I joyless view thy rays adorn For ever bar returning peace! No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ; Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptured moments flown! How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it !-is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost? Oh can she bear so base a heart, So lost to honour, lost to truth, As from the fondest lover part, The plighted husband of her youth! Alas! life's path may be unsmooth! Her way may lie through rough distress ! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less? Ye winged hours that o'er us pass'd, The morn that warns th' approaching day That I must suffer, lingering, slow. And when my nightly couch I try, Sore harass'd out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief; Or if I slumber, fancy, chief, Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright: Even day, all-bitter, brings relief, From such a horror-breathing night. O thou bright Queen, who o'er th' expanse, Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observed us, fondly wandering, stray ! While love's luxurious pulse beat high, Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set! Again I feel, again I burn! DESPONDENCY: AN ODE. A burden more than I can bear, with with care, I set me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Along a rough, a weary road, To wretches such as I! Dim, backward, as I cast my view, What sorrows yet may pierce me through, Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom: My woes here shall close ne'er, Happy, ye sons of busy life, N-D Even when the wishèd end's denied, Meet every sad returning night Find every prospect vain. How blest the Solitary's lot, While praising, and raising His thoughts to Heaven on high, Than I, no lonely hermit placed But, ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys Oh! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, Ye little know the ills ye court, Τ VERSES TO MY BED. HOU bed, in which I first began To be that various creature-man! And when again the fates decree, The place where I must cease to beWhen sickness comes, to whom I fly To soothe my pain or close mine eye- |