CONSOLATORY HINTS.

WHY wears thy cheek those drops of sorrow,
Like hail in new-blown roses hung?

From them, alas! this truth I borrow;
Thy heart with secret woe is wrung.
Oh! if some favour'd faithless lover.
To thee, my Laura, gives a pain,
Let me the wand'rer's haunts discover,
And lure him to thy arms again.

For so I love thee, dearest treasure

Oh this still fond, though slighted heart!
My life I'd yield to give thee pleasure,

Or steal from thine one moment's smart;
Then, Laura, in my truth confiding,
To me thy secret woes reveal,
And let me soothe them by dividing,
If friendship has no balm to heal.

THE ORIGINAL OF CHERRY-RIPE,

PUBLISHED IN 1606, BY MR. RICHARD ALISON.

THERE is a garden in her face

Where roses and white lilies grow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose

Of orient pearl a double row,

Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still;

Her brows like bended bows do stand;
Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.

'TIS THEN YOU'LL THINK OF ME.

Now, while around you lovers throng

In hopes your hand to gain,

You seek to trifle with one heart,
And hourly cause it pain.
Allured by false and flattering words,
I must forgotten be;

But when their worthlessness you prove,
'Tis then you'll think of me.

When time those charms for aye destroy,
Which make men flock to you;

When most the heart, and not the face,
Make each to other true;

And changed becomes that heart which ought
Through life unchanged be;
And memory paints the joys that were,
'Tis then you'll think of me.

THE NATURAL EFFECTS OF LOVE.

OH! not when hopes are brightest,

Is all love's sweet enchantment known;
Oh! not, when hearts are lightest,
Is all fond woman's fervour shown;

But when life's clouds o'ertake us,

And the cold world is cloth'd in gloom, When summer friends forsake us,

The rose of love is best in bloom.

Love is no wand'ring vapour,

That lures astray with treach'rous spark;

Love is no transient taper,

That lives an hour, and leaves us dark:

But, like the lamp that lightens

The Greenland hut beneath the snow,

The bosom's home it brightens,

When all beside is chill below.

TO CAROLINE WEEPING.

WHAT maid, like Caroline, appears
Adorn'd and beautiful in tears?
With such a grace from her they flow,
We gaze, and are in love with woe.

Too potent fair, whose gentle sway
Can charm alike in every way,

Whose smiles the coldest heart can warm,
Whose sighs the fiercest rage disarm!

Those eyes, tho' swell'd with sorrow, move
Full of softness, full of love;

Those cheeks their beauty yet maintain,
Like roses blooming in the rain.

Still you all resistless are,

Weeping, sighing, killing fair.

CONSTANCY IN LOVE.

THE rose-bud you gave me
I carefully kept,
'Twas hallow'd, since once on

Your bosom it slept;

And ev'n now 'tis wither'd,
The leaves I retain,
Though they never can hang on

The green stem again.

So, so will I cherish

You, dear, while the pear
Of the morning still lies on
Your lip's ruby curl,
And kiss from your eyelid

Each tear that may start,

When the zephyr of pity

Draws gems from your heart.

And when all these charms shall
Have faded away,

I will cherish the ruin,

And guard its decay;

The calm of the eve shall
Recall every care,

And I'll love you the same
As when beauty was there.

TO H. A. B.

DEEM not, beloved, that the glow
Of love with youth will know decay;
For, though the wing of Time may throw
A shadow o'er our way;

The sunshine of a cloudless faith,
The calmness of a holy trust,
Shall linger in our hearts till death
Consigns our "dust to dust!"

The fervid passions of our youth-
The fervour of affection's kiss-
Love, born of purity and truth-
All memories of bliss

These still are ours, while looking back
Upon the past with dewy eyes:
O, dearest; on life's vanish'd track
How much of sunshine lies!

Men call us poor-it may be true
Amid the gay and glittering crowd;
We feel it, though our wants are few,
Yet envy not the proud,

The freshness of love's early flowers,

Heart-shelter'd through long years of want,

Pure hopes and quiet joys are ours,
That wealth could never grant.

Something of beauty from thy brow,
Something of lightress from thy tread,
Hath pass'd-yet thou art dearer now
Than when our vows were said:
A softer beauty round thee gleams,
Chasten'd by time, yet calmly bright:
And from thine eye of hazel beams
A deeper, tenderer light:

An emblem of the love which lives

Through every change, as time departs; Which binds our souls in one, and gives New gladness in our hearts! Flinging a halo over life

Like that which gilds the life beyond. Ah! well I know thy thoughts, dear wife! To thoughts like these respond.

The mother with her dewy eye,
Is dearer than the blushing bride
Who stood three happy years gone by,
In beauty by my side!

Our Father, throned in light above,
Hath bless'd us with a fairy child-
A bright link in the chain of love-
The pure and undefiled.

Rich in the heart's best treasure, still
With a calm trust we'll journey on,
Link'd heart with heart, dear wife! until
Life's pilgrimage be done!
Youth-beauty-passion-these will pass
Like every thing of earth away—
The breath-stains on the polish'd glass
Less transient are than they.

But love dies not-the child of GOD
The soother of life's many woes-
She scatters fragrance round the sod
Where buried hopes repose!

She leads us with her radiant hand

Earth's pleasant streams and pastures by,

Still pointing to a better land

Of bliss beyond the sky;

SONG.

'Tis said that absence conquers love!

But, O! believe it not :

I've tried, alas! its power to prove,

But thou art not forgot.