As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet
Breathes soft the Alpine rose,
So through life's desert springing sweet
The flower of friendship grows;
And as where'er the roses grow
Some rain or dew descends,
'Tis nature's law that wine should flow
To wet the lips of friends.
Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.

They say we were not born to eat;
But gray-haired sages think
It means, Be moderate in your meat,
And partly live to drink.

DESIGNED FOR LADY PLYMOUTH .

Bring, Flora, bring thy treasures here,
The pride of all the blooming year;
And let me thence a garland frame,
To crown this fair, this peerless dame!
 But, ah! since envious Winter lowers,
And Hewell meads resign their flowers,
Let Art and Friendship's joint essay
Diffuse their flow'rets in her way.
 Not Nature can, herself, prepare
A worthy wreath for Lesbia's hair,
Whose temper, like her forehead, smooth,
Whose thoughts and accents form'd to soothe,

SOMEWHAT TOO SOLICITOUS ABOUT HER MANNER OF EXPRESSION .

Survey, my Fair! that lucid stream,
Adown the smiling valley stray;
Would Art attempt, or Fancy dream,
To regulate its winding way?

So pleased I view thy shining hair
In loose dishevell'd ringlets flow;
Not all thy art, not all thy care,
Can there one single grace bestow.

Survey again that verdant hill,
With native plants enamell'd o'er;
Say, can the painter's utmost skill
Instruct one flower to please us more?

As vain it were, with artful dye,

Adam.

O Eve, the darkness deepens. Yet I see
Through the tall branches of this flowering tree
Faint streaks of light. 'Twas there the sun sank low.

Eve.

Adam, the sunshine made the sweet earth glad,
But now I tremble. Darkness makes me sad:
I thought the golden sun would never go.

Adam.

And yet, as fades the sun, the tender light
In thine eyes, Eve, seems ever to grow bright:
The sun is little, so that I have thee.

Eve.

Thou art my lord and king. I cannot fear:

'Tis true, good sir, that now you're old
And love's hot spur in you is cold,
But you were young once and should be
Compassionate to frailty.

To err is human you should know,
Nor treat a tender maiden so,
Just for one slip it was not fair
To spoil the glory of her hair.

A father's part you think to play,
But she, poor girl, must rue the day.
She hoped in you a friend to find,
Yet now you seem more kin than kind.

I must leave thee, lady sweet!
Months shall waste before we meet;
Winds are fair and sails are spread,
Anchors leave their ocean bed;
Ere this shining day grow dark,
Skies shall gird my shoreless bark.
Through thy tears, O lady mine,
Read thy lover's parting line.

When the first sad sun shall set,
Thou shalt tear thy locks of jet;
When the morning star shall rise,
Thou shalt wake with weeping eyes;
When the second sun goes down,
Thou more tranquil shalt be grown,
Taught too well that wild despair

Sing to the Lord, who loud proclaims
His various and his saving names;
Oh! may they not be heard alone,
But by our sure experience known,

Through ev'ry age his gracious ear
Is open to his servants' pray'r;
Nor can one humble soul complain,
That he has sought his God in vain.

What unbelieving heart shall dare
In whispers to suggest a fear?
While still he owns his ancient name,
The same his power — his love the same.

To thee our souls in faith arise,
To thee we lift expecting eyes;
We boldly through the desert tread,

TO WILLIAM LYTTLETON, ESQ.

How blithely pass'd the summer's day!
How bright was every flower!
While friends arrived in circles gay,
To visit Damon's bower!

But now, with silent step I range
Along some lonely shore;
And Damon's bower, alas the change!
Is gay with friends no more.

Away to crowds and cities borne,
In quest of joy they steer,
Whilst I, alas! am left forlorn,

Jove, men say, in golden shower
Entered once a maiden's bed,
Pierced within the brazen bower,
Took a maidenhead.

So the poets tell the tale,
This the meaning I behold;
Bars and walls will ne'er avail,
Brass must yield to gold.

Bonds relax, doors open wide
If you take a golden key,
Haughty dames forget their pride,
Sink on willing knee.

Danai the falling rain
Welcomed thus in days gone by,
Lovers need not sigh in vain
If with gold they try.

COMPLIED WITH AFTER THE DINNER AT PRESIDENT EVERETT'S
INAUGURATION

Scene, — a back parlor in a certain square,
Or court, or lane, — in short, no matter where;
Time, — early morning, dear to simple souls
Who love its sunshine and its fresh-baked rolls;
Persons, — take pity on this telltale blush,
That, like the Æthiop, whispers, " Hush, oh hush! "

Delightful scene! where smiling comfort broods,
Nor business frets, nor anxious care intrudes;
O si sic omnia! were it ever so!
But what is stable in this world below?