Ye fair associates of my opening bloom, Oh think how quick my foul career I ran, J. W. ADDRESS TO ENTERPRIZE. BY A TRAVELLER. Ox lofty mountains roaming Where cataracts are foaming, And raging north winds blow; There, at the peep of morning, See panting Emulation Her fleeting steps pursue. List! list! celestial Virgin, I pledge this solemn word- Or midst the darksome wonders Where, bright in matchless lustre, In every varied station, My hope, my exultation, be, Is still to follow thee. Then oft, in visions fleeting, Of some new world of bliss, Eclipsing all the glory Thou promis'd him in this. RHADEGUNDA. EDWIN AND LUCY. A BALLAD. "O! who is she, with haggard eye, That scales the airy steep, Oft as the silver star of eve "That with unweary'd step ascends The promontory's height, Oft as the melancholy main Reflects the lunar light; "And there, to winds that murmur low, That sings so sadly sweet, And still her toiling eye-balls strains O! wonder not, that, stranger there, And mark the lovely Maniac stand, Hark! to the story of her woe, "Can winds, with envy fraught and hate, The sails of Love detain ? Or can the waves refuse to speed "Ye stars, that gem the brow of night, Or hide your orbs in clouds, or bathe "Shine forth, in all your splendour bright, To guide him on his way, Nor, with malignant influence fraught, "And thou, pale moon, that travell'st far, Thy friendly light bestow, For thou wert witness to his love, His tears, and parting vow. "For him, ye sea-nymphs, cease to pour Your wildly-warbled strains, Nor lure him to your green retreats, "What shades incline my love to stay? Or hide him from my view? "Hast thou forgot thy plighted vows? And Lucy lost her charms? And not a thought of other days Thy raptur'd bosom warms? "Though with the smiling cherub, Peace, "Alas! 'tis all for thee, that grief "For thee, that to the mercy-seat The day is seen through clouds of woe, "For thee, that with the sun she climbs The promontory's height, And lingers there till ocean's wave Long shall she stray these haunts among, That bark shall ne'er return, for which The youth for whom she breathes the sigh, And climbs the steep in vain, Now sleeps the long-long sleep of death, Beneath the roaring main! Poor child of grief! didst thou not weep? Did not thy bosom bleed? Till Reason fled thy fever'd brain, And left thee poor indeed! |