While Spring shall pour his showers as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air, Affrights thy shrinking train, So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science. smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON. And oft suspend the dashing oar, And oft, as Ease and Health retire And mid the varied landscape weep. But thou, who own'st that earthly bed, Ah! what will every dirge avail; Or tears, which Love and Pity shed, That mourn beneath the gliding sail ? Yet lives there one whose heedless eye Shall scorn thy pale shrine glim mering near? · With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die, And Joy desert the blooming year. [The scene is supposed to lie on the But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen Thames, near Richmond.] IN yonder grave a Druid lies. Where slowly winds the stealing wave; The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its poet's sylvan grave. In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp shall now be laid, That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love through life the soothing shade. Then maids and youths shall linger here, And while its sounds at distance swell, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, tide ELIZA COOK. SONG OF THE HEMPseed. Ay, scatter me well, 'tis a moist spring day; Wide and far be the hempseed sown: And bravely I'll stand on the autumn land, When the rains have dropped and the winds have blown Man shall carefully gather me up; His hand shall rule and my form shall change; Not as a mate for the purple of state, Nor into aught that is "rich and strange. But I will come forth all woven and spun, With my fine threads curled in serpent length; And the fire-wrought chain and the lion's thick mane Shall be rivalled by me in mighty strength. I have many a place in the busy world, Of triumph and fear, of sorrow and joy; I carry the freeman's flag unfurled; I am linked to childhood's darling toy. Then scatter me wide, and hackle me well; For a varied tale can the hempseed tell. Bravely I swing in the anchor-ring, Where the foot of the proud man cometh not; Where the dolphin leaps and the seaweed creeps O'er the rifted sand and the coral grot. Down, down below I merrily go When the huge ship takes her rocking rest: The waters may chafe, but she dwelleth as safe As the young bird in its woodland nest. I wreathe the spars of that same fair ship, [about: Where the gallant sea-hearts cling But on I went the dreary mile, I didna heed the storm and cauld, While ganging to my Katie. But when I trod the same way back, But will they worship woman's worth Oh! 'tis a saddening thing to be In the sand Time puts in his glass for me, Few golden atoms run. For my drawn lids bear no shadowing fringe; My locks are thin and dry; My teeth wear not the rich pearl tinge, I know full well I have nought of Nor my lips the henna dye. grace That maketh woman "divine;" The wooer's praise and doting gaze Where'er I go all eyes will shun Have never yet been mine. The loveless mien of the ugly one. Would that I had passed away Not only shun, but mock. O Ugliness! thy desolate pain Had served to set the stamp on Cain! |