Go, go-an age of vulgar years May now be pined, be sigh'd away, Before one blessed hour appears, Like that which we have lost to-day! AT NIGHT.* Ar night, when all is still around, That foot that comes so soft at night! And then, at night, how sweet to say " 'Tis late, my love!" and chide delay, Though still the western clouds are bright; Oh! happy too the silent press, The eloquence of mute caress, With those we love exchanged at night! These lines allude to a curious lamp, which has for its device a Cupid, with the words "at night" written over him. At night, what dear employ to trace, That's hid by darkness from the sight! ΤΟ I OFTEN Wish that thou wert dead, No-common souls may bear decline Of all that throbb'd them once so high; But hearts that beat like thine and mine, Must still love on-love on or die! 'Tis true, our early joy was such, That nature could not bear th' excess! It was too much-for life too muchThough life be all a blank with less! To see that eye, so cold, so still, Which once, oh God! could melt in bliss No, no, I cannot bear the chill ! Hate, burning hate were Heaven to this! END OF VOLUME 11. |