TO CYNTHIA:

A young Lady, unknown to the Author, who, by letter, requested "a stanza,” or “a few lines in his handwriting."

SPIRITS in heaven can interchange
Thoughts without voice or sound;
Spirits on earth at will can range,
Wherever man is found;
Their thoughts (as silent and as fleet
As summer lightnings in the west,
When evening sinks to glorious rest,)
In written symbols meet.

The motion of a feather darts
The secrets of sequester'd hearts
To kindred hearts afar;

As, in the stillness of the night,
Quick rays of intermingling light
Sparkle from star to star.

A spirit to a spirit speaks,
Where these few letters stand;
Strangers alike, the younger seeks
A token from the hand,

That traced an unpretending song,
Whose numbers won her gentle soul,
While, like a mountain-rill, they stole
In trembling harmony along :

What shall the poet's spirit send
To his unseen, unseeing friend?
-A wish as pure as e'er had birth
In thought or language of this earth.

Cynthia is young,-may she be old; And fair no doubt, may she grow wrinkled; Her locks, in verse at least, are gold, May they turn silver, thinly sprinkled ; The rose her cheek, the fire her eye, Youth, health, and strength successive fly, And in the end,—may Cynthia die!

"Unkind! inhuman !"-Stay your tears; I only wish you length of years; And wish them still, with all their woes, And all their blessings, till the close; For hope and fear, with anxious strife, Are wrestlers in the ring of life, And yesterday, to-day, to-morrow Are but alternate joy and sorrow.

Now mark the sequel:-may your mind, In wisdom's paths, true pleasure find, Grow strong in virtue, rich in truth, And year by year renew its youth; Till, in the last triumphant hour, The spirit shall the flesh o'erpower, This from its sufferings gain release, And that take wing, and part in peace.

FOR J. S.,

A PREAMBLE TO HER ALBUM.

"Ut pictura poesis." HOR. De Arte Poetica, v. 361.

Two lovely sisters here unite

To blend improvement with delight,-
Painting and Poetry engage

To deck by turns the varied page.

Here every glowing picture be
The quintessence of poesy,
With skill so exquisitely wrought

As if the colours were pure thought,

-Thought, from the bosom's inmost cell,

By magic tints made visible,

That, while the eye admires, the mind,

As in a glass, itself may find.

And may the Poet's verse, alike,
With all the power of painting strike,
So freely, so divinely trace.

In every line, "the line of grace,"
And beautify with such sweet art
The image-chamber of the heart,

That Fancy here may gaze her fill,
Forming fresh scenes and shapes at will,
Where silent words alone appear,

Or, borrowing voice, but touch the ear.

Yet humble Prose with these shall stand,
Friends, kindred, comrades, hand in hand,
All in this fair enclosure meet,
The lady of the book to greet,

And, with the pen or pencil, make
The leaves love-tokens for her sake.

TO MARGARET;

A little Girl, who begged to have some Verses from the Author, at Scarborough, in 1814.

MARGARET! we never met before,

And, Margaret! we may meet no more;

What shall I say at parting?

Scarce half a moon has run her race,

Since first I saw your fairy-face,
Around this gay and giddy place,
Sweet smiles and blushes darting;
Yet from my soul, I frankly tell,
I cannot help but wish you well.

I dare not wish you stores of wealth,
A troop of friends, unfailing health,
And freedom from affliction ;

I dare not wish you beauty's prize,
Carnation lips, and bright blue eyes,

These look through tears, those breathe in sighs;

Hear then my benediction;

Of these good gifts be you possest
Just in the measure GOD sees best.

But, little Margaret, may you be All that His eye delights to see,