Oh! where is the blossom that closed or expanded
As midnight or morning were present to sway?

It is flaunting no more, as when summer winds fann'd itThe flower and the foliage are scattered away!

How sweet was its spring while the heart was in tune,

And when joy was more changing and bright than the

moon:

But 'tis vain to remember-the heart's bleak December Hath blighted the branch that is leafless in June.

ΤΟ

It is not that thy lovely eyes

Have warmed my bosom with their light,

And yet, like deep Italian skies,

Their beam is beautiful and bright:

Nor is it that thy sweet smile plays

Like sunbeams on a dewy rose—

Tho' dear, the gifts which prompt my praise

Are dearer to my soul than those.

Thy virtues, Maiden! weave the charm Time dare not touch, nor envy taint; And fling a halo round thy form

Like that which crowns a virgin saint.

For tho' thy cheeks had been denied The sweet and seraph smile they wear, Like moonlight on the darkest tide, Thy soul had shed a lustre there.

TO AN INFANT

When cherub smiles give place

To full and flowing tears,

My Infant in thy face

I see the chart of years:

Each smile a joy bestowing, Each tear a grief foreshowing.

But, young one! it appears
They differ in amount;

One minute tells more tears

Than a day of smiles can count:

How many clouds we gaze on

For one the Iris plays on!

By day the sunbeam glows,

But soon its ray must set;

Thro' morn and midnight flows
The sobbing rivulet:

Thus, joy a while keeps glowing,

But grief for ever flowing.

My cup of hope is quaffed,

Yet this I'll hope for thee

Be thou the green young graft

Upon the leafless tree;

And hopes 'twere vain to nourish,

Be found in thee to flourish.