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With cheerfulness then, Retrospection, I'll greet thee," Though the night-shade be twined in thy bouquet of

sweets,

In the eve of reflection this bosom will meet thee,
While to the dear vision of childhood it beats.

And the heart that in confidence seeks its review,
And finds the calm impress of innocence there,
With rapture anticipates happiness new,
In hope yet to come, it possesses a share.

If in worlds beatific, affections unite,

And those once dissevered are blended in love;
If dreams of the past quicken present delight,
Retrospection adds bliss to the spotless above,

THE THORN OF LIFE.

WE see, in life's wide wilderness,
Some plants of fair, and varied mien;
Love's rose springs here, while there, distress,
The night shade rank, is seen.

With choicest care, we cull the flowers
That breathe of beauty and of morn;
But while the bouquet charms the eye,
We feel the secret THORN.

And who is free from sorrow's thorn?
Joy's sparkling beverage dost thou sip?
Thou mays't; but soon the poisonous dreg
Shall meet thy quivering lip.

Thy morning, gay, perchance, hath shone,
And Hope exulting, plumed its flight;
At noon, the stern destroyer came,
With disappointment's blight.

Hast friends? thou hast-yet the last sun, That saw thy bliss, hath seen the dart, Whose cruel fang shall pierce thy friend, And wring thy lonely heart.

Thy wife, thy offspring-whence that sigh?
Too well I trace the secret tear,
For thou, who wife and offspring knew,
Hath wept upon their bier.

Love hath its chill, and mirth the sigh,
And who may boast a cloudless morn?
Mortal, that cull'st the flowers of life,
Think not to 'scape the thorn.

STANZAS.

THEY SHALL LIE DOWN ALIKE IN THE DUST.

Job.

YE hapless, who repining, grieve
At poverty and ill;

Who doubtful, question heaven's decree,
And murmur at its will:

Think ye that affluence is the source
Whence unmixed blessings flow?
Think ye that gold can satisfy,
Or splendour, peace bestow?

Mistaking race!-alas, how few
This panacea boast;

Ye labour, but for bliss untrue,
The care and toil are lost.

Go, learn content, for riches yet
Have never fed the mind;
Go, learn content, the coffered wretch
May ne'er enjoyment find.

The costly robe of Tyrian dye,
Oft hides some bosom care;
And virgin smiles, and sparkling wit,
Conceal the latent tear.

Art thou obscure?-the writhing cares
Of genius, are not thine;
Unknown?-rejoice, for thou art free,
No slave at folly's shrine.

Thine are affection's purest sweets,
And thine is love's caress;
Approving peace within thy heart,
A Providence to bless.

Thine are the beauties of the globe,
The charms that sense allure;
For thee, yon azure glories burn,
Say, mortal, art thou poor?

The hopes that shine along life's path,
To cheer thee, too, are given;
The Star that points the wanderer's way,
Shall lead thee to thy heaven.

And while, lamented by the great,
The rich repose in clay;
Thou, too, wilt seek thy final bed,
And slumber sweet as they.

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