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And He will bless thee with consoling power,
And elevate thy soul in sorrow's hour.
Ah! then a pensive beam of joy shall play,
To cheer thee, weeping Genius, on thy way:
A lovely rainbow then for thee shall rise,
And shed a lustre o'er the cloudy skies.
Tho' all thy fairy prospects are no more,
And tho' the visions of thy youth are o'er;
Yet Sorrow shall assume a softer mein,
Like Melancholy, mournful yet serene:
The placid Muse to thee her flowers shall bring,
And Hope shall "wave her golden hair," and sing;
With magic power dispel the clouds on high,
And raise the veil of bright eternity.
RURAL WALKS.
Oh! may I ever pass my happy hours
In Cambrian vallies and romantic bow'rs;
For every spot in sylvan beauty drest,
And every landscape charms my youthful breast.
And much I love to hail the vernal morn,
When flowers of spring the mossy seat adorn:
And sometimes thro' the lonely wood I stray,
To cull the tender rosebuds in my way;
