain of sundering hours;
Cried aloud for sleep and death,
Since the sweet unhoped for best
Was a shadow and a breath?
O, long now, for no fear lowers
O'er these faint feet-kissing flowers.
O, rest now; and yet in sleep
All thy longing shalt thou keep.

Thou shalt rest and have no fear
Of a dull awaking near,
Of a life for ever blind,
Uncontent and waste and wide.
Thou shalt wake and think it sweet
That thy love is near and kind.
Sweeter still for lips to meet;
Sweetest that thine heart doth hide
Longing all unsatisfied
With all longing's answering
Howsoever close ye cling.

Thou rememberest how of old
E'en th...

Come thi ways in, an God bless thi, lad!
Come thi ways in, for thar't welcome, joy!
A'a! tha'rt a shockin young taistrel, lad,
But tha artn't as bad as they call thi, doy.

Tha'rt thi father upheeaped an daanthrussen, lad,
It's his mother 'at knows what a glaid wor he; -
But thi britches' knees are booath brussen, lad,
An thi jacket, its raillee a shame to see.

It's weel for thee tha's a gronny, lad, -
If it wornt for me tha'd be lost i' muck!
Tha'rt wild, but tha'rt better ner monny, lad,
An aw think 'at tha'll yet bring thi gronny gooid luck.

Nah, pool up to th' table an dry thi nooas; -
(Awd nooan leearn mi appron to onny but thee,)
Wol tha'rt fillin thi belly aw'll patch up thi clooas,
Then aw'll send thi hooam daycent an cleean tha'll see.

Saviour inspire the voice of earth,
To hail the day that gave Thee birth;
The Heavens resound in blest accord,
Hosanna! to the highest! praise the Lord.

Let hymns of gratulation flow
From Adam's race redeem'd from woe;
For Paradise to man restored,
Hosanna! to the highest! praise the Lord.

Wisdom, and power, and peace proclaim
The new-born Saviour's blessed name,
His glory stars to stars record,
Hosanna! to the highest! praise the Lord.

Nature to Him in homage fall;
He comes--the Judge, the Lord of all:
His welcome sound on every chord,
Hosanna! to the highest! praise the Lord.

We, three men of commerce,
Striving wealth to raise,
See but little promise
In the coming days;
Though our hearts are brittle,
Hardened near to stone,
We can think a little
Of the seasons flown.

Lily days and rose days:
Youthful days so bright;
We were fools in those days,
Let’s be fools to-night.

We, three men of commerce,
Men of business we,
Gave but little promise
Of what we would be
When we wandered urchins,
Foes of law and rule,
Fearing only birchings
And the village school.

Lily days and rose days,
Boyhood’s days so bright;
We were fools in those days,
Let’s be fools to-night.

We, three men of commerce,
Men of business we,
Gave but little promise
Of ability
When we lived ...

Short is the time the oldest Being lives,
    Nor has Longevity one hour to waste;
    Life's duties are proportion'd to the haste
    With which it fleets away; - each day receives
Its task, that if neglected, surely gives
    The morrow double toil. - Ye, who have pass'd
    In idle sport the days that fled so fast,
    Days, that nor Grief recalls, nor Care retrieves,
At length be wise, and think, that of the part
    Remaining in that vital period given,
How short the date, and at the prospect start,
Ere to the extremest verge your steps be driv'n!
    Nor let a moment unimprov'd depart,
    But view it as the latest trust of Heav'n!

"Dying?    I am not dying?    Are you mad?
    You think I need to ask for heavenly grace?
I think you are a fiend, who would be glad
    To see me struggle in death's cold embrace.

"But, man, you lie! for I am strong - in truth
    Stronger than I have been in years; and soon
I shall feel young again as in my youth,
    My glorious youth - life's one great priceless boon.

"O youth, youth, youth!    O God! that golden time,
    When proud and glad I laughed the hours away.
Why, there's no sacrifice (perhaps no crime)
    I'd pause at, could it make me young to-day.

"But I'm not old!    I grew - just ill, somehow;
    Grew stiff of limb, and weak, and dim of sight.
It was but sickness.    I am better now,
    Oh, vastly better,...

    Say, sages, what's the charm on earth
        Can turn Death's dart aside?
    It is not purity and worth,
        Else Jessy had not died.

R. B.

"The voice of One hath spoken,
    And the bended reed is bruised -
The golden bowl is broken,
    And the silver cord is loosed."

Over the eyes of gladness
    The lids of sorrow fall,
And the light of mirth is darkened
    Under the funeral pall.

The hearts that throbbed with rapture
    In dreams of the future years,
Are wakened from their slumbers,
    And their visions drowned in tears.

    .    .    .    .    .    .    .
Two buds on the bough in the morning -
    Twin buds in the smiling sun,
But the frost of death has fallen
    And blighted the bloom of one.

One leaf of life still folded
    Has fallen from the stem,
Leaving the symbol teaching
    There still are two of them, -

For though - throug...

Thou still unravish’d bride of quietness,
Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring’d legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities or mortals, or of both,
In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear’d,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the g...