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The sage's and the poet's theme,

In every clime, in every age;

Thou charm'st in Fancy's idle dream,

In Reason's philosophic page.

That very law which moulds a tear, And bids it trickle from its source,

That law preserves the earth a sphere,

And guides the planets in their course.

The law of Gravitation.





WHILE on the cliff with calm delight she kneels,

And the blue vales a thousand joys recall,

See, to the last, last verge her infant steals!

O fly-yet stir not, speak not, lest it fall.

Far better taught, she lays her bosom bare,
And the fond boy springs back to nestle there.

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ON thee, blest youth, a father's hand confers

The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew.
Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;

Thine be the joys to firm attachment due.

As on she moves with hesitating grace,

She wins assurance from his soothing voice;

And, with a look the pencil could not trace,

Smiles thro' her blushes, and confirms the choice.

Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame!

To thee she turns-forgive a virgin's fears!

To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim; Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears!

At each response the sacred rite requires,
From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh.
A strange mysterious awe the scene inspires;

And on her lips the trembling accents die.

O'er her fair face what wild emotions play!

What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend!

Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day,

And settled sunshine on her soul descend!

Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought!

That hand shall strew thy summer-path with flowers;

And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught,

Gild the calm current of domestic hours!

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