Many a weary strain

(Never yet heard by thee) hath this poor breath Utter'd, of love and death,

And maiden grief, hidden and chid in vain.

Oh! if in after years

The tale that I am dead shall touch thy heart,

Bid not the pain depart,

But shed over my grave a few sad tears.

Think of me-still so young,

Silent, though fond, who cast my life away,
Daring to disobey

The passionate spirit that around me clung.

Farewell again! and yet,

Must it indeed be so-and on this shore

Shall you and I no more

Together see the sun of summer set?

For

me, my days are gone!

No more shall I, in vintage times, prepare
Chaplets to bind my hair,

As I was wont: O'twas for you alone!

But on my bier I'll lay

Me down in frozen beauty, pale and wan,
Martyr of love to man,

And, like a broken flower, gently decay.

TO MY CANDLE.

DR WOLCOT.

THOU lone companion of the spectred night,
I wake amid thy friendly, watchful light,

To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleepHark, the wild uproar of the winds! and hark, Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark,

And swells the thund'ring horrors of the deep.

From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying flies; Now blacken'd, and now flashing through her skies, But all is silence here-beneath thy beam,

I own I labour for the voice of praiseFor who would sink in dark Oblivion's stream? Who would not live in songs of distant days?

Thus while I wond'ring pause o'er Shakspeare's page,

I mark, in visions of delight, the sage

High o'er the wrecks of man, who stands su.
blime;

A column in the melancholy waste,
(Its cities humbled, and its glories past),
Majestic 'mid the solitude of time.

Yet now to sadness let me yield the hour-
Yes, let the tears of purest friendship show'r.

I view, alas! what ne'er should die,
A Form that wakes my deepest sigh;

A Form that feels of death the leaden sleepDescending to the realms of shade,

I view a pale-eyed, panting maid,

I see the Virtues o'er their fav'rite weep.

Ah! could the Muse's simple prayer
Command the envied trump of Fame,
Oblivion should Eliza spare;

A world should echo with her name.

Art thou departing too, my trembling friend?
Ah! draws thy little lustre to its end?

Yes, on thy frame Fate too shall fix her soul
O let me, pensive, watch thy pale decay;
How fast that frame, so tender, wears away!

How fast thy life the restless minutes steal!

How slender now, alas! thy thread of fire!
Ah, falling, falling, ready to expire!

In vain thy struggles-all will soon be o'er.
At life thou snatchest with an eager leap;
Now round I see thy flame so feeble creep,
Faint, less'ning, quiv'ring, glimm'ring-now no
more!

Thus shall the sons of science sink away,
And thus of beauty fade the fairest flower-
For where's the giant who to Time shall say,
"Destructive tyrant, I arrest thy power?"

THE FAIRY'S INVITATION.

ANONYMOUS.

COME to my bower in Summer's vale,
Thy lonely dwelling it shall be,
Thy only visitant the gale,

That wanders from the moonlight sea.

But ev'n its wing of viewless air

The rustling boughs shall cease to move,
While Mercy to thy ev'ning prayer
Breathes her response in hymns of love.

And when the beams of rapture glow
Through the bright tear in Beauty's eye,
In that blest hour thy heart shall know
An angel's kindling ecstasy.

While dying Twilight's mournful sighs
Round Nature's moss-clad altar heave,
Æolian notes from starry skies,

The plaintive minstrelsy of eve,

Shall charm th' enthusiast's lab'ring breast,
Warbling in Fancy's raptur'd ear
The songs that sooth eternal rest,
The music of thy native sphere.

Oh! it will calm thy fever'd brain,
Whose fibres throb in frantic woe;
But never must thy heart again

One thought upon the world bestow.

In my lone dell, by Nature blest,

Where her sky-tinted chaplets bloom,
No madd'ning sorrow rends the breast,
Nor sways in visionary gloom,

Ta Virtue, Taste, and Genius dear,
Come to my holy, peaceful bower;
But never must a mortal tear
Profane my consecrated hour.

That witching voice no more shall charm,
That lures thee from thy promis'd Heav'n,
But when the beams of Mem❜ry warm,
One sigh may rise, and be forgiv'n,,

Oh, when the lightnings of her eye
Shall pierce the deep'ning vale of Time,
And when the long-lov'd visions fly,
I'll nerve thy soul with powers sublime,

To triumph o'er the fateful past,
That clouds the morning of thy days,

While bright through Fate's o'erwhelming blast Shall living beams of glory blaze.

Then seek my deep-embow'ring grove
There shall thy painful wand'rings cease;
And ev❜n the breast of hapless Love
Shall own the golden dreams of Peace.

With notes of delight her return to the plain.

The Sun looking gay

On his heav'nly way,

Careers in his glory, and smiles on the world;
Soft zephyrs are blowing,

Young flow'rets are growing,

And Pleasure's bright standard is widely unfurl'd:

While snów-drops around

Are adorning the ground, And lilies appear in their simple array,

In walks green and mazy,

The crocus, the daisy,

The vi'let and primrose, enliven our way.