And, while a balmy sigh he stole, Nay, more; he stole to Venus' bed, In slumber now was acting o'er. TO REMEMBER him thou leavest behind, Whose heart is warmly bound to thee, Close as the tenderest links can bind A heart as warm as heart can be. Oh! I had long in freedom roved, Een she, my Muse's early theme, Beguiled me only while she warm'd; "T was young desire that fed the dream, And reason broke what passion form'd. But thou-ah! better had it been If I had ne'er thy beauties seen, For then I never should have loved! Then all the pain which lovers feel Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this, That little cage I would not part, Still, my beloved ! still keep in mind, However far removed from me, That there is one thou leavest behind Whose heart respires for only thee! And, though ungenial ties have bound No, no! that heart is only mine, By ties all other ties above, For I have wed it at a shrine Where we have had no priest but Love! SONG. FLY from the world, O Bessy! to me, When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet, Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet?- So innocent, love! is the pleasure we sip, That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip, Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven, When Death shall envy joy like this, And come to shade our sunny weather, Be our last sigh the sigh of bliss, And both our souls exhaled together! THE CATALOGUE. COME, tell me,» says Rosa, as, kissing and kiss'd, « Come, tell me the number, repeat me the list My tutor was Kitty; in infancy wild She taught me the way to be blest; She taught me to love her, I loved like a child, I have had it by rote very often before, Pretty Martha was next, and my soul was all flame, And she laugh'd at her poor little knight; My soul was now calm, till, by Cloris's looks, Again I was tempted to rove; But Cloris, I found, was so learned in books, So I left this young Sappho, and hasten'd to fly Oh! Susan was then all the world unto me, And the worst of it was, we could never agree I devoutly believe there's a heaven on earth, How oft I've languish'd by thy side, My soul was blended with my lyre! Yes, I indeed remember well I should have died, have sweetly died, SONG. WHERE is the nymph, whose azure eye Can shine through rapture's tear? The sun has sunk, the moon is high, And yet she comes not here! Was that her footstep on the hill— Come to me, love, I've wander'd far, 'Tis past the promised hour : Come to me, love, the twilight star Shall guide thee to my bower. A FRAGMENT. TO T IS night, the spectred hour is nigh! And seems to mourn for pleasures past! SONG. WHEN Time, who steals our years away, Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower Shall feel the wintry air, Remembrance will recal the hour When thou alone wert fair! Then talk no more of future gloom; Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl, I drink to love and thee: Thou never canst decay in soul, for me. Thou 'It still be young And, as thy lips the tear-drop chase So hope shall steal Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! But mark, at thought of future years How like this bowl of wine, my fair, Our loving life shall fleet; Though tears may sometimes mingle there, The draught will still be sweet! Then fill the bowl-away with gloom! THE SHRINE. My fates had destined me to rove With them would be profane indeed! I now have reach'd THE SHRINE at last! REUBEN AND ROSE. A TALE OF ROMANCE. THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls Has long been remember'd with awe and dismay! For years not a sunbeam had play'd in its halls, And it seem'd as shut out from the regions of day: Though the valleys were brighten'd by many a beam, stream Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom! «Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse ?» Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave;<< It can never dispel,» said the wizard of verse, «Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!» I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious intentions of frightening the nursery by this story: I rather hope—though the manner of it leads me to doubt-that his design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers those monsters of the fancy to the speciosa miracula of true poetic imagination. I had, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this story in a German author, FROMMAN upon Fascination, book ííi, part. vi, chap. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive that Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among many other stories equally diabolical and interesting.-E. Upon its marble finger then And now the tennis sports went on, Young Rupert for his wedding-ring But, oh! how was he shock'd to find The hand was closed upon the ring How sore surprised was Rupert's mind,— « I'll come,» quoth he, «at night again, When none are here to see.» He went unto the feast, and much And much he wonder'd what could mean So very strange a thing! The feast was o'er, and to the court But mark a stranger wonder still- He search'd the base, and all the court, But to the castle did return With sore bewilder'd mind. Within he found them all in mirth, The night in dancing flew; The youth another ring procured, And none the adventure knew. And now the priest has join'd their hands, The hours of love advauce! Rupert almost forgets to think Upon the morn's mischance. Within the bed fair Isabel In blushing sweetness lay, Like flowers half-open'd by the dawn, And waiting for the day. And Rupert, by her lovely side, In youthful beauty glows, Like Phoebus, when he bends to cast His beams upon a rose! And here my song should leave them both, But for the horrid, horrid tale |