THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHÓMA. How long will ye round me be swelling, 0 ye blue-tumbling waves of the Sea? Not always in Caves was my dwelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the Tree. Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma In the steps of my Beauty I strayed; The Warriors beheld Ninathóma, And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid! A GHOST! by my Cavern it darted! When they visit the dreams of my Rest! IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. Ir, while my passion I impart, O place your hand upon my heart Feel how it throbs for you! Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim That thrilling touch would aid the flame, TO AN INFANT. Ан cease thy Tears and Sobs, my little Life! To anger rapid and as soon appeased, Break Friendship's Mirror with a tetchy blow, Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow! O thou that rearest with celestial aim The future Seraph in my mortal frame, Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee, LINES WRITTEN AT SHURTON BARS, NEAR BRIDGEWATER, SEPTEMBER, 1795, IN ANSWER TO A LETTER FROM BRISTOL. Good verse most good, and bad verse then seems better Received from absent friend by way of Letter. ANON. NOR travels my meandering eye The starry wilderness on high; Nor now with curious sight I mark the glow-worm, as I pass, Move with "green radiance" through the grass, An EMERALD of Light. |