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Still less, in spite of worldling's smile,
My pathway would I choose,-

So chequered is our life with ill,—
'Reft of the inspiring Muse:

Her visits, "few and far between
As Angels," though but rarely seen,
Throw grace around the form of Truth,
And make its rugged way more smooth.

But oh when Love, or Grief, or Fear,
And Melancholy cling

To the bruised heart that not a tear

Allays its suffering—

When nought can sooth the bosom's woe, HER voice can bid the fountain flow

Of tears, which Grief repressed doth keep To break the heart which cannot weep.

For me, who, through life's varied scene, Have known the common lot,—

Whose Sun of Joy hath never been

Unshaded by a spot,

Verse sooths my soul,-and even now

She binds a wreath on Suffering's brow;

While Learning nerves the wing of Faith
To soar beyond the realm of Death.

Away, away, all worldly gain,
Away, all earthly pleasure!

I will not join your gilded train,
Nor envy moths their treasure *:
But I will seek the lonely cell

Of Learning, and with her I'll dwell;
But above all, I'll live with thee,
Heaven-descended Poesy!

* Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt. Matt. vi. 19.

VIII.

THE BIRTHDAY.

THINE eye, my Child, beams bright with mirth,

Though Sorrow sigh around thee;

Thou art so fair a flower of earth

That Grief would weep to wound thee:

Thy little heart is big with joy;

Thy years now number seven;

Thy dream of bliss who would destroy?
Thy visionary heaven?

The brightest joy will fade on earth,

The sighs, that breathe around thee,

Ere long, will mar thy vernal mirth,
Nor Grief will spare to wound thee:
Thy little heart, now big with joy,

Ere thrice thou number'st seven,

May swell with woe, and truth destroy
Thy visionary heaven.

Alas, alas! that such should be
Our common lot of being;
Yet this impending destiny

What eye can help foreseeing?
Joy revels in our early years—

We think not of to-morrow;

But morrows come in clouds and tears

To tell our lot is sorrow.

The tears that fill fair Childhood's eye,
Are like the clouds of morning-

They but reflect the brilliancy

That early age adorning:

But tears down Manhood's cheek that flow,

Are like the silent billow,

Which mutely woos the winds to blow
Upon its placid pillow.

Yes, such is this fair earth, my child,
Dark Sorrow's beauteous dwelling:
The morn of life is light and mild—

At noon dark clouds are swelling

The evening shades obscure the light

The wings of darkness hover,

And, stooping, whelm the world in night

Then death-and all is over!

Yet droop not-for a fairer world
Earth's children shall inherit :

What though to seeming darkness hurl'd
Death dooms the waning spirit—
Our souls shall seek a world of joy,
A gracious God hath given
To man, with nothing to alloy
The perfect bliss of Heaven.

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