'Between the roaring blasts that shake The naked alder at the door,

Though not one prattler to me speak,
Their sleeping sighs delight me more.

'Sound is their rest :-they little know
'What pain, what cold, their father feels:
But dream, perhaps, they see him now,
• While each the promis'd orange peels.

Would it were so !—the fire burns bright, And on the warming trencher gleams; 'In expectation's raptur'd sight 'How precious his arrival seems!

'I'll look abroad!-'tis piercing cold!
'How the bleak wind assails his breast!
Yet there the parting clouds unfold;
The storm is verging o'er the west.

There shines a star!-O welcome sight!
Through the thin vapours bright'ning still
Yet, 'twas beneath the fairest night

The murd'rer stain'd yon lonely hill.

Mercy, kind heaven! such thoughts dispers

'No voice, no foot is heard around!

Perhaps he's near the haunted well!

'But Dapple knows each inch of ground.

'Distressing hour! uncertain fate!

'O mercy, mercy, guide him home!

Hark! then I heard the distant gate,

Repeat it, echo; quickly, come!

'One minute now will ease my fears'Or, still more wretched must I be?

No! surely heaven has spar'd our tears: 'I see him, cloth'd in snow ;-'tis he.

Where have you stay'd? put down your load; 'How have you borne the storm, the cold? 'What horrors did I not forbode

That beast is worth his weight in gold.'

Thus spoke the joyful wife ;-then ran
In grateful streams to hide her head,
Dapple was hous'd, the weary man
With joy glanc'd o'er the children's bed.

'What, all asleep!-so best; he cried: 'O what a night I've travell'd through Unseen, unheard, I might have died; 'But Heaven has brought me safe to you.

'Dear partner of my nights and days, That smile becomes thee !-let us then Learn, though mishap may cross our way, • It is not ours to reckon when.'

PEACE.

HALT! ye legions, sheathe your steel;
Blood grows precious; shed no more:
Cease your toils; your wounds to heal;
Lo! beams of Mercy reach the shore!
From realms of everlasting light
The favour'd guest of Heaven is come:
Prostrate your banners at the sight,
And bear the glorious tidings home.

The plunging corpse, with half-clos'd eyes,
No more shall stain th' unconscious brine;
Yon pendant gay, that idle flies,
Around its idle staff shall twine.
Behold! along th' ethereal sky,

Her beams o'er conquering navies spread,
Peace! Peace! the leaping sailors cry,
With shouts that might arouse the dead.

Then forth Britannia's thunder pours,
A vast reiterated sound!

From line to line the cannon roars,
And spreads the blazing joy around.
Return, ye brave! your country calls;
Return, return, your task is done :
While here the tear of transport falls,
To grace your laurels nobly won.

Albion Cliffs-from age to age,

That bear the roaring storms of heav'n
Did ever fiercer warfare rage,

Was ever Peace more timely given?

Wake! sounds of joy; rouse, generous Isie; Let every patriot bosom glow.

Beauty, resume thy wonted smile,

And, Poverty, thy cheerful brow.

Boast, Britain, of thy glorious guests;

Peace, Wealth, and Commerce, all thine own; Still on contented Labour rests

The basis of a lasting throne.

Shout, poverty! 'tis Heaven that saves;

Protected Wealth, the chorus raise,

Ruler of War, of Winds, and Waves

Accept a prostrate nation's praise.

SHOOTER'S HILL.

HEALTH! I seek thee;-dost thou love
The mountain-top, or quiet vale;
Or deign o'er humbler hills to rove
On showery June's dark south-west gale?
If so, I'll meet all blasts that blow,
With silent step, but not forlorn;
Though, goddess, at thy shrine I bow,
And woo thee each returning morn.

I seek thee where, with all his might
The joyous bird his rapture tells,
Amidst the half-excluded light

That gilds the fox-glove's pendant bells;
Where cheerly up the bold hill's side

The deep'ning groves triumphant climb :
In groves Delight and Peace abide,
And Wisdom marks the lapse of time.

To hide me from the public eye,
To keep the throne of Reason clear,
Amidst fresh air to breathe or die,

I took my staff and wander'd here:
Suppressing every sigh that heaves,

And coveting no wealth but thee, I nestle in the honied leaves,

And hug my stolen liberty.

O'er eastward uplands, gay or rude,
Along to Erith's ivied spire,

I start, with strength and hope renew'd,
And cherish life's re-kindling fire.
Now measure vales with straining eyes,

Now trace the church-yard's humble names,
Or climb brown heaths, abrupt that rise,
And overlook the winding Thames.

I love to mark the flow'ret's eye,
To rest where pebbles form my bed,
Where shapes and colours scatter'd lie,
In varying millions round my head.
The soul rejoices when alone,

And feels her glorious empire free
Sees God in every shining stone,
And revels in variety.

Ah, me! perhaps within my sight,
Deep in the smiling dales below,
Gigantic talents, Heaven's pure light,
And all the rays of genius glow.
In some lone soul, whom no one sees,
With power and will to say Arise,'
Or chase away the slow disease,

And Want's foul picture from his eyes.

A worthier man by far than I,

With more of industry and fire,
Shall see fair Virtue's meed pass by,
Without one spark of fame expire!
Bleed not, my heart-it will be so,
The throb of care was thine full long,
Rise, like the Psalmist from his woe,
And pour abroad the joyful son.

Sweet Health, I seek thee! hither bring
Thy balm that softens human ills;
Come on the long-drawn clouds that fling
Their shadows o'er the Surrey Hills.
Yon green-topp'd hills, and far away,
Where late as now I freedom stole,

And spent one dear delicious day
On thy wild banks, romantic Mole.

Ay, there's the scene!* beyond the sweep
Of London's congregated cloud ;
The dark-brow'd wood, the headlong steep,
And valley-paths without a crowd!
Here, Thames, I watch thy flowing tides,
Thy thousand sails am proud to see:
But where the Mole all silent glides

Dwells Peace-and Peace is wealth to me.

Of Cambrian mountains still I dream,
And mouldering vestiges of war;
By time-worn cliff or classic stream

Would rove, but Prudence holds a bar.
Come then, O Health ! I'll strive to bound
My wishes to this airy stand;
"Tis not for me to trace around
The wonders of my native land.

Yet the loud torrent's dark retreat,
Yet Grampian hills shall Fancy give,
And, towering in her giddy seat,

Amidst her own creation live,-
Live, if thou'lt urge my climbling feet,

Give strength of nerve and vigorous breath;

If not, with dauntless soul I meet

The deep solemnity of death.

This far-seen monumental tower

Records th' achievements of the brave

And Angria's subjugated power,

Who plunder'd on the eastern wave,

I would not that such turrets rise

To point out where my bones are laid,
Save that some wandering bard might prize
The comforts of its broad cool shade.

O Vanity! since thou'rt decreed
Companion of our lives to be,
I'll seek the moral songster's meed-
An earthly immortality.

Most vain!-O let me from the past,
Rememb'ring what to man is given,
Lay Virtue's broad foundations fast,

Whose glorious turrets reach to Heav'n.

* Box-hill, and the beautiful neighbourhood of Dorking, in Surrey.