LIGHT was my heart, and free from care,
When first I met my conquering fair;
In every glance secure to wound,
She dealt unerring deaths around;
Love in her eye his dart conceal'd,
The magic pierc'd my bosom's shield,
EMILIA'S willing slave I fell,
And bade to Liberty "FAREWELL."
Now swiftly o'er mine heedless head
The joy-wing'd hours uncounted sped ;
While Hope's gay colours cheer'd mine eye,
Ah, fondly deem'd too bright to die!—
But soon arose th' unwelcome day,
That call'd EMILIA hence away :
With sighs I mourn'd the broken spell,
And bade the flatterer Hope "FAREWELL."
Ah when compell'd from thee to part,
When sorrow rent my bleeding heart,
When o'er thy much-lov'd form I hung,
And anguish trembled on my tongue,
Say, did I mourn with Friendship's tear
The loss of all my soul held dear?
Ah no!-I felt Love's funeral knell
Strike on mine heart the sad "FAREWELL."
Pulse of mine heart, when, each lorn hour
Of night and day, the plaint I pour,
Wert thou, for Love is Pity's child,
Of Pity's tenderest tear beguil❜d,
Love might, as Joy and Hope return,
His wither'd myrtle cease to mourn;
With thee for ever might I dwell,
And never bid thine arms "FAREWELL."
Then should abide no more with me
Or anxious Hope, or Liberty;
For Liberty were then from Heaven
A curse, and not a blessing given;
And why, it's dearest wish possest,
Should Hope remain to rack my breast?
But still with Joy that breast should swell,
And bid to Grief a long "FAREWELL."
How blest thy suppliant's lot, wouldst thou
Accept and trust his faithful vow!
Nor İll should hurt, nor Folly vex,
Mischance assail, nor Care perplex;
Serenely gay, and free from strife,
We'd pass the noon and eve of life;
Together sink in Death's dark cell,
And gently bid the world "FAREWELL!"
WRITTEN IN STRATHEARN, PERTHSHIRE.
QUEEN of the clear unclouded night,
Musing, thy pensive ray I hail,
And mark thy fair and chasten'd light,
Pour its soft lustre o'er the vale.
From ills that vex life's peaceful calm,
My soul with silent sadness steals;
And finds beneath thy orb, a balm
For every ill, it trembling feels.
The storm that roll'd its angry clouds,
And curtain'd all the redden'd west;
No more thy pallid lustre shrouds,
But nature seems again at rest.
Propitious interval of peace,
Ere bleak November's blast be blown;
O may the furious tempest cease,
And May's soft mildness be thy own.
Oft to thy soft and mellow beam,
My vows with rapture pure I'll pay;
And mark thy shadow in the stream,
At close of each autumnal day.
Methinks at such a solemn hour,
The gentle heart would feel it sweet,
The fair enchantress in the bower,
In thrilling extacy to meet.
Oh Love to me, you never came,
With smiling look, and gentle air:
Thy influence palsied all my frame,
And thrill'd my soul with wild despair.
But Friendship, with her dewy cheek,
Already wet with Pity's tear,
Comes, with her gentle influence meek,
The lonely path of life to chear.
Warm is the heart, the feelings pure,
Of her my soul with rapture owns ;
Anxious, she seeks the wounds to cure,
Inflicted by Misfortune's frowns!
I DANC'D with Harriet at the fair,
And prais'd her for her jetty hair,
Which, like the tendrils of a vine,
About her brow in wanton twine,
Luxuriantly ran;
But why I prais'd her, sweet one, know,
Because I recollected, so
The tresses negligently flow,
About the cheeks of Anne.
One evening in the passion week,
When Lucy play'd at hide and seek,
Her black eyes shone, like glow-worms, bright,
And led me by their sparkling light,
To find out where she ran ;
But if I prais'd them, sweet one, know,
I recollected even so
The black eyes sparkle, burn, and glow,
Of gentle mistress Anne.
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