And summer smiles, but summer spells Can never charm where sorrow dwells;-- No maiden fair, Or gay, or sad, the passer sees,-- And still the much-loved Elder-trees Throw shadows there. The homely-fashioned seat is gone, And where it stood is set a stone, A simple square: The worldling, or the man severe, May pass the name recorded here; But we will stay to shed a tear, And breathe a prayer. II. A KIND PROVIDENCE. He dropt a tear on Susan's bier, He seemed a most despairing swain; But bluer sky brought newer tie, And--would he wish her back again? The moments fly, and, when we die, Will Philly Thistletop complain? She'll cry and sigh, and--dry her eye, And let herself be wooed again. CIRCUMSTANCE. THE ORANGE. It ripened by the river banks, Where, mask and moonlight aiding, Dons Blas' and Juans play sad pranks, Dark Donnas serenading. By Moorish maiden it was plucked, Who broke some hearts they say then: By Saxon sweetheart it was sucked, --Who flung the peel away then. How should she know in Pimlico Or t'other girl in Seville, That _I_ should reel upon that peel, And wish them at the Devil! ARCADIA. The healthy-wealthy-wise affirm That early birds secure the worm, (The worm rose early too!) Who scorns his couch should glean by rights A world of pleasant sounds and sights That vanish with the dew: One planet from his watch released Fast fading from the purple east, As morning waxes stronger; The comely cock that vainly strives To crow from sleep his drowsy wives, Who would be dozing longer. Uxorious Chanticleer! and hark! Upraise thine eyes, and find the lark,-- The matutine musician Who heavenward soars on rapture's wings, Though sought, unseen,--who mounts and sings In musical derision. From sea-girt pile, where nobles dwell, A daughter waves her sire "farewell," Across the sunlit water: All these I heard, or saw--for fun I stole a march upon that sun, And then upon that daughter. This Lady Fair, the county's pride, A white lamb trotting at her side, Had hied her through the park; A fond and gentle foster-dam-- May be she slumbered with her lamb, Thus rising with the lark! The lambkin frisked, the lady fain Would coax him back, she called in vain, The rebel proved unruly; I followed for the maiden's sake, A pilgrim in an angel's wake, A happy pilgrim truly! The maid gave chase, the lambkin ran As only woolly truant can Who never felt a crook; But stayed at length, as if disposed To drink, where tawny sands disclosed The margin of a brook.