WRITTEN AT AN INN AT HENLEY

To thee, fair Freedom, I retire From flattery, cards, and dice, and din;

Nor art thou found in mansions higher

Than the low cot or humble inn. 'Tis here with boundless power I reign,

And every health which I begin Converts dull port to bright champagne!

I

Such freedom crowns it at an inn, fly from pomp, I fly from plate, Freedom I love, and form I hate, Lfly from Falsehood's specious grin;

And choose my lodgings at an inn. Here, waiter! take my sordid ore, Which lackeys else might hope to win;

It buys what courts have not in store, It buys me freedom at an inn. Whoe'er has travelled life's dul! round,

Where'er his stages may have been, May sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn.

SONNET TO SLEEP.

COME, sleep, O sleep, the certain knot | of peace,

The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,

The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,

The indifferent judge between the high and low!

With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease

Of those fierce darts, Despair at me doth throw:

O make me in those civil wars to cease!

I will good tribute pay if thou do so. Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed;

A chamber deaf to noise, and blind to light;

A rosy garland, and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine by right,

Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me,

Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.

BODY.

cree,

- Well hast thou in my service wrought;

me ?

thought,

To wear my smile thy lip hath glowed, Thy tear, to speak my sorrows, flowed; Thine ear hath borne me rich supplies

Of sweetly varied melodies; Thy hands my prompted deeds have done,

Thy feet upon mine errands run; Yes, thou hast marked my bidding well,

Faithful and true! farewell, farewell!

Go to thy rest. A quiet bed Meek mother Earth with flowers shall spread.

Where I no more thy sleep may break With fevered dream, nor rudely wake Thy wearied eye.

Oh, quit thy hold, For thou art faint, and chill, and cold, And long thy gasp and groan of pain Have bound me pitying in thy chain, Though angels urge me hence to soar, Where I shall share thine ills no more. Yet we shall meet. To soothe thy pain

Remember - we shall meet again. Quell with this hope the victor's sting,

And keep it as a signet-ring, When the dire worm shall pierce thy breast,

And nought but ashes mark thy rest, When stars shall fall, and skies grow dark,

And proud suns quench their glowworm spark,

Keep thou that hope, to light thy gloom,

Till the last trumpet rends the tomb. -Then shalt thou glorious rise, and fair,

Nor spot, nor stain, nor wrinkle bear,
And I, with hovering wing elate,
The bursting of thy bonds shall wait,
And breathe the welcome of the sky-
"No more to part, no more to die,
Co-heir of Immortality."

THE CORAL INSECT.

TOIL on! toil on! ye ephemeral train, Who build on the tossing and treacherous main;

Toil on! for the wisdom of man ye mock,

With your sand-based structures, and domes of rock;

Your columns the fathomless fountains lave,

And your arches spring up through
the crested wave;
Ye're a puny race, thus boldly to rear
A fabric so vast, in a realm so drear.

Ye bind the deep with your secret

zone.

The ocean is sealed, and the surge a stone;

Fresh wreaths from the coral pavement spring,

Like the terraced pride of Assyria's king:

ask

within,

'Tis I that must repay thee. Mortal fame,

If won, is but at best the hollow din, The vulgar freedom with a mighty name;

Seek not this music,-ask not this

acclaim,

But in the strife find succor; - for the toil

Pursued for such false barter ends in shame,

As certainly as that which seeks but spoil!

Best recompense he finds, who, to his task

Brings a proud, patient spirit that will wait,

good-will,

[still.

Go, working on, and uncomplaining Assured of fit reward, or soon of late!

SOLACE OF THE WOODS.

Woons, waters, have a charn t soothe the car,

When common sounds have vexed it. When the day Grows sultry, and the crowd is in thy way,

And working in thy soul much coil and care,

Betake thee to the forests. In the shade

ing streams

That prattle all their secrets in

their dreams,

host,

Whose labors have been thought to need defence.

RECOMPENSE.

NOT profitless the game, even when we lose,

Nor wanting in reward the thankless toil;

The wild adventure that the man pursues,

Requites him, though he gather not the spoil:

Strength follows labor, and its exercise

Brings independence, fearlessness of ill,

Courage and pride,-all attributes we prize;

Though their fruits fail, not the less precious still.

Though fame withholds the trophy of desire,

And men deny, and the impatient throng

Grow heedless, and the strains protracted, tire;

Not wholly vain the minstrel and the song,

If, striving to arouse one heavenly tone

In others' hearts, it wakens up his

Rise

though he reap no honors,-what though death

terrible between him and the wreath,

That had been his reward, ere, in the dust,

He too is dust; yet hath he in his heart,

The happiest consciousness of what is just,

Sweet, true, and beautiful,—which will not part

[faith, From his possession. In this happy He knows that life is lovely,- that

career,

At moments when the soul, no more elate

With expectation, sinks beneath the time.

The masters have their weakness. "I would climb,"

Said Raleigh, gazing on the highest hill,

"But that I tremble with the fear to fall!"

Apt was the answer of the highsouled Queen,

"If thy heart fail thee, never climb at all!"

The heart! if that be sound, confirms the rest,

Crowns genius with his lion wil and mien,

And, from the conscious virtue in the breast,

To trembling nature gives both strength and will!