In dumb suspense, as one in horror lost,
Nature awaits some fell catastrophe;
The flight of selfish fowl no partner shares,
But faithful turtles refuge seek in pairs.

LINES

INSCRIBED ON THE TOMB OF LAURA, AND HER INFANT SON.

Go saint belov'd! enjoy celestial rest!

Go in the strength of all-redeeming grace!
Rejoin thy cherub babes in mansions blest!
And seek thy great Creator face to face!

For sure of social and domestic love,

A brighter model ne'er this earth hath trod!
A purer angel of the realms above,
Ne'er bore an infant spirit to his God.

EVER FAITHFUL.

THE fatal moment I beheld

Those eyes so fondly fix'd on me,
Some magic sure my heart compell'd
To place its dearest hopes on thee!
And my true faith can alter never,
Though thou art gone perhaps for ever.

Nor dangers past, nor woes to come,

Thy image from my soul can part;
Through tears of anguish, to the tomb
"Twill follow this devoted heart:

And my true faith can alter never,
Though thou art gone perhaps for ever..

HOPE AND DESIRES.

FAR, far from me my love is filed,

In a light skiff he tempts the sea, The young Desires his sails have spread, And Hope his pilot deigns to be:

The promis'd land of varied joys,
Which so delights his fickle mind,
In waking dreams his days employs,
While I, poor I, sing to the wind.

But young Desires grow old and die,
And Hope no more the helm may steer-;
Beneath a dark and stormy sky

Shall fall the late repentant tear.

While I, within my peaceful grot,
May hear the distant tempest roar,
Contented with my humble lot,
In safety on the friendly shore.

THINK ON ME.

WHILE I behold the moon's pale beam,
Her light perhaps reflects on thee,
As wandering near the silver stream,
Thy sad remembrance turns to me.

Ah, to forget! the wish were vain!
Our souls were form'd thus fond to be;
No more I'll murmur and complain,
For thou, my Love, wilt think on me.

Silent and sad, I take my way,
As fortune deigns my bark to steer;
Of hope a faint and distant ray

Our far-divided days shall cheer.

Ah! to return, to meet again!

Dear blissful thought! with love and thee! No more I murmur and complain,

For thou, my Love, wilt think on me.

VOICE AND EYES OF THE DEPARTED ONE.

O TUNEFUL Voice! I still deplore
Those accents which, though heard no more,

Still vibrate on my heart;

In Echo's cave I long to dwell,

And still would hear the sad Farewell!'
When we were doom'd to part.

Bright Eyes! O that the task were mine
To guard the liquid fires that shine,
And round your orbits play;

To watch them with a Vestal's care,
And feed with smiles a light so fair,
That it might ne'er decay.

MEMORY'S RECOLLECTIONS.

THE season comes when first we met,
But you return no more!

Why cannot I the days forget,

Which time can ne'er restore?

O! days too sweet, too bright to last,
Are you indeed for ever past?

The fleeting shadows of delight,
In memory I trace;

In fancy stop their rapid flight,
And all the last replace:

But, ah! I wake to endless woes,
And tears the fading vision close!

ALL-ABSORBING LOVE,

WHEN hollow burst the rushing wind,
And heavy beats the shower,
This anxious aching bosom finds
No comfort in its power.

For ah, my love! it little knows
What thy hard fate may be ;
What bitter storm of fortune blows,
What tempests trouble thee.

A wayward Fate hath twin'd the thread
On which our days depend,

And darkling in the chequer'd shade,
She draws it to an end.

But whatsoe'er may be thy doom,

The lot is cast for me;

Or in the world, or in the tomb,
My heart is fix'd on thee!

SONNET.

PALE virgin moon, and ever-burning choir, Ye lamps, that clip the throne of night around! Oft, on my cheek, the sorrows have ye found, That burst, in torrents, from the fierce Desire,

And flow, but vainly flow, to quench its fire: Oft, have ye heard my bitter sighs around, Oft, seen despair my bleeding heart-strings wound, And double strength from every wound acquire.

Oh! speak, for ye have seen what inmates dwell
In the soft mansion of my CLARA's breast;
Does calm untroubled peace inhabit there?

Or, does her pity share the pangs I bear,
And sympathetic sighs her bosom swell?
I wish-I fear-my sorrows break her rest!

SONNET.

SINCE, CLARA, thou by Death's untimely hand Wert snatch'd from Earth, neglected have I rov'd; Nor peace, nor hope, nor joy, nor comfort prov'd. A single stranger here below I stand,

Idle spectator of the busy band,
By follies acted or by passions mov'd;
A naked wretch unloving and unlov'd;

And sighs and fruitless tears the hours demand.
Nor source of act, nor ruling aim remains;
For whom shall now my happiness rejoice?
Or who shall gently sorrow for my woes?

One hope alone the tortur'd heart sustains, The grave to call me lifts its awful voice"Oh come, thou mourner, and with me repose."

LOVE OF THE SOUL.

"Tis not a cheek that boasts the ruby's glow,
The neck of ivory, or the breast of snow;
'Tis not a dimple known so oft to charm,
The hand's soft polish, or the tapering arm :