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AH ! not by Cam or Isis, famous streams,
Nor while half-listening, mid delicious dreams,
Nor yet while gazing in sublimer mood
Nor in dim cave with bladdery sea-weed strewed,
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—
Forlorn the poet paced the Grecian shore,
Say then, what muse inspired these genial strains,
The elevating thought of suffered pains,
Of Gratitude 1 Remembrances of Friend,
Which Love makes Substance! Hence to thee I send,
I send with deep regards of heart and head,
And thou, the while thou canst not choose but shed
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,
Risen from the bed of pain, and fear,
The sunny Showers, the dappled Sky,
The little Birds that warble high,
Will better welcome you than I
Believe me, while in bed you lay,
Your danger taught us all to pray:
Each eye looked up and seemed to say,
Besides, what vexed us worse, we knew,
This World has angels all too few,
SOMETHING CHILDISH, BUT VERY NATURAL.
WRITT EN IN GERMANY.
If I had but two little wings,
But in my sleep to you I fly :