Yet, blessed Art, we yield not to dejection;
Thou against Time so feelingly dost strive:
Where'er, preserved in this most true reflection,
An image of her soul is kept alive,
Some lingering fragrance of the pure affection,
Whose flower with us will vanish, must survive.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

_Rydal Mount, New Year's Day, 1840_.'

'_To I.F._

The star which comes at close of day to shine
More heavenly bright than when it leads the morn
Is Friendship's emblem, whether the forlorn
She visiteth, or shedding light benign
Through shades that solemnise Life's calm decline,
Doth make the happy happier. This have we
Learnt, Isabel, from thy society,
Which now we too unwillingly resign
Though for brief absence. But farewell! the page
Glimmers before my sight through thankful tears,
Such as start forth, not seldom, to approve
Our truth, when we, old yet unchill'd by age,
Call thee, though known but for a few fleet years,
The heart-affianced sister of our love!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.