Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourned, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour To my Mary no more, My Mary to Love once so dear, I remember the hour She rewarded those vows with a Tear. By another possest, Her name still my heart must revere: What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tear. Ye friends of my heart, Ere from you I depart, This hope to my breast is most near: If again we shall meet In this rural retreat, May we meet, as we part, with a Tear. When my soul wings her flight And my corse shall recline on its bier, Where my ashes consume, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear. May no marble bestow The splendor of wo Which the children of vanity rear: No fiction of fame Shall blazon my name; All I ask-all I wish-is a Tear. LINES WRITTEN IN " LETTERS OF AN ITALIAN NUN AND AN ENGLISH GENTLEMAN. BY J. J. ROUSSEAU. FOUNDED ON FACTS." "AWAY, away, your flattering arts ANSWER ΤΟ THE FOREGOING, ADDRESSED MISS DEAR simple girl, those flattering arts, Mere phantoms of thine own creation; Then he who tells thee of thy beauty, Ah! fly not from the candid youth; July, 1804. TO "And my body shall sleep on its bier."-Private volume. Found only in the private volume. THE CORNELIAN.† No specious splendor of this stone Endears it to my memory ever; With lustre only once it shone, And blushes modest as the giver. Some, who can sneer at friendship's ties, Have for my weakness oft reproved me; Yet still the simple gift I prize, For I am sure the giver loved me. He offer'd it with downcast look, As fearful that I might refuse it; I told him when the gift I took, My only fear should be to lose it. This pledge attentively I view'd, And sparkling as I held it near, Methought one drop the stone bedew'd, And ever since I've loved a tear. Still, to adorn his humble youth, Nor wealth nor birth their treasures yield; But he who seeks the flowers of truth, Must quit the garden for the field. 'Tis not the plant uprear'd in sloth, • Only printed in the private volume. To young Eddleston. This poem is only found in the private volume 418 Had Fortune aided Nature's care, But had the goddess clearly seen, His form had fix'd her fickle breast; ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG LADY,** HUSH'D are the winds, and still the evening gloom, Within this narrow cell reclines her clay, That clay where once such animation beam'd; Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel, Or Heaven reverse the dread decrees of fate! Not here the mourner would his grief reveal, Not here the muse her virtues would relate. But wherefore weep? her matchless spirit soars And shall presumptuous mortals heaven arraign, Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear, Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face; Still they call forth my warm affection's tear, Still in my heart retain their wonted place. TO EMMA. SINCE now the hour is come at last, Alas! that pang will be severe, Which bids us part to meet no more, Which tears me far from one so dear, Departing for a distant shore. • Miss Parker. Well: we have pass'd some happy hours, Where from the gothic casement's height, O'er fields through which we used to run, Whilst I, admiring, too remiss, In which I row'd you o'er the lake, SINCE the refinement of this polish'd age ↑ To these stanzas, which are from the private volume, the following note Of embryo actors, to the Drama new: was attached: "The author claims the indulgence of the reader more for this piece than, perhaps, any other in the collection; but as it was written at Here, then, our almost unfledged wings we try; an earlier period than the rest (being composed at the age of fourteen,) and Clip not our pinions ere the birds can fly: kis first essay, he preferred submitting it to the indulgence of his friends in Failing in this our first attempt to soar, ts present state, to making either addition or alteration." • This poem is inserted from the private volume. Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler only fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads, to meet your praise ; In fond suspense this crisis of our* fate. TO WHICH THE AUTHOR OF THESE PIECES SENT THE FOLLOWING REPLY. § Он, factious viper! whose envenom'd tooth Or round our statesman wind her gloomy veil. • Our. In the private volume, their. ↑ Censor. In the private volume, critic. "In the Morning post."-Private volume. "For insertion in the Morning Chronicle,' was here added in the Brivate volume. TO M. S. G.* WHENE'ER I view those lips of thine, Whene'er I dream of that pure breast, How could I dwell upon its snows? Yet is the daring wish represt, For that, would banish its repose. A glance from thy soul-searching eye I would not force a painful tear. I ne'er have told my love, yet thou Hast seen my ardent flame too well; And shall I plead my passion now, To make thy bosom's heaven a hell? No! for thou never canst be mine, Mine, my beloved, thou ne'er shalt be. Then let the secret fire consume, I will not ease my tortured heart, Each thought presumptuous I resign. Yes! yield those lips, for which I'd brave Yes, yield that breast to seek despair, And hope no more thy soft embrace, Which to obtain my soul would dare, All, all reproach, but thy disgrace. At least from guilt shalt thou be free, No matron shall thy shame reprove, Though cureless pangs may prey on me, No martyr shalt thou be to love. TO CAROLINE.† THINK'ST thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd with deep sorrow as thine own. • Only printed in the private volume. ↑ Printed only in the private volume. 420 But when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine, The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine. Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breathed my name. And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that will make us weep the more. Again, thou best beloved, adieu ! Ah! if thou canst o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review,Our only hope is to forget! TO CAROLINE.* WHEN I hear you express an affection so warm, Ne'er think, my beloved, that I do not believe; For your lip would the soul of suspicion disarm, And your eye beams a ray which can never deceive. Yet still, this fond bosom regrets while adoring, That love, like the leaf, must fall into the sear, That age will come on, when remembrance, deploring, Bit now tears and curses, alike unavailing, Would add to the souls of our tyrants delight, Could they view us our sad separation bewailing, Their merciless hearts would rejoice at the sight Contemplates the scenes of her youth with a tear; Yet still, though we bend with a feign'd resigna tion, That the time must arrive, when no longer retaining Life beams not for us with one ray that can cheer; Their auburn, those locks must wave thin to the Love and hope upon earth bring no more consola breeze, When a few silver hairs of those tresses remaining, Prove nature a prey to decay and disease. tion, In the grave is our hope, for in life is our fear. |