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!
As night-closed floweret to the orient ray,
My sad heart will expand, when I the Maid survey."

But Love, who heard the silence of my thought,
Contrived a too successful wile, I ween:
And whispered to himself, with malice fraught-
"Too long our Slave the Damsel's smiles hath seen:
To-morrow shall he ken her altered mien !"
He spake, and ambushed lay, till on my bed
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: 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
On rapid wing are flying.

"To-morrow shall the Traveller come

Who late beheld me blooming:

His searching eye shall vainly roam
The dreary vale of Lumin.”

With eager gaze and wetted cheek

My wonted haunts along,

Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek
The Youth of simplest song.

But I along the breeze shall roll
The voice of feeble power;

And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,
In Slumber's nightly hour.

THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHÓMA.

How long will ye round me be swelling,
0
ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea ?
Not always in caves was my dwelling,

Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.
Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma
In the steps of my beauty I strayed;
The warriors beheld Ninathóma,

And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid!

A Ghost! by my cavern it darted!
In moon-beams the Spirit was drest-
For lovely appear the departed

When they visit the dreams of my rest!
But disturbed by the tempest's commotion
Fleet the shadowy forms of delight—
Ah cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!"

To howl through my cavern by night.

IMITATED FROM THE WELSH.

IF, while my passion I impart,
You deem my words untrue,
O place your hand upon my heart-

Feel how it throbs for you!

Ah no! reject the thoughtless claim
In pity to your Lover!

That thrilling touch would aid the flame,
It wishes to discover.

TO AN INFANT.

AH! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!
I did but snatch away the unclasped knife :
Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish cry!
Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe,
Tutored by pain each source of pain to know!
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise! mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest!

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,
Break Friendship's mirror with a tetchy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar glow!

O thou that rearest with celestial aim
The future Seraph in my mortal frame,
Thrice holy Faith! whatever thorns I meet
As on I totter with unpractised feet,

Still let me stretch my arms and cling to thee,
Meek nurse of souls through their long infancy!

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
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm, as I pass,

Move with " green radiance" through the grass,
An emerald of light.