« ПретходнаНастави »
To gild your vines and light your fountain,"
Oh never till that glorious day
Or hear, () Peace, thy welcome lay
THE YOUNG ROSE. The young rose which I gave thee, so dewy and bright, Was the floweret most dear to the sweet bird of night, Who oft by the moon o'er her blushes hath hung, And thrilled every leaf with the wild lay he sung. Oh, take thou this young rose, and let her life be Prolonged by the breath she will borrow from thee; For while o'er her bosom thy soft notes shall thrill, She'll think the sweet night-bird is courting her still.
WHEN MIDST THE GAY I MEET.
That blessed smile of thine,
I scarce can call it mine :
Your secret tears you show,
And claim them while they flow,
The gay, the cold, the free;
But keep your tears for me.
Can smile with many a beam,
How bright soe'er it seem.
Whose touch is fire, appears,
And, melting, turns to tears.
The gay, the cold, the free ;
But keep your tears for me.
WHEN TWILIGHT DEWS.
Vpon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
Ah dost thou gaze at even,
Thou'lt yet be mine in heaven?
There's not a flower I see, love,
Some joy I've lost with thee, love.
When, friends and foes forgiven, The pains, the ills we've wept through here,
May turn to smiles in heaven.
Fanny, dearest, for thee I'd sigh;
To tears when thou art nigh.
So busy a life I live,
Is more than my heart can give. Then bid me not to despair and pine,
Fanny, dearest of all the dears! The Love that's ordered to bathe in wine
Would be sure to take cold in tears.
Reflected bright in this heart of mine,
Fanny, dearest, thy image lies;
If dimmed too often with sighs.
Who view it through sorrow's tear; And 'tis but to see thee truly bright
That I keep my eye-beam clear: . Then wait no longer till tears shall flow,
Fanny, dearest—the hope is vain ; If sunshine cannot dissolve thy snow,
I shall never attempt it with rain.
SIGH NOT THUS.
Nor for woman languish;
Worth one hour of anguish.
Moons have faded fast away,
Stars have ceased their shining ;
Feels as quick declining.
Fye, boy, banish hence
Hours soon fly away,
Charms soon die away ; Then the silly dream of the heart is o'er.
'TIS LOVE THAT MURMURS. Tis Love that murmurs in my breast,
And makes me shed the secret tear; Nor day nor night my heart has rest,
For night and day his voice I hear. Oh bird of love, with song so drear,
Make not my soul the nest of pain ! Oh let the wing which brought thee here
in pity waft thee hence again!
YOUNG ELLA. YOUNG Ella was the happiest maid
That ever hailed the infant spring, Her carol charmed the blissful shade,
Love tanght his favourite nymph to sing. But ah ! that sorrow's preying worm
Should nip the tender buds of peace ;
Alas, poor Ella!
That drinks the early tears of heaven, Bright as the dewy star that glows
Upon the blushing brow of even! How couldst thou, faithless Edmund, leave
A nymph so true, so brightly fair, In horror's darkling cell to weave The gloomy cypress of despair ?
Alas, poor Ella! No longer now the hamlet train
Her beauty, life, and sense admire, Bewildered is her aching brain,
And quenched is all that lively fire.
Where shadows veil the mountain height,
And fiends of darkness murmur low,
Alas, poor Elia!
Death steals thee to his lonely bower, Pity shall drop her angel tear,
And twine thy grave with many a flower.
Shall deck the rustic poet's lay;
Alas, poor Ella!
THE PILGRIM Holy be the pilgrim's sleep,
From the dreams of terror free; And may all who wake to weep
Rest to-night as sweet as he. "Hark! hark, did I hear a vesper sweil ?
It is, my love, some pilgrim's prayer !” - No, no, 'tis but the convent hell,
That tolled upon the midnight air !" “Now, now again, the voice I hear, Some holy man is wandering near : O pilgrim, where hast thou been roaming? Dark is the way, and midnight's coming !' 'Stranger, I've been o'er moor and mountain, To tell my beads at Agnes' fountain !” "And, pilgrim, say where art thou going? Dark is the way, the winds are blowing ?” “Weary with wandering, weak, I falter, To breathe my vows at Agnes' altar !” Strew then, oh strew his bed of rushes, Here he shall rest till morning blushes !
(Dirge heard from the convent within.) Peace to them whose days are done,
Death their eyelids closing ; Hark! the burial rite's begun, 'I is time for our reposing.
(Pilgrim throwing off his disguise.) “Here, then, my pilgrim's course is o'er.”
“'Tis my master, 'tis my master, Welcome! welcome home once more !"
WILT THOU SAY FAREWELL, LOVE I “ Wilt thou say farewell, love,
And from Zelinda part ? Zelinda's tears will tell, love,
The anguish of her heart.” "I'll still be thine, and thou'lt be mine,
I'll love thee though we sever; Oh ! say, can I e'er cease to sigh,
Or cease to love?-oh never.'
“Wilt thou think of me, love,
When thou art far away?” “Oh ! I'll think of thee, love,
Never, never stray!" “Let not other wiles, love,
Thy ardent heart betray; Remember Zelinda's smile, love,
Zelinda, far away!”
CEASE, OH CEASE TO TEMPT.
My tender heart to love,
So wild a flame approve.
To others I resign;
The careless bosom, inine,
That lovers' pains are sweet ;
Believe the fond deceit.
Consuming life in sighs;
And this I ne'er could prize.
JOYS THAT PASS AWAY. Joys that pass away like this,
Alas! are purchased dear, If every beam of bliss
Is followed by a tear.