When night, the holy time of peace, Was dreaded as the parting hour; When speech and mirth at once must cease, And silence must resume her power; Though ever free from pains and woes, She only brought us calm repose. And when the blessed dawn again Brought daylight to the blushing skies, We woke, and not RELUCTANT then, To joyless LABOUR did we rise; But full of hope, and glad and gay, We welcomed the returning day. THE CONSOLATION. Though bleak these woods, and damp the ground With fallen leaves so thickly strown, And cold the wind that wanders round With wild and melancholy moan; There IS a friendly roof, I know, Might shield me from the wintry blast; There is a fire, whose ruddy glow Will cheer me for my wanderings past. And so, though still, where'er I go, Cold stranger-glances meet my eye; Though, when my spirit sinks in woe, Unheeded swells the unbidden sigh; Though solitude, endured too long, Bids youthful joys too soon decay, Makes mirth a stranger to my tongue, And overclouds my noon of day; When kindly thoughts that would have way, Flow back discouraged to my breast; I know there is, though far away, A home where heart and soul may rest. Warm hands are there, that, clasped in mine, The warmer heart will not belie; While mirth, and truth, and friendship shine In smiling lip and earnest eye. The ice that gathers round my heart May there be thawed; and sweetly, then, The joys of youth, that now depart, Will come to cheer my soul again. Though far I roam, that thought shall be My hope, my comfort, everywhere; While such a home remains to me, My heart shall never know despair! LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY. My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze; For above and around me the wild wind is roaring, Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas. The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing, The bare trees are tossing their branches on high; The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing, The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray; I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing, And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day! VIEWS OF LIFE. When sinks my heart in hopeless gloom, And life can show no joy for me; And I behold a yawning tomb, Where bowers and palaces should be; In vain you talk of morbid dreams; In vain you gaily smiling say, That what to me so dreary seems, The healthy mind deems bright and gay.