Low-roofed cots and whispering groves

Suit thy pensive sweetness best;

Health shall bloom, and Peace shall smile

Round thy small but downy nest.

Try thy thrilling notes once more,
Plume again thy ruffled wing;

With thy sister turtles coo,

Drink at Pleasure's native spring.

EPITAPH ON THE SAME.

FAREWELL, mild saint!-meek child of love, farewell!

Ill can this stone thy finished virtues tell.

Rest, rest in peace! the task of life is o'er;

Sorrows shall sting, and sickness waste no more.

But hard our task from one so loved to part,

While fond remembrance clings round every heart,—

Hard to resign the sister, friend, and wife,

And all that cheers, and all that softens life.
Farewell! for thee the gates of bliss unclose,
And endless joy succeeds to transient woes.

TO MR. BOWRING,

ON HIS POETICAL TRANSLATIONS FROM VARIOUS LANGUAGES.

BOWRING, the music of thy polished strains
Through every tongue its equal power sustains.
To the rude Russ it gives a softer touch,

It melts to mellower sounds the homely Dutch,
With bloodless conquest from each land it bears
The precious spoil of long-recorded years;

And, pleased its holy ardour to diffuse,
With thy own spirit sanctifies the Muse.
Thus, in some window's deep recesses laid,
The soft Æolian harp its power displayed,
From the shrill east wind and the stormy north
It drew soft airs and gentle breathings forth;

Subdued to harmony each passing sound,

Waked with unusual notes the echoes round,

With happy magic softened, as it past,

The hollow whistling of the keenest blast;

And each rude gust that swept the changing sky

Dissolved to strains of liquid harmony.

FRAGMENT.

As the poor schoolboy, when the slow-paced months

Have brought vacation times, and one by one

His playmates and companions all are fled
Or ready; and to him-to him alone.

No summons comes; he left of all the train
Paces with lingering step the vacant halls,
No longer murmuring with the Muse's song,
And silent play-ground scattered wide around
With implements of sports, resounding once
With cheerful shouts; and hears no sound of wheels

To bear him to his father's bosom home;

For, conscious though he be of time misspent,

And heedless faults and much amiss, yet hopes