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AH ! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
In arched groves, the youthful poet's choice;

Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams,
To harp and song from lady's hand and voice;

Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
On cliff, or cataract, in Alpine dell;

Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed,
Framing wild fancies to the ocean's swell;

Our sea-bard sang this song which still he sings, And sings for thee, sweet friend! Hark, Pity, hark!

Now mounts, now totters on the Tempest's wings, Now groans, and shivers, the replunging Bark!

“Cling to the shrouds!” In vain The breakers roar—
Death shrieks! With two alone of all his clan

Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
No classic roamer, but a ship-wrecked man!

Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
And lit his spirit to so bright a flame?

The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Which gentle hearts shall mourn; butchief, the name

Of Gratitude 1 Remembrances of Friend,
Or absent or no more Shades of the Past,

Which Love makes Substance! Hence to thee I send,
O dear as long as life and memory last!

I send with deep regards of heart and head,
Sweet maid, for friendship formed! this work to thee:

And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
A tear for FALcon ER, wilt remember Me.

TO A YOUNG LADY.

ON HER RECOVERY FROM A FEW ER.

WHY need I say, Louisa dear!

How glad I am to see you here,
A lovely convalescent;

Risen from the bed of pain, and fear,
And feverish heat incessant.

The sunny Showers, the dappled Sky,

The little Birds that warble high,
Their vernal loves commencing,

Will better welcome you than I
With their sweet influencing.

Believe me, while in bed you lay,

Your danger taught us all to pray:
You made us grow devouter

Each eye looked up and seemed to say,
How can we do without her?

Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
They have no need of such as you
In the place where you were going:

This World has angels all too few,
And Heaven is overflowing !

SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.

WRITT EN IN GERMANY.

If I had but two little wings,
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly my dear !
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly :
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

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