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Tearful and saddening with the saddened blaze Mine eye the gleam pursues with wistful
gaze : Sees shades on shades with deeper tint impend, Till chill and damp the moonless night descend.
S late each flower that sweetest blows
I plucked, the Garden's pride!
A sleeping Love I spied.
Of many a lucent hue;
Inebriate with dew.
I softly seized the unguarded Power,
Nor scared his balmy rest :
On spotless Sara's breast.
Awoke the prisoner sweet,
And stamped his faery feet.
Subdued the impatient boy!
Then clapped his wings for joy.
What charms this Throne endear!
I'll fix my empire here."
Your scorn the little boon denied.
Too well those lovely lips disclose
Once framed a rich Elixir of Delight,
in sighrs; Sweet sounds transpired, as when th' enamored
Dove Pours the soft murm’ring of responsive love. The finished work might Envy vainly blame, And “ Kisses was the precious compound's name ; With half the God his Cyprian Mother blest, And breathed on Sara's lovelier lips the rest.
TO THE NIGHTINGALE. SISTER of love-lorn poets, Philomel !
How many bards in city garret pent, While at their window they with downward eye Mark the faint lamp-beam on the kennell’d mud, And listen to the drowsy cry of watchmen, Those hoarse, unfeathered nightingales of time ! How many wretched bards address thy name, And her's, the full-orb’d queen, that shines above,
ON RECEIVING AN ACCOUNT THAT HIS ONLY SISTER'S DEATH WAS INEVITABLE.
heart destined for another blow ? O my sweet sister! and must thou too die ? Ah! how has Disappointment poured the tear O’er infant Hope destroyed by early frost ! How are ye gone, whom most my soul held dear! Scarce had I loved you, ere I mourned you lost; Say, is this hollow eye—this artless pain Fated to rove through Life's wide cheerless plainNor father, brother, sister meets its kenMy woes, my joys unshared! Ah ! long ere then On me, thy icy dart, stern Death, be proved ;Better to die, than live and not be loved !
ON SEEING A YOUTH
AFFECTIONATELY WELCOMED BY A SISTER.
I TOO a sister had! too cruel death!
bosom heavc! Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath ; Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve. Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, And Wit to venom’d Malice oft assigned, Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest. Cease, busy Memory ! cease to urge the dart ; Nor on my soul her love to me impress !
For oh I mourn in anguish—and my heart
PAIN. ONCE could the Morn's first beams, the healthful
breeze, All nature charm, and gay was every hour :But ah! not Music's self, nor fragrant bower Can glad the trembling sense of wan disease. Now that the frequent pangs my frame assail, Now that my sleepless eyes are sunk and dim, And seas of pain seem waving through each limb— Ah, what can all Life's gilded scenes avail ? I view the crowd, whom youth and health inspire, Hear the loud laugh, and catch the sportive lay, Then sigh and think—I too could laugh and play And gaily sport it on the Muse's lyre, Ere Tyrant Pain had chased away delight, Ere the wild pulse throbbed anguish through the
LINES ON AN AUTUMNAL EVENING.
O THOU wild Fancy, check thy wing! No more