place, approving, in the realms of rest,
Where virtue triumphs and her sons are blest.
What pleasing visions charm the hours of youth,
When fancy cheats us in the guise of truth,
In life's gay morn, when hope's amusing ray
Shines on the opening mind serenely gay,
When all is rapture, and no cares control
The voice of nature in the youthful soul;
Hence joys long past in fancy oft we view,
A painful prospect, yet 'tis pleasing too;
Each magic charm of Laura's smile divine,
Each modest virtue in her thoughts that shine:
These wake the glow of sentiment sincere,
Oh! could my verse that sentiment declare;
But far unequal to the arduous strain
It drops a theme it never can sustain;
May she, sweet nymph, be Heaven's peculiar care,
And be she happy as her form is fair.
Methinks I view each absent friend again,
Tho' wide the distance, yet 'tis wide in vain,
In vain the mountains rise, the billows roll,
They ne'er can change the feelings of my soul,
Those finer feelings to the world unknown,
Inspir'd by Bedford
Oh! were it mine those calm delights to share,
But fate vindictive disappoints my prayer.
By hard necessity's command I stay,
Nor tempt the dangers of the wat'ry way
While winter reigns around; but when the spring
Returns with fragrance on the zephyr's wing,
To thee and Bedford
And leave the noisy town, true genuine joys to taste.
With wishes for thy health, to thee, my friend,
From Hudson's bank this careless verse I send.
Accept the wishes of a rhyming swain,
The meanest vot'ry of the muses' train.
In artless numbers flow these careless lays,
Careless of censure, not unpleased with praise.
I write in verse, because in verse I find
I best can tell the feelings of my mind,
And oft the muse with kind assuasive power,
Can steal from sorrow many a pleasing hour.
For on my youthful days misfortune frowns,
And many a joy the stream of sorrow drowns;
And should my verse beguile one pensive sigh,
Or draw the approving glance from friendship's eye,
I'll thank the muse that gave the tuneful strain
To please my friend, and soothe my mental pain.
We have remarked, that Mr. Eddy
sweet wanderings of literature, for the sciences of
geography, topography, mineralogy, and statistics;
but he never lost his love of botany. He had been
taught this science by Doctor Hosack
felt grateful to his eminent instructor, for the pains
he took in making him acquainted with herb, flower,