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That sense of promise every where?
Beloved ! flew your spirit by?
As when a mother doth explore
The rose-mark on her long-lost child,
I met, I loved you, maiden mild ! As whom I long had loved before
So deeply had I been beguiled.
A dream remember'd in a dream.
But when those meek eyes first did seem To tell me, Love within you wrought
O Greta, dear domestic stream !
Has not, since then, Love's prompture deep,
Has not Love's whisper evermore
? Sole voice, when other voices sleep,
Dear undersong in Clamour's hour.
AN ODE TO THE RAIN.
COMPOSED BEFORE DAYLIGHT, ON THE MORNING APPOINTED FOR THE DEPARTURE
A VERY WORTHY, BUT NOT VERY PLEASANT VISITOR, WHOM IT WAS FEARED THE RAIN MIGHT DETAIN.
I KNOW it is dark; and though I have lain,
Awake, as I guess, an hour or twain,
I have not once open'd the lids of my eyes,
O Rain! with your dull two-fold sound,
Dear Rain! I neer refused to say
v. And this I'll swear to you, dear Rain ! Whenever you shall come again,
Be you as dull as e'er you could
IMITATED FROM ONE OF AKENSIDE'S BLANK-VERSE
NEAR the lone pile with ivy overspread,
Fast by the rivulet's sleep-persuading sound, Where “sleeps the moonlight" on yon verdant
bedO humbly press that consecrated ground!
For there does Edmund rest, the learned swain !
And there his spirit most delights to rove : Young Edmund! famed for each harmonious strain,
And the sore wounds of ill-requited love.
Like some tall tree that spreads its branches wide,
And loads the west-wind with its soft perfume, His manhood blossom'd ; till the faithless pride
Of fair Matilda sank him to the tomb.
But soon did righteous Heaven her guilt pursue !
Where'er with wilder'd step she wander'd pale, Still Edmund's image rose to blast her view,
Still Edmund's voice accused her in each gale.
With keen regret, and conscious guilt's alarms,
Amid the pomp of affluence she pined; Nor all that lured her faith from Edmund's arms
Could lull the wakeful horror of her mind.
Go, Traveller ! tell the tale with sorrow fraught :
Some tearful maid perchance, or blooming youth, May hold it in remembrance; and be taught
That Riches cannot pay for Love or Truth.
In grief, in anger, and in fear,
I seek the wealth you hold so dear !
The dazzling charm of outward form,
The power of gold, the pride of birth, Have taken Woman's heart by storm
Usurp'd the place of inward worth.