A HEALTH. I FILL this cup to one made up A woman - of her gentle sex Her every tone is music's own, Affections are as thoughts to her, The image of themselves by turns, ABSENCE. On her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain, And of her voice in echoing hearts When death is nigh my latest sigh Her health and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame, That life might be all poetry, And weariness a name. EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. ABSENCE. WHAT shall I do with all the days and hours How shall I charm the interval that lowers Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense, ABSENCE. Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin O! how, or by what means, may I contrive To bring the hour that brings thee back more near? How may I teach my drooping hope to live I'll tell thee for thy sake I will lay hold Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee, In worthy deeds, each moment that is told, While thou, beloved one, art far from me. For thee I will arouse my thoughts, to try All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains ; For thy dear sake I will walk patiently Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains. I will this dreary blank of absence make A noble task-time; and will therein strive To follow excellence, and to o'ertake More good than I have won since yet I live. So may this doomed time build up in me A thousand graces, which shall thus be thine! FRANCES KEMBLE BUTLER. A WISH. MINE be a cot beside the hill! A beehive's hum shall soothe my ear; A willowy brook, that turns a mill, With many a fall shall linger near. The swallow oft, beneath my thatch, And share my meal-a welcome guest. Around my ivied porch shall spring Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew; The village church, among the trees, Where first our marriage vows were given, SAMUEL ROGERS. ODE ON SOLITUDE. HAPPY the man whose wish and care In his own ground; Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Blest who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Thus let me live unseen, unknown: Thus unlamented let me die! Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie! ALEXANDER POPE. |