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Heavenly Lo! where she stands fixed in a saint-like trance, ecstasies One upward hand, as if she needed rest and earthly From rapture, lying softly on her breast ! duties

Nor wants her eyeball an ethereal glance ;
But not the less—nay more-that countenance,
While thus illumined, tells of painful strife
For a sick heart made weary of this life
By love, long crossed with adverse circumstance.

Would She were now as when she hoped to pass
At God's appointed hour to them who tread
Heaven's sapphire pavement, yet breathed well

content, Well pleased, her foot should print earth's com

mon grass, Lived thankful for day's light, for daily bread, For health, and time in obvious duty spent.

1841

To a Painter All praise the Likeness by thy skill portrayed ;
(Miss M. But 'tis a fruitless task to paint for me,
Gillies)

Who, yielding not to changes Time has made,
By the habitual light of memory see
Eyes unbedimmed, see bloom that cannot fade,
And smiles that from their birth-place ne'er shall

flee
Into the land where ghosts and phantoms be ;
And, seeing this, own nothing in its stead.
Couldst thou go back into far-distant years,
Or share with me, fond thought ! that inward eye,
Then, and then only, Painter ! could thy Art
The visual powers of Nature satisfy,
Which hold, whate'er to common sight appears,
Their sovereign empire in a faithful heart.

THOUGH I beheld at first with blank surprise Miss Gillies' This Work, I now have gazed on it so long

Portrait of

Mrs WordsI see its truth with unreluctant

eyes ;

worth
0,
my

Beloved! I have done thee wrong, 1841
Conscious of blessedness, but, whence it sprung,
Ever too heedless, as I now perceive :
Morn into noon did pass, noon into eve,
And the old day was welcome as the young,
As welcome, and as beautiful-in sooth
More beautiful, as being a thing more holy:
Thanks to thy virtues to the eternal youth
Of all thy goodness, never melancholy;
To thy large heart and humble mind, that cast
Into one vision, future, present, past.

mo
Hark! 'tis the Thrush, undaunted, undeprest, The
By twilight premature of cloud and rain ; Thrush's
Nor does that roaring wind deaden his strain

storm at Who carols thinking of his Love and nest,

evening And seems, as more incited, still more blest. Thanks ; thou hast snapped a fire-side Prisoner's

chain,
Exulting Warbler! eased a fretted brain,
And in a moment charmed my cares to rest.
Yes, I will forth, bold Bird! and front the blast,
That we may sing together, if thou wilt,
So loud, so clear, my Partner through life's day,
Mute in her nest love-chosen, if not love-built
Like thine, shall gladden, as in seasons past,
Thrilled by loose snatches of the social Lay.

song in the

His day- 'Tis He whose yester-evening's high disdain break note Beat back the roaring storm—but how subdued subdued

His day-break note, a sad vicissitude !
Does the hour's drowsy weight his glee restrain ?
Or, like the nightingale, her joyous vein
Pleased to renounce, does this dear Thrush attune
His voice to suit the tempter of yon Moon
Doubly depressed, setting, and in her wane?
Rise, tardy Sun! and let the Songster prove
(The balance trembling between night and morn
No longer) with what ecstasy upborne
He can pour forth his spirit. In heaven above,
And earth below, they best can serve true gladness
Who meet most feelingly the calls of sadness.

seems

She is not Oh whata wreck! how changed in mien and speech! what she Yet—though dread Powers, that work in mystery,

spin
1837

Entanglings of the brain ; though shadows stretch
O'er the chilled heart—reflect ; far, far within
Here is a holy Being, freed froni Sin.
She is not what she seems, a forlorn wretch,
But delegated Spirits comfort fetch
To Her from heights that Reason may not win.
Like Children, She is privileged to hold
Divine communion; both to live and move,
Whate'er to shallow Faith their ways unfold,
Inly illumined by Heaven's pitying love;
Love pitying innocence not long to last,
In them—in Her our sins and sorrows past.

INTENT on gathering wool from hedge and brake True
Yon busy Little-ones rejoice that soon pleasure
A
poor

old Dame will bless them for the boon :
Great is their glee while flake they add to flake
With rival earnestness ; far other strife
Than will hereafter move them, if they make
Pastime their idol, give their day of life
To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure's sake.
Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief?
Pains which the World inflicts can she requite ?
Not for an interval however brief;
The silent thoughts that search for steadfast light,
Love from her depths, and Duty in her might,
And Faith-these only yield secure relief.

Failing impartial measure to dispense

A plea for To every suitor, Equity is lame;

Authors And social Justice, stript of reverence

May 1838 For natural rights, a mockery and a shame ; Law but a servile dupe of false pretence, If, guarding grossest things from common claim Now and for ever, She, to works that came From mind and spirit, grudge a short-lived fence. « What ! lengthened privilege, a lineal tie, For Books!" Yes, heartless Opes, or be it proved That 'tis a fault in Us to have lived and loved Like others, with like temporal hopes to die ; No public harm that Genius from her course Be turned ; and streams of truth dried up, even

at their source !

A Poet to “Son of my buried Son, while thus thy hand his Grand- “Is clasping mine, it saddens me to think

child - How Want may press thee down, and with May, 1838

thee sink “Thy Children left unfit, through vain demand “Of culture, even to feel or understand “My simplest Lay that to their memory “May cling;--hard fate! which haply need not be « Did Justice mould the Statutes of the Land. « A Book time-cherished and an honoured name “Are high rewards; but bound they Nature's claim “Or Reason's ? No-hopes spun in timid line " From out the bosom of a modest home “ Extend through unambitious years to come,

My careless Little-one, for thee and thine !'

To the Rev. ENLIGHTENED Teacher, gladly from thy hand Christopher Have I received this proof of pains-bestowed

Wordsworth, D.D.,

By Thee to guide thy Pupils on the road Master of That, in our native isle, and every land, Harrow The Church, when trusting in divine command School And in her Catholic attributes, hath trod:.

O
may

these lessons be with profit scanned
To thy heart's wish, thy labour blest by God!
So the bright faces of the

and

young

gay Shall look more bright—the happy, happier still ; Catch, in the pauses of their keenest play, Motions of thought which elevate the will And, like the Spire that from your classic Hill Points heavenward, indicate the end and way.

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