Are all prophetic of our own decay.

BEAUTY

How oft, as unregarded on a throng
Of lovely creatures, in whose liquid eyes
The heart-warm feelings bathe, I've look'd
With all a Poet's passion, and have wish'd
That years might never pluck their graceful smiles--
How often Death, as with a viewless wand,
Has touch'd the scene, and witch'd it to a tomb!
Where Beauty dwindled to a ghastly wreck,
And spirits of the Future seem'd to cry,--
Thus will it be when Time has wreak'd revenge.

MELANCHOLY.

When mantled with the melancholy glow
Of eve, she wander'd oft: and when the wind,
Like a stray infant down autumnal dales
Roam'd wailingly, she loved to mourn and muse:
To commune with the lonely orphan flowers,
And through sweet Nature's ruin trace her own.

VISION OF HEAVEN.

An empyrean infinitely vast
And irridescent, roof'd with rainbows, whose
Transparent gleams like water-shadows shone,
Before me lay: Beneath this dazzling vault--