ÆäÀÌÁö À̹ÌÁö
PDF
ePub

Thy plaintive notes are heard above,
Where thou shalt soon find rest;

Again thou shalt behold thy love

And be for ever blest.

"Ah! can such bliss be mine," she cried, With voice and looks so wild,

Then sunk upon the earth and died,

Sweet Ellen, sorrow's child.

From a MS.

EPIGRAM.

THE MISER'S FEAST.

His chimney smokes! It is some omen dire, His neighbours are alarm'd, and cry out Fire!

THE ZEPHYR.

As o'er a garden's gay parterre
(Where grew the rose and lilly fair,
And flower's of ev'ry hue);
The wanton Zephyr wing'd his way,
At ev'ry bloom he stopp'd to pay

The vows he swore were true.

By turns he ev'ry one caress'd,
The last he kiss'd-he lov'd the best,
And as he breath'd his wiles,'
And flutter'd round a jonquil's head,
"Dear lovely flower" he sighing said,
"I live but in your smiles."

[ocr errors]

Begone" the conscious bloom reply'd, "To all my sisters you have sigh'd,

Your falsehood thence I see;

And thence your vows I too contemn,
For as for me you quitted them,

For others you will me."

New Lady's Magazine.

SONG.

IN Yarrow-vale, by Yarrow-stream,
Where love, and youth, and beauty stray;
Oft thro' the twilight's waving gleam
Sweet Mary trac'd the dewy way:
She lov'd, the meads, the tow'ring trees,
The fanning of the western gale,
Yet sigh'd for something still to please,

In Yarrow-stream, in Yarrow-vale.

In Yarrow-vale, by Yarrow-stream,

Sweet pleasure reigns-she pensive said— "Here shades indulge the shepherds dream, And zephyrs sooth the slumb'ring maid: While I in languor musing rove,

List'ning the lonely woodlark's wail, But none of these my mind can move By Yarrow-stream, in Yarrow-vale.

In Yarrow-vale, by Yarrow-stream,
Nature his friend-his guardian love;
Colin beneath the moon's soft beam,
Had followed Mary thro' the grove:
He look'd-she bluslı'd―he spoke-she sigh'd,-
No words were made to tell the tale;
"O charming meads and groves," she cry'd,
By Yarrow-stream, in Yarrow-vale."

Anonymous.

THE RAPTURED LOVER.

WHEN first upon your tender cheek
I saw the morn of beauty break,

With mild and cheering beam,
I bow'd before your infant shrine,
The earliest sighs you had were mine,
And you my darling theme.

I saw you in that opening morn,
For beauty's boundless empire born,
And first confess'd your sway;
And ere your thoughts, devoid of art,
Could learn the value of a heart,
I gave my heart away.

I watch'd the dawn of every grace,
And gaz'd upon that angel face,
While yet 'twas safe to gaze,

I fondly bless'd each rising charm,
Nor thought such innocence could harm
The peace of future days.

But now, despotic, o'er the plains
The awful noon of beauty reigns,
And kneeling crowds adore;
These charms arise too fiercely bright,
Danger and death attend the sight,
And I must hope no more.

Thus to the rising god of day.
Their early vows the Persians pay,
And bless the spreading fire,

Whose glowing chariot mounting soon,
Pours on their heads the burning noon,

They sicken and expire.

Mrs. Barbauld.

ON A TEAR,

OH! that the chymist's magic art
Could crystallize this sacred treasure!
Long should it glitter near my heart,
A secret source of pensive pleasure.

The little brilliant, ere it fell,

Its lustre caught from Chloe's eye; Then, trembling, left its coral cellThe spring of sensibility!

Sweet drop of pure and pearly light,
In thee the rays of virtue shine
More calmly clear, more mildly bright,
Than any gem that gilds the mine.

Benign restorer of the soul!

Who ever fly'st to bring relief, When first she feels the rude controul Of love or pity, joy or grief.

The sages and the poets theme,
In every clime, in every age,
Thou charm'st in fancy's idle dream,
In reason's philosophic page.

K

« ÀÌÀü°è¼Ó »