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To her lover's throbbing breast-
Then he was divinely blest!
Ah! but Rosa loves no more,
Therefore Rosa's song is o'er;
And her harp neglected lies;
And her boy forgotten sighs.
Silent harp-forgotten lover-
Rosa's love and song are over!

SYMPATHY.

TO JULIA.

-sine me sit nulla Venus.-Sulpicia.

OUR hearts, my love, were doomed to be
The genuine twins of Sympathy:
They live with one sensation :
In joy or grief, but most in love,
Our heart-strings musically move,
And thrill with like vibration.

How often have I heard thee say,
Thy vital pulse shall cease to play
When mine no more is moving!
Since, now, to feel a joy alone
Were worse to thee than feeling none :
Such sympathy in loving!

And, oh! how often in those eyes,
Which melting beamed, like azure skies

In dewy vernal weather

How often have I raptured read

The burning glance, that silent said, "Now, love, we feel together!"

TO JULIA.

I SAW the peasant's hand unkind
From yonder oak the ivy sever;
They seemed in very being twined;
Yet now the oak is fresh as ever.

Not so the widowed ivy shines:
Torn from its dear and only stay,
In drooping widowhood it pines,

And scatters all its blooms away!

Thus, Julia, did our hearts entwine,
Till Fate disturbed their tender ties:
Thus gay indifference blooms in thine,
While mine, deserted, droops and dies.

ON THE DEATH OF A LADY.

SWEET spirit! if thy airy sleep

Nor sees my tears, nor hears my sighs, Oh! I will weep, in luxury weep,

Till the last heart's-drop fills mine eyes.
But if thy sainted soul can feel,

And mingles in our misery;
Then, then, my breaking heart I'll seal-
Thou shalt not hear one sigh from me!
The beam of morn was on the stream,
But sullen clouds the day deform:
Thou wert, indeed, that morning beam,
And death, alas! that sullen storm.

Thou wert not formed for living here,
For thou wert kindred with the sky;
Yet, yet we held thee all so dear

We thought thou wert not formed to die!

WRITTEN IN THE BLANK LEAF

OF A LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK.

HERE is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet has been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To write my name for ever there!

TO ROSA.

LIKE who trusts to summer skies,
And puts his little bark to sea,
Is he who, lured by smiling eyes,
Consigns his simple heart to thee.
For fickle is the summer wind,

And sadly may the bark be tost;
For thou art sure to change thy mind,
And then the wretched heart is lost!

TO ROSA.

OH! why should the girl of my soul be in tears
At a meeting of rapture like this,

When the glooms of the past and the sorrow of years
Have been paid by a moment of bliss?

Are they shed for that moment of blissful delight. Which dwells on her memory yet?

Do they flow, like the dews of the amorous night, From the warmth of the sun that has set?

Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, That smile, which is loveliest then;

And if such are the drops that delight can beguile, Thou shalt weep them again and again!

RONDEAU.

"GOOD night! good night!"—And is it so? And must I from my Rosa go?

O Rosa! say "Good night!" once more,
And I'll repeat it o'er and o'er,

Till the first glance of dawning light
Shall find us saying still "Good night!"

And still "Good night," my Rosa, say~
But whisper still, "A minute stay;"
And I will stay, and every minute
Shall have an age of rapture in it.
We'll kiss and kiss in quick delight,

And murmur, while we kiss, "Good night!"

"Good night!" you'll murmur with a sigh, And tell me it is time to fly:

And I will vow to kiss no more,

Yet kiss you closer than before;

Till slumber seal our weary sight

And then, my love! my soul! "Good night!"

TO ROSA.

WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS.

THE wisest soul, by anguish torn,
Will soon unlearn the lore it knew ;
And when the shrining casket's worn
The gem within will tarnish too.

But love's an essence of the soul,

Which sinks not with this chain of clay :
Which throbs beyond the chill control
Of withering pain or pale decay.

And surely, when the touch of Death
Dissolves the spirit's mortal ties,
Love still attends the soaring breath,
And makes it purer for the skies!
O Rosa! when, to seek its sphere,
My soul shall leave this orb of men,
That love it found so blissful here

Shall be its best of blisses then!

And, as in fabled dreams of old,
Some airy genius, child of time,
Presided o'er each star that rolled,

And tracked it through its path sublime;

So thou, fair planet, not unled,

Shalt through thy mortal orbit stray; Thy lover's shade, divinely wed,

Shall linger round thy wandering way.

Let other spirits range the sky,
And brighten in the solar gem;
I'll bask beneath that lucid eye,
Nor envy worlds of suns to them!

And, oh! if airy shapes may steal
To mingle with a mortal frame,
Then, then, my love!-but drop the veil ;
Hide, hide from Heaven the unholy flame!
No! when that heart shall cease to beat,
And when that breath at length is free ;
Then, Rosa, soul to soul we'll meet,
And mingle to eternity!

ANACREONTIC.

in lachrymas verterat omne merum.—Tib. lib. i. eleg. 5 PRESS the grape, and let it pour

Around the board its purple shower;
And while the drops my goblet steep,
I'll think-in woe the clusters weep.

Weep on, weep on, my pouting vine !
Heaven grant no tears, but tears of ivine.
Weep on; and, as thy sorrows flow,
I'll taste the luxury of woe!

ANACREONTIC.

FRIEND of my soul ! this goblet sip.
"Twill chase that pensive tear;
'Tis not so sweet as woman's lip.
But, oh! 'tis more sincere.
Like her delusive beam,
'Twill steal away thy mind:
But, like Affection's dream,

It leaves no sting behind!

Come, twine the wreath, thy brows to shade;
These flowers were culled at noon ;-

Like woman's love the rose will fade,

But, ah! not half so soon!

For though the flower's decayed,
Its fragrance is not o'er;
But once when love's betrayed,

The heart can bloom no more!

CHARITY.

"Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more!"

O WOMAN! if by simple wile

St. John, chap. viii.

Thy soul has strayed from honour's track,

'Tis mercy only can beguile,

By gentle ways, the wanderer back.

The stain that on thy virtue lies,

Washed by thy tears, may yet decay;
As clouds that sully morning skies
May all be wept in showers away.

Go, go-be innocent, and live

The tongues of men may wound thee sore;

But Heaven in pity can forgive,

And bids thee "go, and sin no more!"

LOVE AND MARRIAGE.

Eque brevi verbo ferre perenne malum.

Secundus, eleg, vi.

STILL the question I must parry,
Still a wayward truant prove:
Where I love, I must not marry ;
Where I marry, cannot love.

Were she fairest of creation,

With the least presuming mind:
Learned without affectation;

Not deceitful, yet refined;

Wise enough, but never rigid ;
Gay, but not too lightly free;
Chaste as snow, and yet not frigid;
Warm, yet satisfied with me:

Were she all this ten times over,

All that Heaven to earth allows,
I should be too much her lover
Ever to become her spouse.

Love will never bear enslaving;
Summer garments suit him best:
Bliss itself is not worth having,
If we're by compulsion blest.

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