Vignettes. I. If writing Journals were my task, From cottagers to kings— A little book I'd only ask, And fill it full of wings!   Each pair should represent a day: On some the sun should rise, While others bent their mournful way Through cold and cloudy skies.   And here I would the light'ning bring With threatening, forked glare; And there the hallowed rainbow fling Across the troubled air.   Some... more...

THE LAY OF MARIE. CANTO FIRST.     The guests are met, the feast is near,    But Marie does not yet appear!    And to her vacant seat on high    Is lifted many an anxious eye.    The splendid show, the sumptuous board,    The long details which feuds afford,    And discontent is prone to... more...

POEMS. THE OLD FISHERMAN. 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, My limbs their lost vigour deplore! Alas! to the lonely and old, Hope warbles her promise no more! 'Worn out with the length of my way, I must rest me awhile on the beach, To feel the salt dash of the spray, If haply so far it may reach. 'As the white-foaming billows arise, I reflect on the days that are past, When the pride of my strength could despise The... more...

ARTHUR and ALBINA. Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale, And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn; And yet I hear net in the silent vale, A sound to tell me Arthur does return.   Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing! Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils! Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing, And loud applause repay successful toils!   Reward the flame, ye great celestial... more...