While foliage darkening o'er its waves
Is mirror'd from its limpid caves,
Or when still lunar-lighted night
Shines o'er its surface silvery bright-
Delusion, in ecstatic dream,
May not a sweeter object seem.

Ah! such a sunny spot of earth

May well give happiest feelings birth; May to the sinking soul impart

New transports that revive the heart; May banish dreary thoughts away, And make one, like the summer, gay; Dispel that winter that would chill The fondest workings of the will;

That gloom, that carking care, that sorrow,
That scarcely will from trouble borrow
One short release-one cheerful hour,
To break the fetters of its power.

ELEGY.

He loved her, for her eye was bright-
He loved her, for her heart was kind;
A star ne'er shone with holier light-
A seraph ne'er had purer mind!

She was the soft and playful breeze,

That fann'd love's fervour round his heart,

Who gave him pain, or gave him ease,
Even as she would the spell impart.

He never fail'd to win her smile,

But if, perchance, she gave a frown, He knew 'twas borrowed for the whileIt was not, could not be her own.

And well he watch'd her varying face,
Each thought of which her soul could dream,
Till beauty in her eyes he'd trace

Like heaven when mirror'd in the stream.

But sickness came-it stole the flower Of sweet vermilion from her cheek, And not in Nature's fairest bower, Hung down a bud its head so meek.

She died yet on her features seal'd A smile triumphant loved to dwell, Its light a happy soul reveal'd,

Its silence utter'd-"Love, farewell!

SATAN'S TRIUMPHAL SONG. The earth-the earth is my abode; Since Adam's fall the earth I've trod; I dwell in the heart of every one; And he who tries my wiles to shun, Whether old and cold, or gay and young, Are soon subdued by my flattering tongue; And should one artifice not do

I only need to try a new,

Spreading allurements to the eyes,
And thus I dazzle the would-be-wise.
I marvel often at my art,

I get so easily to their heart.

The earth-the earth is my abode,
For all serve me who serve not God;
And strange to tell, there are few there
But serve me with a willing air.
'Tis true my path is smooth and short
Unto some hearts where I resort,
While some are rugged, high, and hard,
And almost do my strength retard.
Yet, after all, I gain my end,

And am made welcome as a friend;
And, when once there, I know my part
To play upon the human heart.

The earth-the earth is my abode;

I rule its inmates with a nod;
And he has oft who loves me best
The greatest treasures safe at rest;
For they who follow my advice
Will find me oft in judgment nice.
My plans are subtle, swift, and good,
I spurn ideas of the rude;

And I love all who gain their point,

Though it should truth and love disjoint; And he who can to strivings bend

Can only count me as his friend.

The earth-the earth is my abode;

I teach the heart each sinful mode;
I travel on in the misty cloud,
Viewing my plans with visage proud;
I form new plots and foreign schemes
Of which dull mankind never dreams;
And if awhile I leave the heart,
"Tis to return with double art,
And add much to my secret store
That I could boast not of before;
And if my ways are ever foil'd,
"Tis just because they are too wild.