Blasted her heart's sweet bower.
Failing to be the youth's dear bride,
Adorned in colors gay,
She went to a Demon's pride,
Under the Sea, they say.
And I have grieved to think of her,
And, if in these degenerate years,
There's feeling, her most mad despair,
Would melt a stone to tears.




NAPOLEON.


INTRODUCTION.

If ye will walk amid the ancient wood,
Ye will perceive the lordly oak o'erspread
The slender shrubs, and shield them from the storm.
If ye will look upon a thrifty hive
Of honey-loving bees, ye will remark
A Sovereign rules this small but populous State;
And, if she live, they live, and fill with life
The sunny air around--but if she die,
They quickly die, and then their precious sweet,
Becomes a dainty dish for vilest worms.
If ye will scan the custom of those birds,
That seek the boreal lakes, when spring unfolds--