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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,
And on its bosom play..
Thus, while the modest flow'ret shed
Its fragrance on the gale,
“ 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;
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
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,
It seemed to heave a sigh.
When lo! a voice; “ Go! quit a breast,”:
Stole softly on my ear-