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For surely, then I should have sight
Of him I wait for day and night,
With love and longings infinite.

My apprehensions come in crowds;
I dread the rustling of the grass ;
The very shadows of the clouds
Have power to shake me as they pass?
1 question things, and do not find
One that will answer to my mind;
And all the world appears unkind.

Beyond participation lie

My troubles, and beyond relief:
If any chance to heave a sigh
They pity me, and not my grief.
Then come to me, my Son, or send
Some tiding that my woes may end ;
I have no other earthly friend.


From the same.

HE had a tall man's height, or more ;

A long drab-colour'd cloak she wore,

A mantle reaching to her feet :

What other dress she had I could not know;
Only she wore a cap that was as white as snow.

In all my walks, through field or town,
Such figure had I never seen :
Her face was of Egyptian brown:

Fit person was she for a queen,

To head those ancient Amazonian files :

Or ruling Bandit's wife, among the Grecian Isles.

Before me begging did she stand,
Pouring out sorrows like a sea;
Grief after grief :-on English land
Such woes I knew could never be;

And yet a boon I gave her; for the creature
Was beautiful to see; aweed of glorious feature!

I left her and pursued my way;
And soon before me did espy
A pair of little boys, at play,
Chasing a crimson butterfly;
3Y 3

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The taller follow'd with his hat in hand,
Wreath'd round with yellow flow'rs, the gayest of the land

The other wore a rimless crown,

With leaves of laurel stuck about :
And they both follow'd up and down,
Each whooping with a merry shout;

Two brothers seem'd they, eight and ten years old;
And like that woman's face as gold is like to gold.


They bolted on me thus, and lo!
Each ready with plaintive whine;
Said I,Not half an hour ago
Your mother has had alms of mine."

"That cannot be," one answer'd, "She is dead."

Nay but I gave her pence, and she will buy you bread."

"She has been dead, Sir, many a day."
"Sweet boys, you're telling me a lie;
"It was your mother, as I say—"
And in the twinkling of an eye,

"Come, come!" cried one; and, without more ade Off to some other play they both together flew.



Addressed to Miss Cresswell, a little, short Lady. By Old Nick.

Salis parva res est. Amphitruo. Act 2, sc. 2.

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The god of Love's a little wight,
But beautiful as thought;
Thou too art little, fair as light,
And ev'ry thing-in short +!

* See Josephus de Uxoribus-a very ancient and serious jest.
Nulla voluptas longa est. Seneca.

O, happy

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And lost to every bliss am told
That I'm the Maid with Bosom Cold.

Unable from myself to fly,

I catch each word, I read each eye :
Antonio comes-I die with fear
Lest others mark my faultering air;
My eye perhaps too fondly gaz'd,
My tongue too much too little prais'd:
Suspicion's trembling slave-I'm told
That I'm the Maid with Bosom Cold.

With anxious toil, with ceaseless care,
Content and careless I appear;
All mirth beneath another's eye,
Alone I heave the helpless sigh,
Hang musing o'er his image dear,
Feel on my cheek th' unbidden tear,
And think, ah! why should I be told
That I'm the Maid with Bosom Cold?

The flower may wave its foliage gay,
And flaunt it to the garish day,
Unseen the while a canker's pow'r
May haste its honours to devour ;
And thus, while vainly round me play
Youth's zephyr-breath, and pleasure's ray,
My fate unknown, my tale untold,
Thus sinks the Maid with Bosom Cold.

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From the same.

WISDOM! not to thee the song of praise
I wake triumphant, or the votive strain;
My spirit sinks-my strength, my life decays-
To thee my heart would sorrow and complain.
Didst thou not win my childhood's giddy years,
"Till well the horn-book task, the sacred lay,
The tale, I learn'd by others conn'd with tears,
And right could spell the column's long array.

'Till 'mid her rosy school the learned dame

Call'd me in favour near her wheel to stand; Oft shared her sway, as earlier evenings came, And bade me lisping teach her lisping band.



Didst thou not charm my step, with kindliest smile,
New worlds of growing labour to explore ;
Teach me on cyphers high to pile,

Wake my young pride, and lure me to thy lore.

My boyish mind in trance enraptur'd hold

Mid heroes-giants-all, that won'drous seem'd, The hermit sailor and the outlaw bold,

While eastern genii thro' my slumbers gleam'd.

And rude I deem'd, and all unfit to please,

Each thoughtless pastime of the youthful day; To guide the skiff, and lean along the breeze,

The gleaning covey's whirring flight to stay ;

With hound and horn to cheer the woodland's side,
And catch each bliss to bounding vigor known,
Or skim with mimic fly the mountain tide,

That silvery eddies round the hoary stone.

E'en 'mid my school-mates on the sunny plain,
Oft, when their earnest sports I seemed to share,
How have I learn'd with meditating pain,
The morrow's task in secret to prepare.

Did'st thou not touch with fire my graver mind,
And nature's mysteries promise to unfold ;
And cheer me while I toil'd, to thee resign'd,
Thro' all the sage had taught, the scholar told?

Didst thou not whisper dreams of deathless fame,
Of matchless bliss bestow'd by thee alone;
Of grateful ages and the loud acclaim

Of friends, who in my triumphs felt their own?

Oh! with what rapture, as thy guidance led

Thro' thy fresh landscapes, did my steps pursue; Bright flowers and prospects fair before me spread, And still 1 onward press'd, still ardent flew.

Why, Wisdom, dimmer glows thy angel form,

Less beauteous why thy flowers and landscapes all;
Less gay thy prospects, and thy skies less warm,
And why these chilling glooms that round me fall?


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