t's stead.

_SONNET_

When the rough storm roars round the peasant's cot,
And bursting thunders roll their awful din;
While shrieks the frighted night bird o'er the spot,
Oh! what serenity remains within!
For there Contentment, Health, and Peace abide,
And pillow'd age, with calm eye fix'd above;
Labor's bold son, his blithe and blooming bride,
And lisping innocence, and filial love.
To such a scene let proud Ambition turn,
Whose aching breast conceals it's secret woe;
Then shall his fireful spirit melt, and mourn
The mild enjoyments it can never know;
Then shall he feel the littleness of state,
And sigh that Fortune e'er had made him great.

LINES,

WRITTEN ON THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER.

Ill-Fated hour! oft as thy annual reign
Leads on th'autumnal tide, my pinion'd joys
Fade with the glories of the fading year;
"Remembrance 'wakes with all her busy train,"
And bids affection heave the heart-drawn sigh
O'er the cold tomb, rich with the spoils of death,
And wet with many a tributary tear!

Eight times has each successive season sway'd
The fruitful sceptre of our milder clime
Since My Loved ****** died! but why, ah! why
Should melancholy cloud my early years?
Religion spurns earth's visionary scene,
Philosophy revolts at misery's chain:
Just Heaven recall'd it's own, the pilgrim call'd
From human woes, from sorrow's rankling worm;
Shall frailty then prevail?

Oh! be it mine
To curb the sigh which bursts o'er Heaven's decree;
To tread the path of rectitude--that when
Life's dying ray shall glimmer in the frame,
That latest breath I may in peace resign,
"Firm in the faith of seeing thee and God."

_SONNET_.

TO FAITH.

Hail! Holy FAITH, on life's wide ocean tost,
I see thee sit calm in thy beaten bark;
As NOAH sat, thron'd in his high-borne ark,
Secure and fearless, while a world was lost!
In vain, contending storms thy head enzone,
Thy bosom shrinks not from the bolt that falls:
The dreadful shaft plays harmless, nor appals
Thy steadfast eye, fixt on Jehovah's throne!
E'en tho' thou saw'st the mighty fabric nod,
Of system'd worlds, thou bears't a sacred charm,
Grav'd on thy heart, to shelter thee from harm:
And thus it speaks:--"Thou art my trust, O GOD!
And thou canst bid the jarring powers be still,
Each ponderous orb, like me, subservient to thy will!

STANZAS.

Say why is the stern eye averted with scorn,