The Hartford Rose-bud-addressed to Miss M. S******d.

THE ROSE-BUD.

On the banks of Connecticut's proud winding stream,

I pensively wander'd, a stranger, unknown ;

As the hill-tops around caught the sun's parting beam, And eve's sable vest o'er the valleys was thrown.

A blushing young Rose-bud attracted mine eye,

Half opened, its bosom perfumed the soft air, As it bow'd in response to the zephyr's sweet sigh, And a new-fallen dew-drop was glittering there.

As I tasted its fragrance, I spoke to the flower,

"O flourish, sweet bud! in my bosom," I cried; "Thy beauties will solace life's turbulent hour,

"Grief loses its gall, when to sweetness allied."

I said, and had pluck'd it, to bloom in my breast,
That breast stung by anguish and torn by despair!
But my hand was restrain'd, and my bosom address'd-
My heart caught the whisper-"O pilgrim, forbear!"

"Taste, taste of its sweetness, but mar not the flower, "O stranger! a wanderer still thou must roam;— "Once torn from its stalk, it will bloom but an hour; "Then leave it, O pilgrim! 'twill flourish at home.

"But, ah! if transplanted, a bosom of wo "Will chill the fair bud, in a far-distant clime, "A soil deep envelop'd in winter's cold snow, "Will cause the young stranger to droop in its prime."

I obey'd-but my eye dropp'd a tear on the rose—
That rose, lovely girl! is an emblem of you;
But driven from joys, I submit to my woes,
And think of your name as I bid them adieu!

THE PILGRIM,

To his fair fellow-traveller from Brookfield to Hartford.

You saw, dear Mary, or you might have seen,
How the poor steeds that whirl'd us down from B-
Were lash'd and urged along, with slackened rein,
Or check'd and shorten'd when they ran too free.

So I, my girl, though (Heaven be praised) no horse, Am sometimes lash'd and sometimes curb'd by Fate; Now hurried forward with resistless force,

Now check'd, and forced against my will to wait.

The Pilgrim-addressed to Miss Mary H******* *gh.

I fondly hoped to pass my days at home,

And only tread my native rural plains; But Fate forbade, and I am doom'd to roam,

Gall'd by her whip, and straightened with her reins.

I gain'd an inn, that promis'd food and rest,
For Joy and Peace were pictured on the sign;

I saw the turtle settling in her nest,

And thought such happiness might soon be mine.

Vain, foolish thought! for crack went madam's lash, And I was driven from the loved abode;

O'er bog and moor, through thick and thin to dash, Without e'en hope to cheer me on the road.

And now, though fostered by your generous care,
Blest with your smiles, and friendship's tenderest tie,

Yet, Jehu-like, she drives me to despair

Adieu, dear girl! for I again must fly."

The Sigh--addressed to Miss M. H.

THE SIGH.

Softly stealing from her breast
Ere its lovely keeper knew,
Forth a sigh emerging flew :
I received the trembling guest,
Thrilling in my raptur'd ear,
Sinking on my heart to rest,

With ecstatic throbbings dear.
Ah! dear Mary, luckless fair,

You perceived its flight too late : Guard such telltale rogues with care; For the tidings which they bear

Cast the colour of our fate.

Think you what it told my heart?

'Twas the messenger

of peace,

Bidding every doubt to cease,

Every sorrow to depart;

'Twas the olive-bearing dove.

Guiding hope into the ark ;

"Twas the harbinger of love.

Flitting from that warm recess

Where thy thoughts in secret dwell, What thy lips would ne'er confess, Though thy suppliant sure to bless,

This sweet fugitive will tell.

The Sigh- -To Mary.

Hark! it whispers to my heart-
"Hence, with every servile fear;
Hope alone may revel here;
Doubt and cold distrust, depart.

Her's as it responsive heaves,
Shall confess the urchin's dart
Rapture with the anguish leaves."

Tell me not I dream of bliss,
If I do, still let me sleep,
Snatch me not from joy like this
The reality to miss ;—

Never wake a wretch to weep.

TO MARY,

On hearing her sing the air, from Blue Beard, of "When pensive I thought on my love."

When torn from the arms of her swain,
In circles of splendour to move,
Sweet FATIMA thus would complain,
As pensive she thought on her love.

A palace for her had no charms,
Unshared by the youth she adored;
But press'd in her lov'd SELIM's arms,
A cottage true bliss could afford.