The youth whose bark is guided o'er A summer stream by zephyr's breath, With idle gaze delights to pore On imaged skies that glow beneath. But should a fleeting storm arise To shade awhile the watery way, Quick lifts to heaven his anxious eyes, And speeds to reach some sheltering bay. 'Tis thus down time's eventful tide, While prosperous breezes gently blow, In life's frail bark we gaily glide Our hopes, our thoughts all fixed below. But let one cloud the prospect dim, The wind its quiet stillness mar, At once we raise our prayer to Him Whose light is life's best guiding star. DESPONDENCY. WRITTEN IN DEJECTION AND SORROW FOR LOST TIME. BY JOHN INMAN. Whence come, my soul, these gloomy dreams, That darken thus my waking hours? And whence this blighting cloud, that seems To wither all thy better powers? What is this cankering worm that clings Around my heart with deadly strain, That o'er my thoughts its mildew flings, And makes my life one age of pain? I find no joy in home or friends-- E'en music's voice has lost its spell-- To me the rose no perfume lends, And mirth and I have said farewell. I dare not think upon the past, Where dwells remembrance, fraught with pain; Of youth's pure joys that could not last, And hopes I ne'er shall know again. I dare not ask the coming years What gifts their onward flight shall bring; For what but grief, and shame, and tears, From wasted time and powers can spring? Yet I can deck my cheek with smiles, And teach my heart to seem to glow, Though colder than those Northern isles Of ice and everlasting snow. Upon the frozen surface there, With tenfold light the sunbeams play-- But false the dazzling gleam as fair-- No verdure springs beneath the ray. And falser yet the laughing eye-- The cheek that wears a seeming smile-- The heart that hides its misery, And breaks beneath its load the while. TO A GOLDFINCH. BY ROSWELL PARK. Bird of the gentle wing, Songster of air, Home, from thy wandering, Dost thou repair? Art thou deserted then, Wilder'd and lone? Come to my breast again, Beautiful one. Here in the rosy beds Hover anew; Eating the garden seeds, Sipping the dew: Then in my bower The fragrance inhale Of each lovely flower That waves in the gale. When the bright morning star, Rising on high, Day's early harbinger, Shines in the sky, Then shall thy numbers, So lively and gay, Rouse me from slumbers, To welcome the day. When the still evening comes, Tranquil and clear; When the dull beetle roams, Drumming the air; Then, on the willow-trees Shading the door, Sing me thy melodies Over once more.