Upon thy face the story of thy life:

The damp night-gush, the stony bed, the gripe

Of famine, and that fever of a soul

That not a smile hath visited through years

Of deep despair,-hast thou not felt them, maid
Of many sorrows? yet so sweetly flows
The tide of music in thy homely song

Of tenderness, that when I hear thee sing,
As in a vision, thou art beautified above

Thy lot; and, tripping o'er the green-dew'd hills,
When young birds pipe their anthem to the morn,

Like some bright creature whom the wood-gods

love;

I see thee in thy youth's elysian prime.

That voice-oh, was it born of misery,

Or, breathed by happiness into thy soul,

When, hand in hand, o'er far remember'd fields,

Down briery lanes, by margins of clear brooks And chiming streams, she led thee in her love? Hast thou not hallow'd oft with cottage hymn Some happy evening hour, and flush'd the smile Of holiness upon thy father's cheek,

As flow'd his kindled feelings in thy song

Of adoration ?-Minstrel of the street!

Whate'er hath been thy lot, thy ballads breathe
Of summer days to me; and from each strain
My heart can gather echoes, which have wings
To bear it downward into years, where lie
The buried joys that will not bloom again!

London, Feb. 14th, 1829.

INFANCY.

"The smile of childhood, on the cheek of age."

A child beside a mother kneels,

With lips of holy love,

And fain would lisp the vow it feels,

To Him enthroned above.

That cherub gaze, that stainless brow

So exquisitely fair !—

Who would not be an infant now

To breathe an infant's prayer?.

No sin hath shaded its young heart,

The eye scarce knows a tear;

'Tis bright enough from earth to part And grace another sphere!

And I was once a happy thing
Like that which now I see,

No May-bird on ecstatic wing,
More beautifully free:

The cloud that bask'd in moontide glow, The flower that danced and shone,

All hues and sounds, above, below,

Were joys to feast upon!

Let wisdom smile-I oft forget

The colder haunts of men,

To hie where infant hearts are met,

And be a child again;

I look into the laughing eyes

And see the wild thoughts play,

While o'er each cheek a thousand dyes Of mirth and meaning stray.

Oh! manhood, could thy spirit kneel

Beside that sunny child,

As fondly pray, and purely feel

With soul as undefiled;