I strive to be gay, but my efforts are weak, And, sick of existence, for pleasure I seek; I mix with the empty, the loud, and the vain, Partake of their folly, and double my pain. In others I meet with depression and strife; Oh! where shall I seek for the music of life? * * * * * THE GRANDFATHER'S DEPARTURE. The Old Man press'd Palemon's hand; To Lucy nodded with a smile; Kiss'd all the little ones around; Then clos'd the gate, and paus'd awhile. "When shall I come again!" he thought, Ere yet the journey had begun; It was a tedious length of way, But he beheld an only son. And dearly did he love to take A rosy grandchild on his knee; To part his shining locks, and say, "Just such another boy was he!" And never felt he greater pride, And never did he look so gay, As when the little urchins strove To make him partner in their play. But when, in some more gentle mood, They silent hung upon his arm, Or nestled close at ev'ning pray'r, The old man felt a softer charm; And upward rais'd his closing eye, Whence slow effus'd a grateful tear, As if his senses own'd a joy, Too holy for endurance here. No heart e'er pray'd so fervently, Unprompted by an earthly zeal, None ever knew such tenderness, That did not true devotion feel. As with the pure, uncolour'd flame, The violet's richest blues unite, Do our affections soar to heav'n, And rarify and beam with light. * * * * * REFLECTIONS OCCASIONED BY THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. My happiness was once a goodly tree, Which promis'd every day to grow more fair, And rear'd its lofty branches in the air, In sooth, it was a pleasant sight, to see! Amidst, fair honey-suckles crept along, Twin'd round the bark, and hung from every bough, While birds, which Fancy held by slender strings, Plum'd the dark azure of their shining wings, Or dipp'd them in the silver stream below, With many a joyful note, and many a song! When lo! a tempest hurtles in the sky! Dark low'r the clouds! the thunders burst around! Fiercely the arrowy flakes of lightning fly! While the scar'd songsters leave the quiv'ring bough, The blasted honey-suckles droop below, And many noble branches strew the ground! Though soon the air is calm, the sky serene, Though wide the broad and leafy arms are spread, Yet still the scars of recent wounds are seen; Their shelter henceforth seems but insecure; The winged tribes disdain the frequent lure, Where many a songster lies benumb'd or dead; And when I would the flow'ry tendrils train, I find my late delightful labour vain.