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Where now are the flowers that embroider'd the vale,
And the hills which yon hamlet enclos'd,
On whose tops the dark ravens repos'd ?
For a moment they're hid, but soon shall the veil
Which o'ershadows them vanish away!
And their beauty again I'll survey.
But where are the thoughts that once gladden'd my heart,
And the hopes I so fondly have cherish'd ;
Alas! they for ever are perish'd.
Yes, for ever !_no more shall Eliza's bright eye,
The sun of my soul, shed its light; Its heaven-born lustre has filed in a sigh,
And left my sad bosom in night.
In imitation of the Italian.
Love under friendship's vesture white,
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
The swallow oft beneath my thatch,
Around my ivy'd porch shall spring
The village church among the trees,
AN ITALIAN SONG.
Dear is my little native vale ;
To every passing villager.
In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
I charm the fairy-footed hours,
With my loved lute's, romantic sound,
The shepherd's horn at break of day
Sung in the silent green-wood shade.
Once more, enchanting girl, adieu !
I must begone while yet I may, Oft shall I weep to think of you!
But here I will not, cannot stay.
The sweet expression of that face,
For ever changing, yet the same,
Yet give me, give me, ere I go,
One little lock of these so blest, That lend your cheek a warmer glow,
And on your white neck love to rest.
Say, when to kindle soft delight,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet, How could its thrilling touch excite
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?
O say—but no, it must not be
Adieu! a long, a long adieu !
Or never could I fly from you.
ON A TEAR*.
Oh! that the chemist's magic art
Could crystallize this secret treasure ! Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.
* This beautiful little song, and likewise the four which immcdiately precede it, are taken from the compositions of Samuel Rogers, Esq; Banker, London. Besides these, and several others of a similar nature, he is the