8weet bird, although thy pleasant music bc All fur thy mate, and not all for me, I hcir thy soug is gratffu'.ly as she, And love thee stil1. Fair flower, that gsze on hoavon as if ye drew Into yoursi'lvt's the brightnes of its lilue, My lovo liae still n quiet (ilnce ihat you Alone mny fill. Groat nun, tliou Jost nat think lo chocr my way Ry tlie warm lu!re of thy light to-day, But kinjleil into glaJns'ö by thy ray, I liles the sptll. Green e.irth, that with a gen'.le mother'e smile, Tliy wurv child so sweo-tly can beguile, And aoothe me still, hoodkas of me the , while, I love the well. Ocean, and tliou lone islet that I ee, Ye hew what Time is to Eternity ; And tench me, all the whilc ye hced not me, Truth fromVbore. O foolish henrt ! too lovr thy praises fall, If for thy lovc uncontcious thing may cali, Dost thou not uwe to Him who purposod all, Fullneas of love ? ïtirliipn 3rps.