_Weak is the Will of Man._


I praise thee, Matron! and thy due
Is praise....
With admiration I behold
Thy gladness unsubdued and bold;
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent.

_The Matron of Jedborough._


A blooming girl, whose hair was wet
With points of morning due....
Her brow was smooth and white....
* * * * *
No fountain from its rocky cave
E'er tripped with foot so free,
She seemed as happy as a wave,
That dances on the sea.

_The Two April Mornings._


The floating clouds their state shall lend
To her; for her the willow bend;
Nor shall she fail to see,
Even in the motions of the storm,