Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd
Ne'er shall feel its sweetness,
Time that once so fleetly moved,
Now hath lost its fleetness.

Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her,
Heav'n ne'er form'd a brighter maid,
Nor pity wept a dearer!

Here's the bow'r she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted:

Here's the harp she us'd to touch,
Oh! how that touch enchanted!

SONGS.

SONGS.

WHEN WEARIED WRETCHES SINK TO

SLEEP.

Sic juvat perire.

WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep,
How heavenly soft their slumbers lie:
How sweet is death, to those who weep,
To those who weep, and long to die.

Saw you the soft and grassy bed

Where flow'rets deck the green earth's breast? 'Tis there I wish to lay my head,

"Tis there I wish to sleep at rest.

Oh! let not tears embalm my tomb,
None but the dews by twilight given;
Oh! let not sighs disturb the gloom,
None but whispering winds of Heaven.

BEAM OF TRANQUILLITY.

A BEAM of tranquillity smil'd in the west,

The storms of the morning pursued us no more, And the wave, while it welcom'd the moment of rest, Still heav'd, as remembering ills that were o'er!

Serenely my heart took the hue of the hour,

Its passions were sleeping, as mute as the dead, And the spirit becalm❜d but remember'd their power, As the billow the form of the gale that was fled!

I thought of the days when to pleasure alone
My heart ever granted a wish or a sigh;
When the saddest emotion my bosom had known,
Was pity for those who were wiser than I!

I felt how the pure, intellectual fire
In luxury loses its heavenly ray;

How soon, in the lavishing cup of desire,

The pearl of the soul may be melted away!

And I pray'd of that Spirit who lighted the flame, That pleasure no more might its purity dim; And that sullied but little, or brightly the same,

I might give back the gem I had borrow'd from him!