Be thine the offering, owing long

To thee, and to this pensive hour,
Or one brief tributary song,
Though transient as thy flower.

I love to watch at silent eve

Thy scatter'd blossoms' lonely light, And have my inmost heart receive

The influence of that sight.

I love at such an hour to mark

Their beauty greet the night-breeze chill, And shine, 'mid shadows gathering dark,

The garden's glory still.

For such 'tis sweet to think the while,

When cares and griefs the breast invade, Is friendship's animating smile

In sorrow's dark’ning shade.

Thus it bursts forth, like thy pale cup

Glist' ning amid its dewy tears, And bears the sinking spirit up

Amid its chilling fears

But still more animating far,

If meek Religion's eye may trace
Even in thy glimm'ring, earth-born star,

The holier hope of Grace.

The hope, that as thy beauteous bloom

Expands to glad the close of day, So through the shadows of the tomb

May break forth Mercy's ray.

RHINEFIELD! as through thy solitude I rove,

Now lost amid the deep wood's gloomy night,

Doubtful I trace a ray of glimmering light;
Now where some antique oak, itself a grove,

Spreads its soft umbrage o'er the sunny glade,
Stretched on its mossy roots at early dawn
While o'er the furze with light bound leaps the fawn,

I count the herd that crops the dewy blade :
Frequent at eve list to the hum profound

That all around upon the chill breeze floats,

Broke by the lonely keeper's wild, strange notes,
At distance followed by the browsing deer ;
Or the bewilder'd stranger's plaintive sound
That dies in lessening murmurs on the ear.

SKIRID,

A HILL NEAR ABERGAVENNY.

SKIRID! remembrance thy loved scene renews;

Fancy, yet lingering on thy shaggy brow,

Beholds around the lengthened landscape glow, Which charmed, when late the day-beam's parting hues

Purpled the distant cliff. The crystal stream
Of Usk bright winds the verdant meads among;
The dark heights lower with wild woods o'erhung;

Pale on the grey tower falls the twilight glean
And frequent I recal the sudden breeze,

Which, as the sun shot up his last pale flame, Shook every light leaf shivering on the trees :

Then, bathed in dew, meek evening silent came, While the low wind, that faint and fainter fell, Soft murmured to the dying day—FAREWELL!

ON CROSSING THE ANGLESEY STRAIT TO BANGOR AT

MIDNIGHT.

'Twas night, when from the Druid's gloomy cave,

Where I had wander'd, tranced in thought, alone

'Mid Cromlech's and the Carnedd's funeral stone,
Pensive and slow I sought the Menai's wave :

Lulled by the scene, a soothing stillness laid
Each pang to rest. O'er Snowdon's cloudless brow
The moon, that full orb'd rose, with peaceful glow

Beamed on the rocks; with many a star arrayed,
Glitter'd the broad blue sky; from shore to shore

O’er the smooth current streamed a silver light,
Save where along the flood the lonely height

Of rocky Penmaenmaur deep darkness spread ;
And all was silence, save the ceaseless roar
Of Conway bursting on the ocean's bed,

Our band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold; The British soldier trembles

When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood,

Our tent the cypress-tree; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea.