EARLY POEMS ON Yet still may I soar on her rapturous wing, With her exquisite sbrrows still mourn ! W?re the honey as priz'd, if the bee had no stin?, Or the rose, if it b[oom'd with no thorn ? SPRING. W?Tg?'S hoar frost is melted, and nature has drest The mead and the grove in Spring's lightly-green vest; But the nightingale yet, the lone alleys along Of the garden, renews not at eve his sweet song For, alas, she. the queen of his strain, his !ov'd rose, That had dar'd to the day her frail bosom unclose, Now fann'd by the breeze, ?/nd now bent by the blast, Droops her p.ale, pensive head, and is withering fast. Thus, in life's early day , joy and grief, hope and fear, Now creating a smile--now demanding a tear, In alternate succession, each sways the youn? breast, And the frown of the one only heightens the rest.