With him," said I, "will take a pleasant charm;
It cannot be that aught will work him harm.”
These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might
Again I shake your hand,-friend Charles, good night.
September, 1816.

STANZAS.

IN a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,

Thy branches ne'er remember

Their green felicity:

The north cannot undo them,

With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

In a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy brook,
Thy bubblings ne'er remember
Apollo's summer look;

But with a sweet forgetting,

They stay their crystal fretting,

Never, never petting

About the frozen time.

Ah! would 't were so with many

A gentle girl and boy!

But were there ever any

Writhed not at passed joy?

To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbed sense to steal it,
Was never said in rhyme.

END OF PART II.