Thy parents’ earliest hope—be it their care
To guide thee through youth’s path of shade and flowers,
And teach thee to avoid false pleasure’s snare;
Be thine—to smile upon their evening hours.
There are some graceful translations from the French; but, besides the above, we should find it difficult to quote an original poem, good as a whole. We have now and then some spirited lines, and frequently some weak ones; but the latter outnumber the former.
Strange as it may seem, the same hand wrote both of the following passages—the one, with the exception of its concluding verse, vigorous, free, correct—the other, puerile, silly, commonplace.
Sculpture! oh what a triumph o’er the grave
Hath thy proud Art!—thy powerful hand can save
From the destroyer’s grasp the noble form,
As if the spirit dwelt, still thrilling warm,