XVII.

TO AN AGED FRIEND.

Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard,
Servant of God!-thy day is almost done-
The charm now hung upon thy look and word
Is that which lingers round the setting sun,
A power which bright decay hath meekly won
Still from revering love. Yet both the sense
Of life immortal-progress but begun-

Pervade thy mien with such clear eloquence,

That hope, not sadness, breathes from thy decline;

And the loved flowers which round thee smile farewell,

Of more than vernal glory seem to tell,

By thy pure spirit touched with light divine;
While we, to whom its parting gleams are given,
Forget the grave in trustful thoughts of Heaven.

XVIII.

FOLIAGE.

Come forth, and let us through our hearts receive
The joy of verdure !-see, the honied lime

Showers cool green light o'er banks where wild-flowers

weave

Thick tapestry; and woodbine tendrils climb

Up the brown cak from buds of moss and thyme.
The rich deep masses of the sycamore

Hang heavy with the fulness of their prime,

And the white poplar, from its foliage hoar,

Scatters forth gleams like moonlight, with each gale That sweeps the boughs :-the chestnut flowers are

past,

The crowning glories of the hawthorn fail,

But arches of sweet eglantine are cast

From every hedge:-Oh! never may we lose

Dear friend! our fresh delight in simplest nature's

hues !

XIX.

A PRAYER.

Father in Heaven! from whom the simplest flower

On the high Alps or fiery desert thrown,

Draws not sweet odour or young life alone,

But the deep virtue of an inborn power

To cheer the wanderer in his fainting hour,

With thoughts of Thee; to strengthen, to infuse
Faith, love, and courage, by the tender hues
That speak thy presence; oh! with such a dower
Grace Thou my song!—the precious gift bestow
From thy pure spirit's freasury divine,

To wake one tear of purifying flow,

To soften one wrung heart for Thee and Thine ;
So shall the life breathed through the lowly strain,
Be as the meek wild-flower's-if transient, yet not

vain.

XX.

PRAYER CONTINUED.

What in me is dark

Illumine; what is low raise and support.

MILTON.

Far are the wings of intellect astray,

That strive not, Father! to thy heavenly seat;
They rove, but mount not; and the tempests beat
Still on their plumes :-O source of mental day!
Chase from before my spirit's track the array
Of mists and shadows, raised by earthly care
In troubled hosts that cross the purer air,
And veil the opening of the starry way,

Which brightens on to thee !-Oh! guide thou right
My thought's weak pinion, clear mine inward sight,
The eternal springs of beauty to discern,

Welling beside thy throne; unseal mine ear,

Nature's true oracles in joy to hear:

Keep my soul wakeful still to listen and to learn.

XXI.

MEMORIAL OF A CONVERSATION.

Yes! all things tell us of a birthright lost,
A brightness from our nature passed away!
Wanderers we seem, that from an alien coast,
Would turn to where their Father's mansion lay,
And but by some lone flower, that midst decay
Smiles mournfully, or by some sculptured stone,
Revealing dimly, with grey moss o'ergrown,

The faint-worn impress of its glory's day,

Can trace their once free heritage; though dreams Fraught with its picture, oft in startling gleams Flash o'er their Souls.-But one, oh! One alone,

For us the ruined fabric may rebuild,

And bid the wilderness again be filled,

With Eden-flowers-One, mighty to atone !