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And while they disdain not their own simple stem, The honours they grasp may gain honours for them; But when, like the pet plant, such people grow

pert,

We soon trace them to their original dirt

Under a hedge.

LXVII.

A SISTER'S LOVE.

THERE is a clear and precious gem,

Not brilliant, like the star of day,
Yet cluster'd in that diadem,

Which owns not time's relentless sway;
Its radiance sparkles from above,

Its earthly name-a Sister's love!

Though orient pearls, by friendship strung,
Around thy brow are pendent;

And though, by love's own finger hung,
One diamond shines resplendent;
Yet which that potent spell can prove,
That test which tries a Sister's love?

Blest was that spot which own'd its power,

That consecrated spot, where He,

Whom the angelic hosts adore,

Indulged in sweet society;

And bade the stroke of death remove,
To sanctify a Sister's love!

Bind on your heart this jewel rare,
Oh ye to whom the prize is given !
Nor let rude hands your treasure tear,
But hold it as the gift of heaven!
Till death its shining worth improve,
And angels crown a Sister's love!

LXVIII.

MY CHILDHOOD'S HOME.

I HAVE tasted each varied pleasure,
And drunk the cup of delight;

I have danced to the gayest measure,
In the halls of dazzling light;

I have dwelt in a blaze of splendour,
And stood in the courts of kings,

I have snatch'd at each joy that could render
More rapid the flight of time's wings :
But vainly I've sought for joy or peace
In that life of light and shade;

And I turn with a sigh to my own dear home,
The home where my childhood play'd!

When jewels are sparkling round me,
And dazzling with their rays,

I

weep

for the ties that bound me

In life's first early days.

I sigh for one of the sunny hours,

Ere day was turn'd to night!

For one of my nosegays of fresh wild flowers,
Instead of those jewels bright.

I weep when I gaze on the scentless buds
Which never can bloom or fade;

And I turn with a sigh to those gay green fields,
The home where my childhood play'd!

Every day and every night

Bring to thee the same delight;
Winter, summer, cold or hot,
Late or early, matters not;
Mirth and Music still declare
Thou art ever void of care:
Whilst with sorrows and with fears,
We destroy our days and years,
Thou, with constant joy and song,
Ev'ry minute dost prolong,
Making thus thy little span
Longer than the age of Man.

LX.

ON HOPE.

REFLECTED in the lake, I love

To see the stars of evening glow,
So tranquil in the heaven above,
So restless in the wave below.

Thus heavenly hope is all serene:

But earthly hope, how bright soe'er, Still flutters o'er this changing scene, As false, as fleeting as 'tis fair.

LXI.

TO A YOUNG LADY.

FAIREST flower, all flowers excelling, Which in Milton's page we see, Flowers of Eve's embower'd dwelling, Are, my fair one, types of thee.

Mark, my Mary, how the roses
Emulate thy damask cheek;

How the bud its sweets discloses-
Buds thy opening bloom bespeak.

Lilies are, by plain direction,
Emblems of a double kind;
Emblems of thy fair complexion,
Emblems of thy fairer mind.

But, dear girl, both flowers and beauty Blossom, fade, and die away:

Then pursue good sense and duty,

Evergreens, which ne'er decay!

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