VII. THERE is a little unpretending Rill Notice or name! It quivers down the hill, Furrowing its shallow way with dubious will; Months perish with their moons; year treads on year; VIII. HER Only Pilot the soft breeze the Boat With keen-eyed Hope, with Memory, at her side, All that to each is precious, as we float If the Heavens smile, and leave us free to glide, From trivial cares. But, Fancy and the Muse, While here sits One whose brightness owes it hues IX. THE fairest, brightest hues of ether fade; Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seas; From which I have been lifted on the breeze Of harmony, above all earthly care. X. UPON THE SIGHT OF A BEAUTIFUL PICTURE, PAINTED BY SIR G. H. BEAUMONT, BART. PRAISED be the Art whose subtle power could stay Nor those bright, sunbeams to forsake the day; Ere they were lost within the shady wood; XI. "WHY, Minstrel, these untuneful murmurings Dull, flagging notes that with each other jar?" "Think, gentle Lady, of a Harp so far From its own Country, and forgive the strings." Divine of words quickening insensate Things. Of mortal sympathy; what wonder then |