Last night as I my weary head did pillow With thoughts of my dissevered Fair engrost, Chill Fancy drooped wreathing herself with willow, As though my breast entombed a pining ghost. "From some blest couch, young Rapture's bridal boast, Rejected Slumber! hither wing thy way; But leave me with the matin hour, at most! But Love, who heard the silence of my thought, Sleep, softly-breathing God! his downy wing 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: I felt the pressure of her lip to mine! Whispering we went, and Love was all our themeLove pure and spotless, as at first, I deem, He sprang from Heaven! Such joys with Sleep did That I the living image of my dream ['bide Fondly forgot. Too late I woke, and sigh'd“O! how shall I behold my Love at even-tide !" IMITATED FROM OSSIAN THE stream with languid murmur creeps, In Lumin's flowery vale : Beneath the dew the Lily weeps Slow-waving to the gale. "Cease, restless gale! it seems to say, Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honours of my vernal day "To-morrow shall the Traveller come Who late beheld me blooming: His searching eye shall vainly roam With eager gaze and wetted cheek My wonted haunts along, Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek But I along the breeze shall roll And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul, THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHÓMA. How 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! To howl through my cavern by night. IMITATED FROM THE WELSH. IF, while my passion I impart, Feel how it throbs for you! Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim That thrilling touch would aid the flame, TO AN INFANT. AH! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life! Man's breathing Miniature! thou mak'st me sighA Babe art thou-and such a Thing am I! Το anger rapid and as soon appeased, For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased, O thou that rearest with celestial aim 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. For what so sweet can laboured lays impart As one rude rhyme warm from a friendly heart ?---ANON. NOR travels my meandering eye Move with " green radiance" through the grass, |