My fondly-fluttering heart, be still! For ever bar returning peace! No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown: How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and her's alone! And must I think it! is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast? Oh! can she bear so base a heart, The plighted husband of her youth! Her way may lie through rough distress! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share and make them less? Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. That breast how dreary now, and void, And not a wish to gild the gloom! The morn that warns the' approaching day, That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright: From such a horror-breathing night. O thou bright queen, who o'er the' expanse, Now highest reigns't, with boundless sway! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observ'd us, fondly-wandering, stray! The time, unheeded, sped away, While love's luxurious pulse beat high Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, To mark the mutual kindling eye. Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set! From every joy and pleasure torn, DESPONDENCY, AN ODE. OPPRESS'D with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear, I sit me down and sigh: O life! thou art a galling load, Dim backward as I cast my view, Too justly I may fear! Still caring, despairing, Must be my bitter doom; My woes here shall close ne'er, Happy, ye sons of busy life, Who, equal to the bustling strife, Ev'n when the wished end's denied, Whilst I, a hope-abandon'd wight, Find every prospect vain. How blest the Solitary's lot, The cavern wild with tangling roots, The ways of men are distant brought, While praising, and raising His thoughts to Heav'n on high, As wandering, meandering, Than I, no lonely hermit plac'd The lucky moment to improve, But ah! those pleasures, loves, and joys, The solitary can despise, Can want, and yet be blest! He needs not, he heeds not, Or human love or hate, Oh! enviable, early days, When dancing thoughtless pleasure's maze, Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport, That active man engage! |