bed He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my The morning shot her dewy glances keen, When as I 'gan to lift my drowsy head"Now, Bard! I'll work thee woe!" the laughing Elfin said. Sleep, softly-breathing god! his downy wing Was fluttering now, as quickly to depart; When twanged an arrow from Love's mystic string, With pathless wound it pierced him to the heart. Was there some magic in the Elfin's dart? Or did he strike my couch with wizard lance? For straight so fair a Form did upwards start (No fairer decked the bowers of old romance) That sleep enamoured grew, nor moved from his sweet trance! My Sara came, with gentlest look divine Bright shone her eye, yet tender was its beam: Whispering we went, and love was all our theme— ['bide, Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sighed— "O! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide!" July, 1795. IMITATED FROM OSSIAN. HE stream with languid murmur creeps, "Cease, restless gale!" it seems to say, On rapid wing are flying. "To-morrow shall the traveller come With eager gaze and wetted cheek Thus, faithful maiden! thou shalt seek But I along the breeze shall roll The voice of feeble power; And dwell, the moon-beam of thy soul, THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA. OW long will ye round me be swelling, Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree. And they blessed the white-bosomed maid! A Ghost! by my cavern it darted! When they visit the dreams of my rest! MUTUAL PASSION. ALTERED AND MODERNIZED FROM AN OLD POET. LOVE, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who: For if the nymphs should know my swain, Yet while my joy's unknown, Its rosy buds are but half-blown : What no one with me shares, seems scarce my own. I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They yet may envy me: But then if I grow jealous mad, And of them pitied be, "Twould vex me worse than scorn! And yet it cannot be forborn, Unless my heart would like my thoughts be torn. He is, if they can find him, fair That are this morning blown! Yet, yet I doubt, he is not known, Yet, yet I fear to have him fully shown. But he hath eyes so large, and bright, His voice-what maid soever hears I'll tell no more! yet I love him, And he loves me; yet so, That never one low wish did dim That both of us would gain new fame, IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. F, while my passion I impart, Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim In pity to your Lover! That thrilling touch would aid the flame, THE HOUR WHEN WE SHALL MEET COMPOSED DURING ILLNESS AND IN ABSENCE. IM Hour! that sleep'st on pillowing clouds afar, O rise, and yoke the turtles to thy car! And give me to the bosom of my Love! 1796. |