XL.

TIME SPENT IN DRESS.

In many a lecture, many a book,

You all have heard, you all have read, That time is precious. Of its use

Much has been written, much been said.

There's not a more productive source
Of waste of time to the young mind,
Than dress; as it regards our hours,
My view of it is now confined.

Without some calculation, youth
May live to age, and never guess
That no one study they pursue

Takes half the time they give to dress.

Write in your memorandum book

The time you at your toilette spend;
Then every moment which you pass
Talking of dress with a young friend;

And ever when your silent thoughts
Have on this subject been intent,

Set down as nearly as you can

How long on dress your thoughts were bent.

H

If faithfully you should perform

This task, 'twould teach you to repair Lost hours, by giving unto dress

Not more of time than its due share.

XLI.

TO AN EARLY SWALLOW.

WILD tenant of the changeful year, That, borne upon the southern wind Across the ocean's distant waves, Would'st here a sheltering region find:

Too soon, alas! from brighter climes
Thou heedless spread'st thy truant wing;
Too soon thou hither com'st to greet
With artless notes the infant Spring.

In hoary Winter's palsied lap

The infant Spring all cradled lies, While round the nursling's tender form

The bitter storms unpitying rise.

To melt the tears that freeze his eyes
No zephyr lends its balmy breath;
For ever closed their purple light,
Seal'd by the icy hand of death.

And gentle May, in sable garb,

Seeks with slow steps his mournful bower;

And sadden in the silent

grove

The leafless tree, and lingering flower.

For thee, amid the noontide beam,

No goss'mer floats along the vale;

And fled the various insect tribes,
That revel in the summer gale.

Behind yon mountain's misty brow
The lowering storm is gathering fast,
And sweeps along the cultured plain,
And wakes the wind and welkin blast.

Then turn thee to my humble cell,
And shield thee from the beating rain,
Till Winter's dreary reign is o'er,

And Summer suns shall smile again.

Thus would I soothe Misfortune's child,
And gently calm his troubled breast;
And when life's pelting storms arise,
Here bid the wretched wanderer rest.

XLII.

FRIENDSHIP.

THERE IS A FRIEND more tender, true

Than Brother e'er can be;

Who, when all others bid adieu,

Remains-the last to flee;

Who, be their pathway bright or dim,
Deserts not those that turn to HIM.

The heart, by Him sustain'd, though deep
Its anguish, still can bear;
The soul He condescends to keep
Shall never know despair:

In nature's weakness, sorrow's night,
God is its strength, its joy, and light.

He is the Friend, who changeth not
In sickness or in health,

Whether on earth our transient lot
Be poverty or wealth;

In joy or grief, contempt or fame,
To all who seek Him still the same.

XLIII.

TRUE VALUe of life.

AH! when did Wisdom covet length of days,
Or seek its bliss in pleasure, wealth, or praise?
No;-Wisdom views with an indifferent eye
All finite joys, all blessings born to die!
The Soul on earth is an immortal guest,
Compell❜d to starve at an unreal feast;

A spark which upward tends by Nature's force;
A stream diverted from its parent source;
A drop dissever'd from the boundless sea;
A moment parted from Eternity;

A pilgrim panting for the rest to come;
An exile anxious for its native home!