Owns that all have widely erred From the true, the narrow way, That with Him we have no merit, And no claim of right can lay.

Loud then rise in choral measure Hymns of gratitude and praise, As, inspired with solemn pleasure, Unto Heaven their strains they raise.

Now the grave discourse beginneth, Which, ungraced by rhetoric's arts, Quick the rapt attention winneth, While it glorious truths imparts;

While it tells how kind is Heaven To the race of him who fell; How of old the Son was given To redeem from pains of hell;

How the Holy Spirit abideth In their hearts that hear his call; How our God for all provideth, How His mercy's over all;

How, beyond the grave extending, Regions lie of endless bliss; How our thoughts on that world bending, We should careless be of this.

Once again the raised hymn pealeth Notes of joy and jubilee, Praising Him who truth revealeth, Dweller of Eternity!

Night's dim shades were now retreating, Over Andes rose the day, On the hills the kids' loud bleating Lingering slumber chased away.

Birds their merry notes were singing, Joyous at the approach of morn-- Morn that, light and fragrance flinging, Earth doth cherish and adorn.

Waked by Nature's general chorus Selkirk quits his lonely couch, While o'er heaven run colours glorious, Heralding the sun's approach.

Still the vision hovers o'er him, Still the heavenly strains he hears, Setting those bright realms before him Where are wiped away all tears.

All this vain and transitory State of mankind here on earth, Weighed with that exceeding glory, Now he deems as nothing worth.

Low he bends in adoration, As the sun ascends the sky; Doubt and fear and lamentation With the night's last shadows fly.

_A Moonlight Scene_,

CONCEIVED AND COMMENCED WHEN PASSING OVER PUTNEY BRIDGE ON A FINE MOONLIGHT NIGHT IN SUMMER.

The moonbeams on the lake are glancing, The nimble bark is now advancing, That for this grove is bound.

Ye gentle clouds, ah! hear a lover, And hasten not the moon to cover And darkness pour around.

Doth fancy sport, or do I hear her, As nearer still she comes and nearer, Cutting the billows bright?-- How still! scarce even a light breeze flying!

Earth, water, air, at peace are lying Beneath the calm moonlight.

My heart beats high, my soul rejoices, Methinks I hear their merry voices-- She soon will reach the shore.-- Ah me! my hopes, my hopes are failing, Yon sable cloud is onwards sailing-- The moon it covers o'er.

Now o'er the lake they dubious wander, And on some part remote may strand her, Unless they aid obtain,-- I'll wave a signal from the summit Of yon high bank, and haply from it Some guidance they may gain.

The cloud moves on, the moonlight beameth, And o'er the lovely lady streameth, Upon her lofty stand.

With joyful shout the boatmen greet her, Her anxious lover hastes to meet her, And eager springs to land.

_Lines Written in a Lady's Album._

In those blest days, when free from care And happy as the birds in air, I roamed the hills and dales, By purling rills oft passed the day, Or on green banks recumbent lay, Listening the shepherds' tales,

My fancy, rising on the wing, Would visions fair before me bring, Of castles high, and towers, With knights in radiant panoply, And ladies of the beaming eye, Within their fragrant bowers;

Or lead me thence away to shades Of woods, and show me, in the glades, The cottages serene, Where Peace dwelt with Contend, among The happy, gay Arcadian throng That tenanted the scene.

But whether cot or tower arose In vision, at the dawn or close Of summer-days, to me, The lovely form of woman still Shone bright by dale, by mead, by rill, Amid my extacy.

I saw her robed in every grace With youth, with loveliness of face, And virtue's gentle eye; And from her tongue heard accents fall, That would the rudest heart enthral, And raise emotions high.

But like the Eastern prince, who loved The pictured form of one that moved In life full many a year Ere he beheld the light, I deemed The lovely form of which I dreamed Would ne'er to me appear.

And years came on, and years went by, And yet I never found me nigh My youthful vision bright.

I said,--I might as well, I ween, Expect to see the Fairy-queen Descend, to bless my sight.

But often, when we hope it least, And when our search has well nigh ceased, Good fortune will befall: So I one evening saw a maid, Who every grace and charm displayed That decked my _Ideal_.

Her portrait here I need not show.

For, reader, thou must surely know That peerless, gentle maid: To her these lines I consecrate; And if she smiles I'll deem, elate, My toil far overpaid.

_To Amanda._

[These are the verses quoted in the Introduction to the "Tales and Popular Fictions." The author was very young when he wrote them; and Amanda was, like Beatrice and Laura, a mere _donna di mente_, having no real existence.]

As when a storm in vernal skies The face of day doth stain, And o'er the smiling landscape flies, With mist and drizzling rain; If chance the sun look through the shower O'er flowery hill and dale, Reviving Nature owns his power, And softly sighs the gale:

So when, by anxious thoughts oppressed, My soul sinks in despair, When smiling hope deserts my breast, And all is darkness there; If chance Amanda's form appear, The gloom is chased away, My soul once more her soft smiles cheer, And joy resumes his sway.

Then, dear Amanda, since thy smile Has power all gloom to charm, Oh! ever thus my cares beguile, And guard my soul from harm.

Let Hymen's bands our fates unite, What bliss may then be ours!-- Our days will glide, like streamlets bright, O'erhung with fragrant flowers.

_Lines_,

WRITTEN AT HOME IN THE SPRING OF 1842.

Fair Tibur, once the Muses' home, Before us lay; around Was spread the plain which mighty Rome Oft saw with victory crowned.

The sun rode high, the sky was clear, The lark poured forth his strain, And flowers, the firstlings of the year, Shed fragrance o'er the plain.

A gentle lady turned on me Her bright expressive eyes, And bade the flame of poesy Within my bosom rise.

'Twas then I felt, I felt, alas!

How Time has dealt with me, And how the rays of fancy pass, And vanish utterly.

For time has been when such a view And mandate of the fair, With images of brightest hue, Had fill'd the land and air:

While now I strive, and strive in vain, To twine poetic flowers, Since from me Time away has ta'en Imagination's powers.