Such scenes would long the soul enchain
To the rapt eye,
But then there comes a witching strain
Soft rolling by,
And at the portal of the ear
Divides the pleasure and the tear.—
—Vainly I task description's power
To trace the magic of the hour,
And even with vainer skill essay
This wild flower at your feet to lay.
Magician! who can thus inspire
At once the pencil and the lyre.—
—It fades away,—my heath-born flower,
Oh teach me thy Promethean power,
Warmth to infuse in lifeless clay,
And snatch the dying from decay.
THE SUNDAY SCHOOL.
Group after group are gathering.—Such as prest
Once to their Saviour's arms, and gently laid
Their cherub heads upon his shielding breast,
Though sterner souls the fond approach forbade;—
Group after group glide on with noiseless tread
And round Jehovah's sacred altar meet,
Where holy thoughts in infant hearts are bred,
And holy words their ruby lips repeat,
Oft with a chasten'd glance, in modulation sweet.—
Yet some there are, upon whose childish brows
Wan poverty hath done the work of care,
Look up, ye sad ones!—'t is your Father's house,
Beneath whose consecrated dome you are;
