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This is, indeed, a dread and awful thing!
TO THE GNAT.
WHEN by the greenwood side, at summer eve,
And fairy-scenes, that fancy loves to weave,
Ah! now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,
Lifts the broad shield, and points the glitt'ring spear.
1 Complete armour.
POWER AND GENTLENESS;
THE CATARACT AND THE STREAMLET.
NOBLE the mountain stream,
Bursting in grandeur from its vantage ground;
Of brightness-thunder in its deafening sound!
Mark how its foamy spray,
Arching in majesty the vaulted skies.
Thence in summer-shower,
Steeping the rocks around. O tell me where
Be cloth'd in forms more beautifully fair?
Yet lovelier in my view
And livelier growth it gives-itself unseen!
It flows through flow'ry meads,
Gladd'ning the herds which on its margin browse; Its quiet beauty feeds
The alders that o'ershade it with their boughs.
Gently it murmurs by
The village churchyard-its low plaintive tone, A dirge-like melody,
For worth and beauty modest as its own.
More gaily now it sweeps
By the small school-house, in the sunshine bright, And o'er the pebbles leaps,
Like happy hearts by holiday made light.
May not its course express,
In characters which "they who run may read,"
Were but its still, small voice allow'd to plead ?
What are the trophies gain'd
By power, alone, with all its noise and strife,
Niagara's streams might fail,
And human happiness be undisturb'd;
But Egypt would turn pale
Were her still Nile's o'erflowing bounty curb'd!
THE WIDOW'S SON.
ALAS! while health and hope were high,
And smote the widow's son !
She saw him death's untimely prey,
Struck with the blight of slow decline;
The rose upon his cheek, she knew, Bloom'd not with health's transparent hue; It was a softer, fainter glow
A tint of fading loveliness,
Which told a canker lurk'd below :
And oft she caught the stifled moan
The first to flatter and deceive
Once more would brighten but to fly When that false flush forsook his cheek, And spoke the pang he would not speak, And froze her fears to certainty.
Nor deem it strange that hope had power To soothe her soul in such an hour.
Where time has rent the lordly tower
The spirit of her son to cheer
With hopes she now had ceas'd to feel, From that dread stroke which menac'd near A few short bitter days to steal;
To soothe the languor of decay
- all other cares were fled;
And midnight's gloom, and morning's ray,
Had nerv'd her weaker heart to bear;
To see him die- and thus to die.
Still watch'd with fond maternal care,
And turn his pallid face away, Lest some unguarded look betray The pangs, nor sigh nor sound express'd: When torture rack'd his breast, 'twas known
By sudden shiv'ring starts alone;
Yet would her searching glance espy
The look of stifled agony
For what can 'scape a mother's eye?
She deem'd in health she lov'd him more
Than ever mother lov'd before;
But oh! when thus in cold decay,
So placid, so resign'd he lay,