The abandon’d and the vile,
Well may dread—but not the wise.
Tread my youthful children dear,
In those paths mark’d by our Lord;
So shall phantoms ne’er give fear—
God’s your guardian, ye his ward.”
To Miss S—— T———.
When morn returns with blushing pride,
I long to range the mountains side,
To hail with joy returning day,