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THE MEMORY OF COLLINS.
GREAT bard, to thee belong
The spirits of the mystic song.
Thou hast found, 'bove all thy race,
Thou scatterest flowers of earliest bloom.
No self-complaint thy mind reveals,
But solely for another feels:
Though it has suffer'd deep distress,
Since pity, peace, and mercy, seem,
Bard of the East! a poet sweet
Where sky-born forms are flitting near,
To charm it through "the eternal year."
"Doth any man doubt, that if there were taken out of men's minds, vain opinions, flattering hopes, false valuations, imaginations as one would,' and the like, but it would leave the minds of a number of men, poor shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves?"-BACON.
WHAT wild ambitious schemes
Their sweet attractive power,
And pleasure vainly woos
The statesman to her bower.
Youth, manhood, and old age, have each their vice, First lust, ambition next, then avarice.
Some mount on high like rockets,
That blaze, then die away;
And folly loves to mock its
Or Juans, or Napoleons, 'tis the same—
The slaves of passion are the fools to fame.
"To-morrow and to-morrow"
Have visionary joys!
Men never think that sorrow
Can rob them of their toys;
Or death-they heedless hear the passing bell;
Where be his fond conceits for whom it tolls a knell ?
WRITTEN IN STONELEIGH PARK.
THE rudest trunk by Nature's hand that's wrought
Ye teach me this, that even in decay
Ye thrive, when the proud mind is worn away.
Ye richly-foliaged woods, that seem but one,
Youth's liveliness, and your most cheerful green.
When sombre shades the brightest hues displace, Steals o'er our hearts their "melancholy grace," 'Tis the bard's golden chain that seems to bind Nature's best energies with those of mind;