Anemone; the scented violet,

Azure and white; veronica, tho' last,

Not least in loveliness, whose spikes are bathed
In brightest blue transparency of Heaven.
These are the forms which in his solitude
Amuse the poet's mind, dispel his cares,
And cheat away retirement's languid hours.

Come, dear Sophia, let us wander forth, And taste the charms of nature: while our hearts Distend with mutual feeling, the warm tear Shall gush at thoughts of present happiness, And haply too the smile of gratitude

Shall play upon our lips, and thankful throbs Swell in each breast to Him, to whom we owe Escape from past perplexity and care.

LINES

WRITTEN 19TH AUGUST, 1807.

"For, who can enjoy the world without deceiving, or being deceived?"-Mrs. GRANT's Letters.

WHENCE, and what are we?—Wherefore are

we made

The sport of passions that defy controul? Why do these dreams of happiness invade, With ardent impulse, my aspiring soul?

Say, am I born to live the sport of dreams,
Of lying dreams, that flatter, and that fly?
Are they illusive, these delicious gleams
That prompt the soaring wish, the immortal
sigh?

I might be happy, could I cease to think,
That all I have is but entrusted power;
I might be happy, could my reason wink

At pleasure's thrill, and love's enraptured hour.

I might be happy, could these conflicts cease, Or reason take possession of my soul! Could stern resolve bid passion be at peace, And every struggle of my will controul.

Why are we destined thus to wage a war?
Nor from the fated proof have power to fly?
Here, conscience, awful priestess! cries, be-
ware!-

There every sense is wooed by extasy!

Is this thy destiny, Oh man?-Are these

The terms on which thy soul its life received? Reason, thou canst not tell me how to appease

This questioning of what may be believed!

Experience teacheth that the noblest mind, The pang that weans from life shall likeliest brave!

Here pause-and with a faith devout, not blind, Implore thy God to pity and to save!

LINES

ON AN HOUR-GLASS.

Addressed to Miss H-W

28th Jan. 1808.

"WHEN Time doth float on Pleasure's wing,
And hours glide on, allur'd by joy,
Reflection's sigh from thee shall spring,
Thou little monitory toy!

"When anxious care doth ply the loom
Of life, with fingers dull and slow,
Thou shalt remind me that this gloom
Came, and with changeful time will go."

Thus Harriet whispered as the sand,
Ebbed softly from her hour-glass near:
A faithful friend could not withstand
The occasion for a vow sincere.

(For as this toy, the welcome guest
Of buoyant mirth or languid care,
Doth solemn thoughts to one suggest,
And to the other solace bear,-

So she, disinterested friend,

Has smiles for joy, for sorrow sighs; Though still her inward feelings tend With sacred grief to sympathize).

"Oh, may no present hour, attired In gloom, a prayer for change draw forth! Yet each successive hour, inspired

By hope, exceed the last in worth:

May fancy wreathe around this toy
Blooms stolen from the Elysian clime;

And Peace, the monitor of Joy,

Brood on the tranquil lapse of time!

These sands, that fall in silent showers,
To their first source we turn once more;
May friendship so for thee the hours
Of youth, in distant age restore!"