And though no boastful sign of grace be given,
Angels are near, and waft his sighs to heaven.

The widow mourns, struck by no pointless dart,
And drinks the tears wrung from an anguish'd heart.
What shall she do? where find some sweet relief
To charm the pangs and bitterness of grief?
Can sympathy, or social joy of friends,
Kill the keen sorrow that her bosom rends?
These aggravate her wounds, and bid her mourn
The happy hours that never can return!
The cheerful lark and pensive nightingale
But wake afresh her sad responsive wail.
She deems that nature droops, and to her
The unclouded sun goes darkling down the sky.
For him, the fond companion of her way,
Her love, her confidence, her hope, her stay,
No more must she behold on earth again,
To share with him the cup of joy or pain;
Save when in dreams she marks his smiling youth,
Then wakes to all the agony of truth.

eye

Devotion! swift-wing'd cherub from the skies,
How prompt to soothe her grief thy pity flies!
No cold and dark oblivion of the heart

Thy mystic powers to groaning souls impart ;
But life more conscious, feeling more refined,
And all so sweet, so hallow'd, and resign'd,
So temper'd to extremes, so bound, so free,
Even tribulation sings rejoicingly.

Nor can the Libertine or Stoic share
One spark of all the joy that fires thy prayer:
"O God of goodness! hear my mournful cry,
And view my sorrows with a gracious eye.
Behold me desolate, and weak, and stung
By many a pang from keen reflection wrung;
Behold a widow cast on life's rude shores,
Whose natives bar the inhospitable doors;
Her weeds the gloomy signal to oppress,
And wring their profits from her deep distress."

THE VOYAGE.

THE Vessel sprang forth on the breeze of the ocean-
No storm in the sky-all was beauteous and mild;
And the flood, like a nurse, heaved her breast with emotion,
And murmur'd her joy as she dandled her child.

The signal of love on the beach dimly waving-
The billows afar the bright sun gently laving-
And all, save the screech-owl, and surges nigh heaving
Around us, were soon from our vision exiled.

We sat, and we look'd on the twilight around us,

And heard the surge beat to the dance of the prow; And we thought on the friends we had left, till they bound us More closely in love than the full heart could show. Now, the moon, on the verge of the waters ascending, Restored the lost world to our view, softly blending Her beautiful tints;-but the vessel is wending, We thought, to the far haven whither we go.

Yet cheerily over the waters advancing,

The warrior-tales of the mountains we told ;
Age utter'd his wit; and the deck to the dancing

Of youth rang aloud as the drum gaily roll'd.
And babes to the smiles of their mothers were smiling;
The sailor sung "Boreas," the night-watch beguiling;
The bridegroom, with many fond glances, was wiling
His bride, the young bloom of her love to unfold.

ON THE RUINS OF KIRKSTALL ABBEY, NEAR LEEDS, YORKSHIRE.

SAY, raptured visitants, if ye can tell,

Whence the soft pleasures of this wilder'd scene?
What secret power imparts the ennobling swell,

And pensive feeling, of the soul serene?

Can ruin'd walls, dark aisles, and dismal caves,
Delight far more than palaces of art?

Can sober ivy, as it wildly waves,

More than the garden touch the enamour'd heart?

Did superstition form the vast design?
Or evil purposes complete the pile ?

Why then emotions kindred to Divine

Sprung from a source so poison'd and so vile?

Some faults had soil'd the honour of the scene,
Where men, not angels, sought celestial climes;

Yet sometimes gentle Charity was seen,

With tears effacing much-remember'd crimes.

Beloved shrine! though thy famed life is o'er,
Thy beauty, 'balm'd, smiles through a distant day;
Though now the pious spirit is no more,

The parting look it fix'd still seems to stay.

The solemn arches throw their lengthen'd shades,
And brighter silver tints the lunar light;
The mind still hears sweet music, as it fades
In echoes round these solitudes of night.

And fitful lamps are starting on the view,

While saints crowd round the altars of their God:

:

O! let me oft the vision'd scene renew,

And mark the ruin mingling with the sod!

Fair monument! a temple still thou art :

The seasons here their sweetest off'rings bring;
And tuneful worshippers, with thrilling heart,
Their votive melodies unwearied sing.

Calm seat of nameless charms!-no strife of tongues,
No shout or groan of war appals the ear;
None here inflicts, or feels, the mighty wrongs
Which vex Ambition's perilous career.

What time the ruins wave in summer-green,
Or glitter to the moon in winter snows,
One happy visitant shall oft be seen

To drink the pure enchantment as it flows.
And oft shall holy Contemplation stray,
Delighted, through this melancholy vale;
And sacred visions glide o'er all the way,

In dazzling light, to adorn the poet's tale. She looks and with the magic of her eye,

The desolated shades are changed and gone;
And now the finish'd building seeks the sky,
And shines in solemn splendour to the sun.

Or evening gathers o'er the ascending groves,
And nature's harmonies around them roll;
The rapt Religious, on the walk he loves,

Joys in the deep abstractions of his soul.

Sometimes he chants aloud, moved by the scene,
As through the gloom, ling'ring, he loves to roam;
Sometimes his heart, true to life's happy mean,
Weeps o'er the ties abjured of early home.

Perchance, he listens to the distant plaint

Of shepherd's lute, incautious of the snare; The insidious notes subdue the enchanted saint, While memory paints the image of the fair. "Ah, hush!" he cries, 'twixt fondness and alarm; (The unheeded beads drop from his trembling hand;) "I may not parley with this dreadful charm,

"T would wrench from virtue her sublime command.

"I know it well;- -a song of her whose name,
If rashly utter'd to the echoing breeze,
Might wake the sleeping embers to a flame!

Then, farewell, vows,-for love alone can please.
"O dangerous world! where strong temptations range,
Full, wide, and searching as the boundless air;
Is sweet retirement thus? Then 't is not strange
If busy life be one vast murdering snare.

"Some guilty sentiment, I fear me, dwells
Deep in the covert of this panting breast;
Some secret foe, who 'gainst our Rule rebels,
And, fearful chance! may stab my peaceful rest.
"Yet-'t was a venial thought, for she was good,
And kind, and fair-O grace of Heaven forefend !
O whither am I fled ?-What desperate mood,

Vex'd like the wave, strives my poor heart to rend ?
"How shall I enter more yon
house of prayer,

Where lies recorded that eventful vow,

Which bids To God's high seat for aye repair,
And cast love's wreath for ever from thy brow!'

"The sculptured saints frown through the dark'ning shade, A deep reproof sounds from the solemn bell.

To God I will repair-Adieu-dear maid!”
He sigh'd, unconscious of the tear that fell.

DELIVERANCE.

IN IMITATION OF SMART'S SONG OF DAVID.

JOYFUL the mild returns of health;
Joyful the unexpected wealth

Which falls upon the poor;

Joyful the news received from far,
Which tells, a child, escaped from war,
Hastes to a parent's door.

Joyful the sun, when bursts the cloud;
Joyful the sounds, so sweet, so loud,
At morn that thrill the grove;
And joyful on the midnight waste,
To traveller, the cottage bless'd,
That bids him cease to rove.

Joyful, more joyful, is the smile
Of Mercy beaming bright, the while
Her peaceful voice I hear;
The flash of glory bursts around;
Stirring to ecstasy, the sound
Thrills on the astonish'd ear.

O Sun of Righteousness! shine on!
Sweet are thy beams, the darkness gone
Of guiltiness and dread !
Now thy mild beauties, once survey'd
At distance from the dungeon-shade,
Full on my path are shed.

"GOD IS LOVE."

THIS, this, while Truth her trumpet blows,
The loudest, longest note that flows,
The sweetest to the heart;

The universe below, above,

Around, responding, "GOD IS LOVE!
Saviour of all thou art!"

Come, sinners, to this Saviour come!
Rebel no more; in love is room
Angels can never prove,

Can only sing the unfathom'd song;
To you these raptured notes belong;-
"We know, that GOD IS LOVE.

THE CONTRAST.

BEHOLD Herodias in the fitful dance,
Bending amid the radiance of her charms!
All own her power in the subduing trance,-

The sage, the monarch, and the strong in arms. Dazzling she moves in gold and streams of light : But 't is not truest beauty shines so bright.