1 GAZE upon thy cherub face,
And in its placid beauty trace
The sacred stamp of those pure skies
That lent thee to a father's eyes.

No earthly stain is in thee seen,
But all is love, and joy serene;
Hope that alone our souls may cheer,
Hope is not known nor needed here.

So heavenly soft those features show,
That tears of fearful gladness flow:
A misty veil obscures my sight,
And dreamy visions lift their light.
I see a young and ruddy maid
Disporting in the grassy shade;
With flying feet and tresses free,
And looks that laugh and speak to me.

But oh! sad change! on yonder bed
A pale and fainting form is spread;
And what is he whose lifted dart,
Aiming at hers, would reach my heart?
Yet see again a nymph appears,
Of riper frame and added years;
A radiant wreath her locks to bind
By duty and by love is twined.

Anon, a grey and age sire
Sits feebly by the winter's fire,
While near, with bright and busy hands,
A ministering spirit stands.
Sweet sunny children next I see,
Clustering around that old man's knee;
And one, most loved, whose baby brow
Wears the same grace I saw but now.

The mirror trembles, and no more
I know the forms that pleased before;
The lines a gaudy image bring
Of some vain, fickle, fluttering thing.
With that fair face, as with its prey,
Each idle impulse seems to play,
And o'er it now the shadows move,
Of clouded hopes and blighted love.

I start-with grief and terror chill:
My infant child, I hold thee still;
I hold thee innocent and pure,
From sin and sorrow yet secure.
That which hereafter thou shalt be
Is partly hid in Heaven's decree;
But oh! how much my words and will
Must mould thy fate for good or ill!

"Tis an old Jackdaw, and he sits all alone On a snow-clad stone;

He caws aloud, for the blast is howling,
The black clouds scowling.
The hail is falling around-around,
With a hissing sound,
And the lonely daw, so poor and old,
Is all a-cold.

A maiden sitteth in yonder hall,
Where the ivy clings to the solid wall;
She sighs "heigho," as she gazes forth
On the cold blind face of the snowy
north-

"Heigho, it is dull and drear!
Oh! when will the soft spring cheer
The bowers with its beauty bland,
Shedding life on the waking land!
Heigho, 'tis a weary, a weary hour,
When the snow falls fast,
And the moaning blast
Sighs in the leafless bower;
Heigho! heigho!” and the old Jackdaw
Answers each sigh with a boding caw.

At day's decline that ivied hall
Is lit for the gladsome festival;

Of summer sunset sheds a golden glow. Day blends with night in eve's serenest gloom,

Amid the dwellings of the dreary tomb.

On a grave a man is kneeling,
Death in silence o'er him stealing.
He hath wandered to and fro,
Sinking neath a load of wo;

I. 1.

As when a feast's free-hearted lord
Lifts high the wassa il cup,
Around whose lip the vine-dew poured
Runs freshly sparkling up,-
And pledging, on his homeward way
From house to house the bridegroom
gay,

To him presents it-golden all,
His treasures' chiefest coronal,
Grace of the board and banquet hall;
And honouring thus the league then
knit,

In sight of them that round him sit, Exalts that envied youth, whose head shall rest,

In happiness and joy, upon his truelove's maiden breast.

II.2.

So to the wreath-crowned MEN I lift
The nectar flowing-bowl,
Chalice of song, the Muses' gift,
Sweet fruitage of the soul;
Their hearts to cheer the prize that
gain

On Pythian and Olympian plain.
And happy he, in life and death,
Whose name the ever-living breath
Of dulcet praise encompasseth.
For to and fro doth glance the eye
Of life enlightening poesy,
With frequent chime of mellow-mur-
muring shell,

Blunt with the burst of full-voiced flutes,

That loud their descant swell.

III. 3. Yes-pipe and lute ring gaily, while The sunny waves I pass,That gird fair Rhodes, his fathers' isle

With bold Diagoras; Hymning the child of Aphrodite,

The Sun-god's Ocean-bride,
And him the chief of giant height,
Who plucked with foremost hand in
fight,

Proud guerdon of his manhood's might,
The wreath upon Alpheus' side.
Him will I sing, for conqueror he
Beside the fount of Castaly,
And of good Damagetus tell,
His sire, beloved by Justice well;
For on a noble isle they dwell,

With many an Argive spear; Where capped with tower and citadel, Their heads three cities rear, Fast by the beak that juts, unrent, From Asia's boundless continent.

IV. 1.

Fain would I build the song for them,
Sons of the strong Eraclean stem,
A common lay to all that spring
From old Tlepolemus the king.
Nor empty is, methinks, their pride-
For downwards, on the father's side,
From Jove their lineage runs;
While by the mother traced, their

name

From fair Astydameia came,
Amyntor's true born sons.

But round the o'erclouded minds of men,

Unnumbered errors lower;

And profitless the task to ken

What now may best betide, and then, At life's last closing hour.

V. 2.

For, in the by-gone days of yore,
The planter of this pleasant shore,
Tlepolemus, in anger hot,

Alcmena's bastard brother smote,
Licymnius-him, with hand of blood,
And mace of gnarled olive-wood,

At Tiryns' rocky tower

He smote-and slew him where he stood,

As forth he tripp'd, in heedless mood,
From Medea's matron-bower.
Thus Passion's fitful gusts, when they
Within the bosom swell,

Drag even the wise man's steps astray :
Thence to the God he bent his way,
And sought the oracle.

VI. 3.

His prayer he offered: when to him
The Godhead, golden-tress'd,
Gave answer meet, and from his dim
Sweet-incensed shrine address'd:
"Away! away! from Lerna-bay

Steer thy brave barks, and hold
Thine onward course the water o'er,
Unto a sea-encircled shore,
Where erst the gods' great emperor,
Rain'd snows, that gleam'd with gold,
And, soft descending, lighted down
In silence o'er a stately town.

And forth Athena sprang,

Shone Rhodes in the light of day, But enshrouded and at rest

In the deep-seas-hollow lay.

X. 1.

And she, the Maid of flashing eye, Vouchafed them art's proud mastery, O'er all on earth, with peerless hand To compass what their thoughts had plann'd.

Hence each broad way with shapes grew rife,

That, starting, seem'd instinct with life;

On them deep glory fell; But ne'er to its full strength is nurst The wise man's skill by arts accurst, Or witchery's wizard spell. So list to a tale of the olden time; When Jove and they of heavenly birth,

Were culling, clime by clime, The kingdoms of the earth,

There in bright Rhodes' embrace reclined,

Seven sons the god begot; Chiefs, wise of heart, of wariest mind, Were few, I ween, of human kind,

Whom they surpassed not. Of these bold brethren, one

To heroes three was sire-
Eulysus, his first-born son,

And Lindus and Camire.
Apart they held, in triple share
Carved out their father's isle ;
And hence three fenced cities bare
Their lordly founder's style.

XIII. 1.

There, to their loved Tirynthian chief, Tlepolemus-sweet balm of grief, As to a god-high towers tow'rd heaven The pitchy pomp of flamesLord of the lists, to him is given