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GENEVIEVE.

Maid of my Love! sweet GENEVIEVE ! *
In Beauty's light you glide along :
Your eye is like the star of eve,

And sweet your Voice, as Seraph's song.
Yet not your heavenly Beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow :
Within your soul a VOICE there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of Woe.

When sinking low the Suff'rer wan
Beholds no hand outstretcht to save,

*This little Poem was written when the Author was

a boy.

Fair, as the bosom of the Swan

That rises graceful o'er the wave,

I've seen your breast with pity heave,

And therefore love I you, sweet GENEVIEVE!

ABSENCE,

A FAREWELL ODE.

Where grac'd with many a classic spoil
CAM rolls his reverend stream along,
I haste to urge the learned toil

That sternly chides my love-lorn song:

Ah me! too mindful of the days

Illum'd by PASSION's orient rays,

When Peace, and Chearfulness, and Health

Enrich'd me with the best of wealth.

Ah fair Delights! that o'er my soul
On Mem'ry's wing, like shadows, fly!

Ah Flowers! which Joy from Eden stole

While Innocence stood smiling by!

But cease, fond heart! this bootless moan.

Those hours on rapid Pinions flown

Shall yet return, by ABSENCE crown'd,

And scatter livelier roses round.

The SUN, who ne'er remits his fires

On heedless eyes may pour

the day :

The Moon, that oft from Heav'n retires,

Endears her renovated ray.

What tho' she leave the sky unblest

To mourn awhile in murky vest?
When she relumes her lovely Light,

We BLESS the Wanderer of the Night.

LINES

TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING

IN A VILLAGE.

Once more, sweet Stream! with slow foot wand'ring

near,

I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Escap'd the flashing of the noontide hours,
With one fresh garland of Pierian flowers
(Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink I turn)
My languid hand shall wreath thy mossy urn.
For not thro' pathless grove with murmur rude
Thou soothest the sad wood-nymph, SOLITUDE:
Nor thine unseen in cavern depths to well,

The HERMIT-FOUNTAIN of some dripping cell!

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