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There fragrant woodbines form'd a mantling bower;
And there I planted the luxuriant vine;
There love and friendship bless'd the festive hour,
While every rural happiness was mine.
Ah! thus will "sadly-pleasing" memory dwell
On all the hopes, the fond illusions o'er;
And still with touching power she loves to tell,
Of happy moments to return no more.
THE LILY OF THE VALE.
See bending to the gentle gale,
The modest lily of the vale;
Hid in its leaf of tender green,
Mark its soft and simple mien.
Thus sometimes Merit blooms retir'd,
By genius, taste, and fancy fir'd;
And thus 'tis oft the wanderer's lot,
To rove to Merit's peaceful cot,
As I have found the lily sweet,
That blossoms in this wild retreat.
