English

The Garden's sweet, luxuriant grace,
Proclaims our Maker's pow'r;
His Wisdom we can clearly trace
In ev'ry Herb and Flow'r.

The modest Lily, fragrant Rose,
And Plants of varied dye;
Our frail mortality disclose,
To each observing eye.

In these, vain man, behold thy state,
The pride of Life survey;
See the sad image of thy fate,
To bloom, and then decay.

In Spring thy under blossoms shoot,
In Summer gain their height;
Unless the branches, and the root,
Receive a fatal blight.

Neighbour of the near domain,
Stay awhile your passing wain!
Though to give is more your way,
Take a gift from me to-day!
From my homely store I bring
Signs of my poor husbanding; —
Here a spike of purple phlox,
Here a spicy bunch of stocks,
Mushrooms from my moister fields,
Apples that my orchard yields, —
Nothing, — for the show they make,
Something, — for the donor's sake;
Since for ten years we have been
Best of neighbours ever seen;
We have fronted evil weather,
Nip of critic's frost, together;

Thou Pow'r Omnipotent, supremely just;
Parent of Nature, never failing trust!
Incline thine ear, and graciously impart,
Thy holy dictates to direct my heart:
Enlighten'd by the rays of holy writ,
Implicit I obey, and meek submit;
From clear conviction, that thy wise decrees,
Are ministers of good and future ease.
Thy providential care supplies our need;
What Pow'r but thee, could form, protect, and feed?
Diffusive blessings, Virtue, Peace, and Health,
Are far superior to superfluous wealth:

Again there's a golden haze
On the shadow of Hudson glades;
Again are the leaves ablaze
On the breast of the Palisades;
Again from the loft of the wind-swept stair
We watch how the sea-gulls fly,
And we drink full draughts of the sparkling air
From the deep blue cup of sky.

Look south where the ocean rills,
Look east to the dancing Sound,
Look north to the swelling hills
And the vales of the Neutral Ground!
From the Mart of the Sea where the millions toil
To the heights in the farthest ken

Sit there for ever, dear, and lean
In marble as in fleeting flesh,
Above the tall gray reeds that screen
The river when the breeze is fresh;
For ever let the morning light
Stream down that forehead broad and white,
And round that cheek for my delight.

Already that flushed moment grows
So dark, so distant; through the ranks
Of scented reed the river flows
Still murmuring to its willowy banks
But we can never hope to share
Again that rapture fond and rare,
Unless you turn immortal there.

Speak, gentle heart, where is thy dwelling-place? HEART .
With her whose birth the heav'ns themselves have blest. LOVER .
What dost thou there? — HEART . Sometimes behold her face,
And lodge sometimes within her crystal breast. LOVER .
She cold, thou hot, how can you then agree? HEART .
Not Nature now, but Love doth govern me. LOVER .
With her wilt thou remain, and let me die? HEART .

If I return, we both shall die for grief. LOVER .
If still thou stay, what shall I get thereby? HEART .

How can my love in equity be blamed,
Still to importune, though it ne'er obtain,
Since though her face and voice will me refrain,
Yet by her voice and face I am inflamed?
For when, alas! her face with frowns is framed,
To kill my love, but to revive my pain;
And when her voice commands, but all in vain,
That love both leave to be, and to be named:
Her siren voice doth such enchantment move,
And though she frown, ev'n frowns so lovely make her,
That I of force am forced still to love.

RAPTURE.

Laura, above the world I seem to soar,
And bask in light on some celestial shore
Whene'er our glances meet.
Methinks I revel in ethereal balm
When in thine eye caerulean and calm
My pictured self I greet.

The lyre's acclaim from Paradise afar,
The harp's accord from some benignant star,
Fill me with frenzied glow.
My muse is conscious of th' idyllic hour
When from thy burning lips too grudging pour
The tones in silvery flow.

SONNET

PHoeBUS

What voice is this that wails above the deep?
ALCYONE

A wife's, that mourns her fate and loveless days.

PHoeBUS

What love lies buried in these waterways?

ALCYONE

A husband's, hurried to eternal sleep.

PHoeBUS

When the strings thy fingers sweep,
Laura, all my spirits fail,
Marble-cold my forces sleep,
Life and Death before thee quail.
For thy sovereign powers impress
Hearts — a very sorceress.

Gentle zephyrs rustle by,
Hanging on thy melody,
And, enraptured by the strain,
Dancing round and round remain.
Nature's self is calm and still,
Drinking in thy every thrill:
Victim to thy music she ,
'Tis thy glance that conquers me .

Heaven-born harmonies arise
In voluptuous accord,