Billeder på siden
PDF
ePub
[blocks in formation]

I should be sorry to think that my friend had any serious I find, by a note in the manuscript, that he met with this intentions of frightening the nursery by this story : I rather story in a German author, Fromman upon Fascination, hope – though the manner of it leads me to doubt – that his book iii. part vi. ch. 18. On consulting the work, I perceive design was to ridicule that distempered taste which prefers that Fromman quotes it from Beluacensis, among many other those monsters of the fancy to the "speciosa miracula" of stories equally diabolical and interesting. E. true poetic imagination.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

Here is one leaf reserv'd for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free ;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet hath been,
Oh! it should be my sweetest care
To write my name for ever there!

In vain now, touch'd with shame, he tried

To wash those fatal stains away ; Deep, deep had sunk the sullying tide,

The leaves grew darker every day.

ΤΟ

MRS. BLWRITTEN IN HER ALBUM.

They say that Love had once a book

(The urchin likes to copy you), Where, all who came, the pencil took,

And wrote, like us, a line or two.

And Fancy's sketches lost their hue,

And Hope's sweet lines were all effac'd, And Love himself now scarcely knew

What Love himself so lately trac'd. At length the urchin Pleasure fled,

(For how, alas ! could Pleasure stay ?) And Love, while many a tear he shed,

Reluctant Aung the book away. The index now alone remains,

Of all the pages spoild by Pleasure, And though it bears some earthy stains,

Yet Memory counts the leaf a treasure. And oft, they say, she scans it o'er,

And oft, by this memorial aided, Brings back the pages now no more,

And thinks of lines that long have faded.

'Twas Innocence, the maid divine,

Who kept this volume bright and fair, And saw that no unhallow'd line

Or thought profane should enter there ;

And daily did the pages fill

With fond device and loving lore, And every leaf she turn'd was still

More bright than that she turn'd before.

I know not if this tale be true,

But thus the simple facts are stated ; And I refer their truth to you,

Since Love and you are near related.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

I thought, — and, oh! forgive the thought,

For none was e'er by love inspir'd Whom fancy had not also taught

To hope the bliss his soul desir'd.

Yes, I did think, in Cara's mind,

Though yet to that sweet mind unknown, I left one infant wish behind,

One feeling, which I call’d my own.

Oh blest ! though but in fancy blest,

How did I ask of Pity's care, To shield and strengthen, in thy breast,

The nursling I had cradled there.

To be the theme of every hour
The heart devotes to Fancy's power,
When her prompt magic fills the mind
With friends and joys we've left behind,
And joys return and friends are near,
And all are welcom'd with a tear :-
In the mind's purest seat to dwell,
To be remember'd oft and well
By one whose heart, though vain and wild,
By passion led, by youth beguild,
Can proudly still aspire to be
All that may yet win smiles from thee:-
If thus to live in every part
Of a lone, weary wanderer's heart;
If thus to be its sole employ
Can give thee one faint gleam of joy,
Believe it, Mary,-oh! believe
A tongue that never can deceive,
Though, erring, it too oft betray
Ev'n more than Love should dare to say, -
In Pleasure's dream or Sorrow's hour,
In crowded hall or lonely bower,

And, many an hour, beguild by pleasure,

And many an hour of sorrow numb'ring, I ne'er forgot the new-born treasure,

I left within thy bosom slumb’ring.

Perhaps, indifference has not chill'd it,

Haply, it yet a throb may give – Yet, no — – perhaps, a doubt has kill'd it ;

Say, dearest - does the feeling live ?

« ForrigeFortsæt »