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Oh! when will the tempest subside,

The storm of Affliction be o'er ; The sea-shattered bark safely ride,

Where billows can toss it no more?

I long for that haven of rest,

Where pleasures unfading remain; Where trouble shall cease to molest, And Satan ne'er harass again!

By a Lady.


ONCE as I strayed where two fond rills,

From Jura's height that wend, Far in the shade of circling hills

Their lucid waters blend ;

I saw, the Valley's grace and pride,

A modest Lily blow : Its bending form, you'd think, would hide

A bosom white as snow.

Gentle it was, as that fair star

That shines with lonely light, When Evening leaves her radiant car,

And gives the reins to Night.

It seemed t have felt the chilling rain,

And bowed before the storm : Yet none of all its sister-train

Might show a rival-form.

Sweet 'twas and lovely. The warm winds

That wander here their way,
Rest oft, (their wings its beauty binds),

And on its bosom play..

Thus, while the modest flow'ret shed

Its fragrance on the gale,
Hadst thou beheld, thou'dst surely said.is

“ The Lily of the Vale!"

Silent I gazed : my soul the while

Was lured, so sweet it breathed : Nor did I fear one latent wile

Around its freshness wreathed.

Yet thou hast marked upon the brow

The triumph of the heart;
And in the eye hast read the vow,

That would have barbed its dart.

- That pride I've caught in darksome guise,

And what that glance would speak : But, dost thou hate the throb that dyes

Truth's undissembling cheek?

Nay! was that eye in woman dark,

Yet told thee what was there? Its loveliness that bade thee mark,

A brow of beauty fair ?

No! 'twas the look, whose timid soul
From thy fond gaze

withdrew : Yon deep, retiring blush, which stole

That heart-drawn sigh from you.

Sweet unassuming flower ! thy breast

No guilty swell had raised, Tho', by its balmy beauties blest,

A world its snows had praised.

While, musing thus, I view'd its form

Traced in the passing tide, A smile-methought ;-but was it warm

With vain impassioned pride ?

No! such a smile on Sorrow's cheek

Would speak a heart resigned: Tell thee, that death alone could break

The chain which bound her mind :


Tell thee, that long her bleeding breast

Had worn the weight of woe: That, now, her Saviour spoke of rest,

And she was glad to go :

Tell thee, that rest was promised too,

-In blood its purchase paid That, lost in wonder at the view,

She there her Lord surveyed !.

That, now, in faith upborne on high,

- The wings of faith how fleet ! She dwelt in Heaven-nor tear, nor sigh,

Disturbs that blissful seat !

Still as I watched it, lost in thought,

To Fancy's forming eye,
With resignation sweetly fraught,

It seemed to heave a sigh.

When lo! a voice; “ Go! quit a breast,”:

Stole softly on my ear-
Thy murmurs have too oft distrest,
Nor henceforth struggle here :

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