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While Spring shall pour his showers as oft he wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science. smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favorite name!

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.

And oft suspend the dashing oar,
To bid his gentle spirit rest!

And oft, as Ease and Health retire
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend shall view yon whitening
spire

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 glimmering 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

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But on I went the dreary mile,
And sung right cantie a' the while
I gae my plaid a closer fauld;
My hand was warm, my heart was
bauld,

I didna heed the storm and cauld,
While ganging to my Katie.

But when I trod the same way back,
It seemed a sad and waefu' track;
The brae and glen were lone and lang;
I didna sing my cantie sang;
I felt how sharp the sleet did fa',
And couldna face the wind at a'.
Oh, sic a change! how could it be?
I ken fu' well, and sae may ye -
The sunshine had been gloom to me
While ganging frae my Katie.

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Tossed in a tree, thou'lt bear no harm;

Flung on the moss, thou 'It lose no
charm;

Like many a real friend on earth,
Rough usage only proves thy worth,
My old straw hat.

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Farewell, old friend, thy work is done;
The misty clouds shut out the sun;
The grapes are plucked, the hops are

off.

The woods are stark, and I must doff

My old straw hat-but "bide a

wee,"

Fair skies we've seen, yet we may see
Skies full as fair as those of yore,
And then we'll wander forth once

more.

But will they worship woman's worth
Unblent with woman's charms?
No! ah, no! 'tis little they prize
Crook-backed forms and rayless eyes.

Oh! 'tis a saddening thing to be
A poor and ugly one;

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,
Nor my lips the henna dye.

I know full well I have nought of
grace

That maketh woman "divine;" The wocer's praise and doting gaze Farewell, till drooping bluebells blow, And violets stud the warm hedgerow; Where'er I go all eyes will shun Have never yet been mine. Farewell, till daisies deck the plain-The loveless mien of the ugly one. Farewell, till spring days come again— My old straw hat.

SONG OF THE UGLY MAIDEN.

On! the world gives little of love or light,

Though my spirit pants for much;
For I have no beauty for the sight,
No riches for the touch.

I hear men sing o'er the flowing cup
Of woman's magic spell;
And vows of zeal they offer up,
And eloquent tales they tell.
They bravely swear to guard the fair
With strong protecting arms;

Would that I had passed away

Ere I knew that I was born;
For I stand in the blessed light of day
Like a weed among the corn, —
The black rock in the wide blue sea, —
The snake in the jungle green:
Oh! who will stay in the fearful way
Where such ugly things are seen?
Yet mine is the fate of lonelier state
Than that of the snake or rock;
For those who behold me in their
path

Not only shun, but mock.

O Ugliness! thy desolate pain

Had served to set the stamp on Cain!

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