Our Lady’s Well

I made a mountain-brook my guide Thro' a wild Spanish glen, And wandered, on its grassy side, Far from the homes of men. It lured me with a singing tone, And many a sunny glance, To a green spot of beauty lone, A haunt for old…

EN the soft breath of Spring goes Far o'er the mountains of the North, How soon those wastes of dazzling With life, and bloom, and beauty glow.

The bark that held a prince went down, The sweeping waves roll'd on; And what was England's glorious crown To him that wept a son?

On His Birthday, 27 August, 1825. OU wak'st from happy sleep to play  With bounding heart, my boy! Before thee lies a long bright day  Of summer and of joy. Thou hast no heavy thought or dream  To cloud thy fearless eye;?

OH! blest art thou, whose steps may Through the green paths of vale and grove, Or, leaving all their charms below, Climb the wild mountain's airy brow;

I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth. Genesis ix. 13. FT falls the mild, reviving shower From April's changeful skies, And rain-drops bend each trembling flower They tinge…

OH thou! the musing, wakeful pow'r, That lov'st the silent, midnight hour, Thy lonely vigils then to keep, And banish far the angel, sleep

A IL was heard around the bed, the death-bed of the young, Amidst her tears the Funeral Chant a mournful mother sung.—"Ianthis! dost thou sleep?—Thou sleep'st!—but this is not the rest, The breathing and the rosy calm