Sometimes at the fire side my friends I can greet; While each smiling face beams its beauty for me: Then fondly I’ll love them but if frowns I should meet, Shall I mourn at their loss or to other friends flee. Pray whence is this change once thy heart alway’s sigh’d, Like the Eolian harp, if a breath struck its string’s Pray what is the cause that has thus fortified, Thy breast gainst the sorrow’s that misery brings? Is it love, that has sung to the breath no more sighs? Love’s joy is too keen for a calmness like mine; The sounds that love vibrates variably rise; The first tone is joys; the next jealousy, thine. Has friendship then blest thee? No: friends are all gone; Like summer eve’s clouds they have vanished away. I had friends once, alas:—but, Hype be done; I’ll care not: I love’d them, but they would not stay. Was it wine, that the sharp strings that misery stole; But pleasure’s not always a guest at the feast; Tho’ care may escape from the top of the bowl, Mid the dregs at the bottom he always will rest. It was that I found, but I will not relate, What has lightened my spirits of woe’s fancied power; Suffice that no more I shall murmur at hate; Nor suffer neglect every pleasure to sour. Then Hype, farwell and long be the time, E’er thou fly back to visit this bosom of mine; The clouds are all past, and a happier clime, Beams with joy, that is brighter than friendship or wine. By MR. J. P. BRACE. AMANDA KEELER. Albany. VALE OF AVOCA. There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As the vale on whose bosom the bright waters meet, Oh! the last ray of feeling and of life shall depart, E’er the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that nature had spread o’er the scene Her purest of chrystals and brightest of green It was not the soft magic of streamlet or rill, Oh! no it was something more exquisite still. It was, that the friends of my bosom were near That made every scene of enchantment more dear Who felt how the blest of nature improves When we see it reflected from eyes that we love Sweet vale of Avoca how calmly would I rest On thy bosom of shade with the friend I love best When the raging of thy billows would forever cease And our hearts like your waters be mingled in _peace_ Litchfield July 16th 1816 PARODY ON THE VALE OF AVOCA