ON SEEING A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY, ETC.

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly

That shook, when he laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump; a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jirk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle;
But I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight,

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night !"

ON SEEING A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY

WHOSE HEALTH WAS IMPAIRED BY THE AGUE AND FEVFR.

BY A. L. BLAUVELT.-1805.

DARK minister of many woes,

That lov'st the sad vicissitude of pain,
Now shivering 'mid Antarctic snows,

Now a faint pilgrim on Medina's plain.
Say, can no form less fair thy vein engage?
Must feeble loveliness exhaust thy rage?

219

Oh, mark the faltering step, the languid eye,
And all the anguish of her burning sigh:
See the faintly struggling smile,

See resignation's tear the while;

So to the axe the martyr bends his form,

So bends the lovely lily to the storm.

Still though, sweet maid, thy yielding bloom decays, And faint the waning tide of rap ure strays,

Oh, may'st thou 'scape grief's more envenom'd smart,

Nor ever know the ague of the heart.
For rising from the sun bright plain,
The bended lily blooms again;
But ah! what life imparting power
Can e'er revive the broken flower?

THE GIFTS OF PROVIDENCE.

BY WILLIAM LIVINGSTON.-1747.

OFT on the vilest riches are bestow'd,

To show their meanness in the sight of God.
High from a dunghill see a Dives rise,
And, Titan-like, insult the avenging skies:
The crowd in adulation calls him lord,
By thousands courted, flatter'd, and adored:
In riot plunged, and drunk with earthly joys,
No higher thought his grovelling soul employs;
The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
And from his bosom banishes his God,

But oft, in height of wealth and beauty's bloom,
Deluded man is fated to the tomb!

For lo, he sickens, swift his colour flies,
And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes :
Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
Extort the unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
His sorrowing heir augments the tender shower,
Deplores his death—yet hails the dying hour.
Ah, bitter comfort! sad relief to die!

Though sunk in down, beneath a canopy !
His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
Weigh'd down by death in everlasting night :
And now the great, the rich, the proud, the gay,
Lies breathless, cold—unanimated clay!
He that just now was flatter'd by the crowd
With high applause and acclamation loud;
That steel'd his bosom to the orphan's cries,
And drew down torrents from the widow's eyes;
Whom, like a God, the rabble did adore-
Regard him now-and lo! he is no more.

FROM A HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE.

BY C. C. MOORE.

THE dreams of Hope that round us play,

And lead along our early youth,
How soon, alas! they fade away

Before the sober rays of Truth.

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FROM A HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE.

And yet there are some joys in life
That Fancy's pencil never drew;
For Fancy's self, my own dear wife,
Ne'er dreamt the bliss I owe to you.

You have awaken'd in my breast

Some chords I ne'er before had known; And you've imparted to the rest

A stronger pulse, a deeper tone.

And e'en the troubles that we find

Our peace oft threat'ning to o'erwhelm,

Like foreign foes, but serve to bind
More close in love our little realm.

I've not forgot the magic hour

When youthful passion first I knew ;
When early love was in its flower,
And bright with ev'ry rainbow hue.

Then, fairy visions lightly moved,
And waken'd rapture as they pass'd;
But faith and love, like yours approved,
Give joys that shall for ever last.

A spotless wife's enduring love,
A darling infant's balmy kiss,
Breathe of the happiness above;

Too perfect for a world like this.

These heaven-sent pleasures seem too pure
To take a taint from mortal breath;

For, still unfading, they endure

'Mid sorrow, sickness, pain, and death.

When cruel Palsy's withering blow

Had left my father weak, forlorn, He yet could weep for joy, to know I had a wish'd-for infant born.

And, as he lay in death's embrace,

You saw when last on earth he smil'd;

You saw the ray that lit his face

When he beheld our darling child.—

Strange, mingled scene of bliss and pain ! That, like a dream, before us flies; Where, 'midst illusions false and vain, Substantial joys are seen to rise.—

When to your heart our babes you fold,
With all a mother's joy elate,

I fondly think that I behold
A vision of our future state.

Hope comes, with balmy influence fraught, To heal the wound that rends my heart, Whene'er it meets the dreadful thought That all our earthly ties must part.

Bless'd hope, beyond earth's narrow space, Within high Heaven's eternal bound,

Again to see your angel face,

With all your cherubs clustering round.

Oh! yes, there are some beams of light
That break upon this world below,

So pure, so steady, and so bright,

They seem from better worlds to flow.