Then flow, crystal Trent—whilst a stranger to grandeur, C.S. A MORNING WALK. WHEN vernal airs, and op'ning flow'rs, At early dawn I musing stray, Ere Phoebus gilds the village spire, How sweet, how cool, the passing gale! How clear, how bright, the murmuring stream! What blended sweets adorn the vale, Fresh op'ning to the morning beam! The swallow, welcome guest! return'd Thrice welcome to my humble shed. The stock-dove with his pensive note Pours loud and sweet the song of love. The clam'rous lapwing's plaintive moan, The dew-drops tremble on the thorn, Low in the horizon, behold! The parting clouds his rise proclaim, The sky, now ting'd with beaming gold, Now glowing with a brighter flame. What myriads croud the gladsome beam Where'er I turn, whate'er I see, That roves the plain, or wings the air, Tunes a loud song of praise to THEE! GREAT CAUSE, of all this scene so fair! Shall man alone, then mute remain, Oh yes! my soul, awake! arise! Strike loud and full the trembling string, To pay thy early sacrifice To Heaven's ALMIGHTY bounteous KING. Catch, catch, ye gales, the grateful sound, The incense of a humble heart! C. S. THE SEAT OF WAR ON A FAN. WITH small, or no propriety, my fair, A lover's heart indeed's a Seat of War, DEATH'S FINAL CONQUEST. THE glories of our birth and state Must tumble down, And, in the dust, be equal made Some men with swords may reap the field, They stoop to fate, And must give up their murm'ring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor victim bleeds: All heads must come To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust Percy's Reliques. AN INSCRIPTION. STRANGER, that, with careless feet, Where the fern, in fringed pride, Know, where now thy footsteps pass, O'er the bending tufts of grass, Bright gleaming through th' encircling wood, Once a Naiad roll'd her flood; If her urn, unknown to fame, Yet along its grassy side Clear and constant flow'd the tide. Grateful for the tribute paid, Lordly Mersey lov'd the maid; |