The lambkin crops its crimson gem,
The wild-bee murmurs on its breast,
The blue-fly bends its pensile stem,
Light o'er the sky-lark's nest.
"Tis FLORA's page -in every place,
In every season fresh and fair,
It opens with perennial grace,
And blossoms every where.

On waste and woodland, rock and plain,
Its humble buds unheeded rise;
The Rose has but a summer-reign,
The DAISY never dies.

THE SNOW-DROP.

WINTER, retire,

Thy reign is past;

Hoary Sire,

Yield the sceptre of thy sway,

Sound thy trumpet in the blast,
And call thy storms away.
Winter, retire;

Wherefore do thy wheels delay ?

Mount the chariot of thine ire,

And quit the realms of day;
On thy state

Whirlwinds wait;

And blood-shot meteors lend thee light;

Hence to dreary arctic regions

Summon thy terrific legions;

Hence to caves of northern night
Speed thy flight.

From halcyon seas

And purer skies,
O southern breeze!

Awake, arise:

Breath of heaven, benignly blow,

Melt the snow:

Breath of heaven, unchain the floods,
Warm the woods,

And make the mountains flow.

Auspicious to the Muse's prayer,
The freshening gale

Embalms the vale,

And breathes enchantment through the air;

On its wing

Floats the Spring,

With glowing eye, and golden hair:

Dark before her Angel-form

She drives the demon of the storm,

Like Gladness chasing Care.

Winter's gloomy night withdrawn,
Lo! the young romantic Hours
Search the hill, the dale, the lawn,
To behold the SNOW-DROP white
Start to light,

And shine in FLORA's desert bowers,
Beneath the vernal dawn,

The Morning Star of Flowers.

Oh! welcome to our isle,
Thou Messenger of Peace!
At whose bewitching smile
The embattled tempests cease:
Emblem of Innocence and Truth,
First born of Nature's womb,
When strong in renovated youth
She bursts from Winter's tomb;
Thy parent's eye hath shed

A precious dew-drop on thine head,
Frail as a mother's tear

Upon her infant's face,

When ardent hope to tender fear,
And anxious love, gives place.

But, lo! the dew-drop flits away,
The sun salutes thee with a ray
Warm as a mother's kiss

Upon her infant's cheek,

When the heart bounds with bliss,

And joy that cannot speak.

-When I meet thee by the way,
Like a pretty sportive child,
On the winter-wasted wild,
With thy darling breeze at play,
Opening to the radiant sky

All the sweetness of thine eye;

-Or bright with sunbeams, fresh with showers,

O thou Fairy-Queen of flowers!

Watch thee o'er the plain advance
At the head of FLORA's dance;
Simple SNOW-DROP, then in thee
All thy sister-train I see;
Every brilliant bud that blows,
From the blue-bell to the rose;
All the beauties that appear
On the bosom of the Year,

All that wreathe the locks of Spring,
Summer's ardent breath perfume,
Or on the lap of Autumn bloom,

-All to thee their tribute bring,

Exhale their incense at thy shrine,

-Their hues, their odours, all are thine,
For while thy humble form I view,
The Muse's keen prophetic sight

Brings fair Futurity to light,

And Fancy's magic makes the vision true.

-There is a Winter in my soul,

The winter of despair;

Oh, when shall Spring its rage control?

When shall the SNOW-DROP blossom there?

Cold gleams of comfort sometimes dart

1805.

A dawn of glory on my heart,
But quickly pass away:

Thus Northern-lights the gloom adorn,
And give the promise of a morn

That never turns to day!

-But, hark! methinks I hear
A still small whisper in mine ear;
"Rash youth, repent:
Afflictions, from above,
Are angels sent

On embassies of love.

A fiery legion at thy birth,

Of chastening woes were given,

To pluck the flowers of hope from earth,

And plant them high

O'er yonder sky,

Transform'd to stars,—and fix'd in heaven.”

VOL. II.

AN EPITAPH.

ART thou a man of honest mould,

With fervent heart, and soul sincere ?
A husband, father, friend?-Behold,
Thy brother slumbers here.

The sun that wakes yon violet's bloom,

Once cheer'd his eye, now dark in death,

The wind that wanders o'er his tomb
Was once his vital breath.

The roving wind shall pass away,
The warming sun forsake the sky;
Thy brother, in that dreadful day,
Shall live and never die.

20

THE OCEAN.

WRITTEN AT SCARBOROUGH, IN THE SUMMER OF 1805.

ALL hail to the ruins,* the rocks and the shores!

Thou wide-rolling OCEAN, all hail!

Now brilliant with sunbeams, and dimpled with oars, Now dark with the fresh-blowing gale,

While soft o'er thy bosom the cloud-shadows sail, And the silver wing'd sea-fowl on high, Like meteors bespangle the sky,

Or dive in the gulf, or triumphantly ride

Like foam on the surges, the swans of the tide.

From the tumult and smoke of the city set free,
With eager and awful delight,

From the crest of the mountain I gaze upon thee;
I gaze, and am changed at the sight;

For mine eye is illumined, my Genius takes flight, My soul, like the sun, with a glance

Embraces the boundless expanse,

And moves on thy waters, wherever they roll,
From the day-darting zone to the night-shadow'd pole.

My spirit descends where the day-spring is born,
Where the billows are rubies on fire,

And the breezes that rock the light cradle of morn
Are sweet as the Phoenix's pyre:

O regions of beauty, of love, and desire!

O gardens of Eden! in vain

Placed far on the fathomless main,

Where Nature with Innocence dwelt in her youth, When pure was her heart, and unbroken her truth.

* Scarborough Castle.