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But give me a maiden who smiles without art,
my love is so warın it may melt her in time;
grow wise in mere sp.te, if I cannot be blest.
TO MY CHILDREN. Heu! quam minus est reliquis versari, quam vestrorum meminisse. 'These verses were written, as the author informs us, under the influence of great
depression of spirits. The subject is of a nature we should have thought, too sacred for the public eye, had pot Cowper taught us that a mind of acute and shrioking sensibility, can strangely find a solace in laying open to that unseen public the inmost recesses of the heart. We envy not the feelings of bim who can peruse these lines without emotion: they abound with images which must find a mirror in the breast of every parent.
My babes, no more I'll behold ye,
ye how he ye once lov’d,
How with many a pang he is saddened,
How many a tear he has shed
His path, and his table, and bed.
Save he who a parent has been;
In his boys, has his own image seen! And who—can I finish my story?-
Has seen them all shrink from his grasp; Departed the crown of his glory,
No wife and no children to clasp!-
By all the most sa cred caresses,
In a mood that sheds tears while it blesses;
By the plump little arm's cleaving twine, By the bright eye whose language was heaven,
By the rose on the cheek pressed to mine. By its warınth that seemed pregnant with spirit;
By the little feet’s fond interlacing, While others pressed forward to inherit
The place of the one thus embracing; By the breast that with pleasure was troubled,
Since no words were to speak it availing: Till the bliss of the heart was redoubled,
As in smiles on the lips 'twas exhaling.
By the girl who, to sleep when consigned,
The promised kiss still recollected, And no sleep on her pillow could find,
If her father's farewell were neglected; Who asked me, when infancy's terrors
Assailed her, to sit by her bed;
And for the past day's little errors
On my cheek tears of penitence shed; By those innocent tears of repentance,
More pure e'en than smiles without sin, Since they mark with what delicate sentence
Childhood's conscience whispers within; By the dear little forms, one by one,
Some in beds closely coupled half sleeping, While the cribb'd infant nestled alone
Whose heads at my coming all peeping, Betrayed that the pulse of each heart
Of my feet's stealing fall knew the speech; While all would not let me de part,
Till the kiss was bestowed upon each; By the boy who, when walking and musing
And thinking myself quite alone, Would follow the path I was choosing
And thrust his dear hand in my own; Joy more welcome because unexpected;
By all this fond store of delights, (Which in sullen mood, had I neglected
Every curse with which heaven requites, Were never sufficient for crushing
A churl so malign and hard-hearted,) But by the warm tears that are gushing,
As I think of the joys that are parted; Were ye not as the rays that are twinkling
On the waves of some clear haunted stream: Were
not as the stars that are sprinkling Night's firmament, dark without them? My forebodings then hear! By each one
of the dear dreams through which I have travelled, The cup of enjoyment from none
Can I take, till the spells, one by one, Which have withered ye all, be unravelled.
ADDRESS TO THE GENIUS OF SHAKSPEARE. This is decidedly superior to any ode of Akepside's, and bad it appeared among the
works of Collins, few persons would bave suspected it to be spurious. It is, unquestionably, a very beautiful, tbough not a faultless poeni. The last three lines are objectionable, whether in point of sentiment or merely of phraseology, we will not decide.
When first thine eyes beheld the light
And Nature bursting on thy sight,
GENIUS, the fire-eyed child of Fame
Circled thy brows with mystic flame,
“ Thee, darling Boy! I give to know
Each viewless source of Joy and Wo,
Each form that freezes sense to stone,
“ The bent of purpose unavowed;
Of Hopes and Fears the wildering crowd;
Shall all be subjected to thee!
“Oft in the moody summer vale,
When Evening breathes her balmy gale,
When just above the western line
The clouds with richer radiance shine,
“There Love's warm hopes thy breast shall fill,
For Nature's charms with kindliest skill
Thy prostrate mind shall sink subdued,
While ii a strange fantastic mood,
· For know, where'er my influence dwells,
Each selfish interest it expels,
Indifference, of the marble mien,
Shall ne'er with lazy spells be seen,
“ These shalt thou burst, whate'er it be
That manacles mortality,
And Inspiration to thine eye
Shail bid futurity be nigh,
In a child's eye, is there not rapture seen?
Calm, though impassioned; durable, though keen!
It is all fresh. like the young spring's first green!
To wliom still cleave Heaven's atmosphere serene;
very wildnesses with truth are blended; Fresia from their skiey mould, they cannot be amended.
Warın and uncalculating, they're more wise,
More sense that ecstasy of theirs denotes,
And more the music of the warbling throats
Of choirs whose anthem round th’ Eternal floats,
Has e'er struck forth from artificial notes:
OTHELLO'S ACCOUNT OF HIS COURTSHIP, Her father lov'd me-oft got drunk with me, Captain, (he'd cry,) come tell us your adventures,