Hast found the world a Babel wide,
Where man to Mammon stoops?
Where flourish Arrogance and Pride,
While modest Merit droops?
What, none of these?—Then, whence thy pain?
To guess it who's the skill?
Pray have the kindness to explain
Why should I whip poor Will?
Dost merely ask thy just desert?
What, not another word?—
Back to the woods again, unhurt—
I will not harm thee, bird!
But use thee kindly—for my nerves,
Like thine, have penance done:
"Use every man as he deserves,
Who shall 'scape whipping?"—None!
Farewell, poor Will!—Not valueless
This lesson by thee given:
"Keep thine own counsel, and confess
Thyself alone to Heaven!"
The Exile to his Sister.
As streams at morn, from seas that glide,
Rejoicing on their sparkling way,
Will turn again at eventide,
To mingle with their kindred spray—
Even so the currents of the soul,
Dear sister, wheresoe'er we rove,
Will backward to our country roll,
The boundless ocean of our love.
You northern star, now burning bright,
The guide by which the wave-tossed steer,
Beams not with a more constant light
Than does thy love, my sister dear.
From stars above the streams below
Receive the glory they impart;
So, sister, do thy virtues glow
Within the mirror of my heart.
Near the Lake.
Near the lake where drooped the willow,
Long time ago!—
Where the rock threw back the billow
Brighter than snow—
Dwelt a maid, beloved and cherished
By high and low;
But with autumn's leaf she perished,
Long time ago!