His glossy curls, his azure wing, My bow can still impel the shaft : 'Tis firmly fix'd, thy sighs reveal it; Say, courteous host, canst thou not feel it?" FROM THE PROMETHEUS VINCTUS OF ÆSCHYLUS. [Μηδαμ' ὁ πάντα νέμων, κ. τ. λ.] GREAT Jove, to whose almighty throne How different now thy joyless fate, Thou sat'st, while reverend Ocean smiled, Nor yet thy doom was fix'd, nor Jove relentless frown'd. HARROW, Dec. 1, 1804. TO EMMA. SINCE now the hour is come at last, Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more; Well we have pass'd some happy hours, Where from this Gothic casement's height, We view'd the lake, the park, the dell, And still, though tears obstruct our sight, We lingering look a last farewell, O'er fields through which we used to run, And spend the hours in childish play; O'er shades where, when our race was done, Reposing on my breast you lay ; Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, Forgot to scare the hovering flies, Yet envied every fly the kiss It dared to give your slumbering eyes : See still the little painted bark, In which I row'd you o'er the lake · These times are past-our joys are gone, Who can conceive, who has not proved, The anguish of a last embrace? When, torn from all you fondly loved, You bid a long adieu to peace. This is the deepest of our woes, For this these tears our cheeks bedew; This is of love the final close, Oh, God! the fondest, last adieu ! TO M. S. G WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Alas! it were unhallow'd bliss. Whene'er I dream of that pure breast For that, would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye I ne'er have told my love, yet thou To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, Let it consume, thou shalt not know : With joy I court a certain doom, Rather than spread its guilty glow. I will not ease my tortured heart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave Yes! yield that breast, to seek despair, At least from guilt shalt thou be free, TO CAROLINE. THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Though keen the grief tny tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. Thou couldst not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In signs alone it breath'd my name. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, Again, thou best beloved, adieu ! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, TO CAROLINE. WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Yet, still, this fond bosom regrets, while adoring, That the time must arrive, when, no longer retaining 'Tis this, my beloved, which spreads gloom o'er my features, Mistake not, sweet sceptic, the cause of emotion, But as death, my beloved, soon or late shall o'ertake us, Will sleep in the grave till the blast shall awake us, |