I.

Y E earthly vanities depart,
For ever hence remove;
Jesus alone deserves my heart,
And every thought of love.

II.

His heart, where love and pity dwelt
In all their softest forms,
Sustain'd the heavy load of guilt,
For lost rebellious worms;

III.

His heart, whence love abundant flow'd
To wash the stains of sin,
In precious streams of vital blood —

Love the poet, pretty one!
He unfoldeth knowledge fair;
Lessons of the earth and sun,
And of azure air.

He can teach thee how to reap
Music from the golden lyre:
He can shew thee how to steep
All thy thoughts in fire.

Heed not, though at times he seem
Dark and still, and cold as clay:
He is shadowed by his Dream!
But 'twill pass away.

Then — bright fancies will he weave,

Dost thou love wandering? Whither would'st thou go?
Dream'st thou, sweet daughter, of a land more
Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow?
These spicy forests? and this golden air? She .

O, yes, I love the woods, and streams, so gay:
And, more than all, O father, I love thee;
Yet would I fain be wandering — far away,
Where such things never were, nor e'er shall be. He .

Speak, mine own daughter with the sunbright locks!

T HE Judge, his ermine laid aside,
For happiness exchanging pride,
Of life's gay term renews the lease,
And plays at cribbage with his Niece .

'Tis true the Niece we here disclose
Is lovely as a new-born rose;
And Love could find a golden fleece,
If he should light on such a Niece .

The vestals of severe decorum,
A dish of scandal plac'd before 'em,
Have tongues that cannot rest in peace
Till they have stripp'd the Judge's Niece .

Whatever he can do or say,
The gossip tongues will have their way;

" The Lyre to Heroes had been strung,
But Love alone the tune it sung;
Again 'twas Love; no other sound,
The Poet or the Minstrel found. "
Thus in her frolic Winter's day,
Anacreon's cheerful Muse could play;
But mine, which Agonies inspire,
Tunes with no other string the lyre;
Could Love himself the chords demand,
They would reject his impious hand;
Call'd in his name , but proudly mute,
The baffled insult would refute.
Yet have they known the Tyrant's voice,

Give me but thy heart, though cold;
I ask no more!
Give to others gems and gold;
But leave me poor.
Give to whom thou wilt thy smiles;
Cast o'er others all thy wiles;
But let thy tears flow fast and free,
For me , — with me!

Giv'st thou but one look, sweet heart?
A word, — no more?
It is Music's sweetest part.
When lips run o'er!
'Tis a part I fain would learn,
So, pr'ythee, here thy lessons turn,
And teach me, to the close,

I.

How ost, alas, this wretched heart
Has wandered from the Lord!
How ost my roving thoughts depart,
Forgetful of his word!

II.

Yet sovereign mercy calls, Return:
Dear Lord, and may I come!
My vile ingratitude I mourn;
Oh take the wanderer home.

III.

And canst thou, wilt thou yet forgive,
And bid my crimes remove?
And shall a pardon'd rebel live

O' ER the dark woods, surging, solemn,
Hung the new moon's silver ring;
And in white and naked beauty,
Out from Twilight's luminous wing,
Peered the first star of the eve; —
'T was the time when poets weave
Radiant songs of love's sweet passion,
In the loom of thought sublime,
And with throbbing, quick pulsations
Beat the golden web of rhyme.

On a hillside very lonely
With the willows' dewy flow
Shutting down like sombre curtains
Round the silent beds below,
Where the lip from love is bound.

I.

The Lord forgets his wonted grace,
Afflicted Zion said;
My God withdraws his smiling face,
Withdraws his heavenly aid.

II.

Shall the kind mother's gentle breast
No soft emotion share;
But, every tender thought supprest,
ForgeTher infant care?

III.

The helpless child, that ofTher eyes
Have watch'd with anxious thought,
While her fond breast appeas'd his cries —

Say they that all beauty lies
In the paler maiden's hue?
Say they that all softness flies,
Save from eyes of April blue?
Arise thou, like a night in June,
Beautiful Quadroon!

Come, — all dark and bright, as skies
With the tender starlight hung!
Loose the Love from out thine eyes!
Loose the Angel from thy tongue!
Let them hear Heaven's own sweet tune.
Beautiful Quadroon!

Tell them — Beauty (born above)
From no shade nor hue doth fly:
All she asks is Mind, is Love;