ELEGIAC STANZAS. Athwart the troubled bosom of the night, Low heavy clouds in awful grandeur sweep; And, in the solemn darkness of their flight, Serve but to wrap the world in calmer sleep; Save those sad eyes, which only wake to weep; And give the dreary hour to meditation deep. Those eyes perceive, as slow the clouds divide, One star, whose tremulous but brilliant ray Might serve the uncertain wand'rer's steps to guide, And cheer his bosom till the dawn of day; Who trembling else, and lost in black dismay, Wearied and wild, might rove and perish on the way. Even such a star, so fair and so benign, When o'er the soul dark clouds of sorrow lour, Is Hope; whose tranquil rays serenely shine, Brightening the horrors of each dreary hour; Smiling when youth prepares the fancied flower, And when in age it feels misfortune's blighting power. Oh, thou bright star! still grateful shalt thou find The heart so often cheer'd by thy mild ray: I will not call thee faithless and unkind, Nor with ingratitude thy smiles repay, Because thou hast not, like the glorious day, Power to dispel the dark, and drive the clouds away. Gild but those clouds till brighter suns arise; Checkering with thy fair light life's troubled stream; And oft unwearied shall these wakeful eyes, Watching the progress of thy doubtful beam, Shine even in tears; and, closing, still shall seem Sooth'd by thy gentle ray in every peaceful dream. EPISTLE TO LADY DELAMORE, ON RETURNING TO ROSE-HILL.