POEMS.

TO THE HUMMING-BIRD.

I CANNOT heal thy green gold breast, Where deep those cruel teeth have prest, Nor bid thee raise thy ruffled crest,

And seek thy mate,

Who sits alone within thy nest,
Nor sees thy fate.

No more with him in summer hours
Thou'lt hum amid the leafy bowers,
Nor hover round the dewy flowers,
To feed thy young;

Nor seek, when evening darkly lowers,
Thy nest high hung.

No more thou'lt know a mother's care
Thy honied spoils at eve to share,
Nor teach thy tender brood to dare
With upward spring,

Their path through fields of sunny air,
On new fledged wing.

For thy return in vain shall wait
Thy tender young, thy fond fond mate,
Till night's last stars beam forth full late
On their sad eyes;

Unknown, alas! thy cruel fate,
Unheard thy cries!

EHEU! FUGACES, POSTHUME, POSTHUME,

LABUNTUR ANNI.

FLEETING years are ever bearing

In their silent course away All that in our pleasures sharing Lent to life a cheering ray.

Beauty's cheek but blooms to wither,
Smiling hours but come to fly;
They are gone; Time's but the giver
Of whate'er is doomed to die.

Thou may'st touch with blighting finger All that sense can here enjoy ;

Yet within my soul shall linger

That which thou canst not destroy.

Love's sweet voice shall there awaken
Joys that earth cannot impart;
Joys that live when thou hast taken
All that here can charm the heart.

As the years come gliding by me,
Fancy's pleasing visions rise;
Beauty's cheek, ah! still I see thee,
Still your glances, soft blue eyes!

LINES

TO A WITHERED LEAF SEEN ON A POET'S TABLE.

POET's hand has placed thee there,
Autumn's brown and withered scroll!
Though to outward eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul,

Though no human pen has traced
On that leaf its learned lore,
Love divine the page has graced,-
What can words discover more?

Voices sweet of summer hours,
Spring's soft whispers murmur by;
Feathered songs from leafy bowers
Draw his listening soul on high.

MEMORY.

Soon the waves so lightly bounding
All forget the tempest blast;
Soon the pines so sadly sounding

Cease to mourn the storm that's past.

Soon is hushed the voice of gladness
Heard within the green wood's breast;
Yet come back no notes of sadness,
No remembrance breaks its rest.

But the heart,how fond t'will treasure
Every note of grief and joy!
Oft come back the notes of pleasure,
Grief's sad echoes oft annoy.

There still dwell the looks that vanish
Swift as brightness of a dream;
Time in vain earth's smiles may banish,
There undying still they beam.