HOPE'S INVITATION. BY MISS L. S. TEMPLE. THE shades of the night are now passing away, green. What voice is't I hear so harmoniously sweet? Thro' the woodlands its melody bursts on my ear; Rosy Health on the mountains it tells me to greet, And loudly proclaims, 'tis the prime of the year. Why musest thou here, lonely wanderer, it cries, While Pleasure's soft warblings call thee away, While the roses of morning are feasting thine eyes, And thou seest the bright smiles of the monarch of day? For thee the gay breeze of the summer awakes, And tells thee, that youth is the season for joy. With the happy then mingle, like others be gay, And enjoy the bright moments that ne'er can return, See Phœbus ascending his glory reveals, On the green-wave gay dances his glitt'ring ray, And hark how the merry bells ring out their peals; Why lingʼrest thou here? Come away, come away!" Begone, thou false Siren! thou charm❜st me no more; When life's glowing landscape first smil'd on my view, strain : When Content o'er my path her mild drapery threw, Still, still the wide prospect all lovely appear'd, Still, still, in bright colours the future was seen. Full short was the sun-shine, and transient the peace, And those too, Enchantress, soon left me to weep. Then seek not, deceiver, to tempt me anew, Or to dupe the sad heart thou already hast wreck'd; Not for me does the spring its soft violets strew, Not for me are the woodlands with verdure bedeck'd! The smiles of the morning I welcome no more, For gone is the season when beauty could please; In vain may the warblers their melody pour, And unfelt is the breath of the wantoning breeze. And thou too, bright orb! what hast thou to bestow? Canst thou give to my eyes the lov'd forms they have lost? Can thy radiance disperse the thick low'rings of woe? Can it thaw the stern rigour of Fate's bitter frost? And youth too, that oft-boasted period of joy, When life's mantling current mounts high in each vein, What, alas! can its lively emotions supply, When all those emotions are waken'd by pain? Oh shades of the past that successively rise! Ye fade the luxuriance of summer's soft bloom; Ye dim the fair lustre of morn's sunny smile, And from the gay throng call my mind to the tomb. When day's golden lamp has descended to rest, And is lord of the wild blushing landscape no more; When the veil of the evening steals slow o'er the west, And the night breeze, awaking, blows fresh on the shore : 'Tis then that I wander to welcome its sighs, And to muse o'er the slumber of Nature's soft charms; More lovely this twilight than noon's vivid dies; But what are those accents I hear in the breeze? And what is that pale form, which weeping I view ? Where now is the power of each beauty to please? Where now the repose which my sad bosom knew? Wherever I gaze, the dear features appear, In the world's busy haunts, or the dark lonely grove; When the sighs of the low breeze of evening I hear, I hear too the sweet warbling notes of my love. Fly, fly, then, Remembrance, where Happiness reigns; So shall thy approach be with rapture beheld, And I taste those blessings thy presence withheld, While Hope's dear illusions still, still may delight. NEWARK, JAN. 10, 1803. ELEGY. "TWAS sweet as violet-breathing gale, 'Twas soothing as the moon's faint beam, "Twas tender as the ring-dove's tale,-Alas! and was it but a dream? Methought I saw him once again, O! with what eager, keen delight I trac'd a form distinct and clear, That cheated my enraptured sight, With the blest thought that he was near. Love still was weeping in his eyes, Upon his cheek the lingering tear Told me in absence he was true; And that pale cheek was far more dear Than had it glow'd with Joy's bright hue. |