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Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie; My music shows ye have your closes,
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous Soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives;
Then chiefly lives.
THE EVENING CLOUD.
CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun ;
A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow : Long had I watched the glory moving on O’er the still radiance of the lake below: Tranquil its spirit seemed and floated slow; Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous WestEmblem, methought, of the departed soul ! To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given, And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onward to the golden gates of heaven, Where, to the eye of faith, it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies.
range Shine yet, intense and tender; Or, slowly passing, only change
From splendour on to splendour.
Before the dying eyes of Day
Immortal visions wander; Dreams prescient of a purer ray,
And morn spread still beyond her.
Lo! heavenward now those gleams expire
In heavenly melancholy;
Relinquishing them slowly.
Thus shine, O God, our mortal powers,
While grief and joy refine them; And, when in death they fade, be ours Thus gently to resign them.
AUBREY DE VERE. BOOK II.
ODE TO DUTY.
O Duty ! if that name thou love
To check the erring, and reprove;
From vain temptations dost set free,
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth; Glad hearts! without reproach or blot, Who do thy work, and know it not :
Oh ! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power, around them cast!