The maid I loved is now no more,

Youth, grace, and beauty could not save;

I seek the path she trod before

Down to the dark and silent grave:

The ivy clasps its elm around,

And withers when it feels a wound.

TO A YOUNG LADY.

SWEET Marianne! thy blushing cheek
Where health and pleasure smile :
Thy blue mild eyes, whose glances speak
A bosom pure from guile:

Thy flowing locks, thy fairy feet,

Thy manner's timid grace;

Thy virgin voice, so thrilling sweet,

So angel-fair thy face:

Not these the source of rapture prove,

Sweet Marianne, to me:

But thou resemblest her I love,

And therefore love I thee.

WRITTEN IN ABSENCE.

WHEN moonbeams fill thy lonely bed, And rest upon thy shaded eyes,

Dost thou in slumber's vision tread

The rocks that fade to evening skies?

Feelst thou again the doubtful kiss

That scarce thy lip rebellious met;Tremblingly prest in murmur'd bliss

The virgin kiss, that none forget?

The moment blest that once has been Shall ever haunt the twilight dell;

But whom she mingles with the scene That heaving sigh alone may tell.

WRITTEN ON A VERNAL DAY,

DURING CONFINEMENT FROM INDISPOSITION.

Go happy boys! on whose white foreheads Time
Ploughs not the furrowing lines of human care;

The season, like yourselves, is in its prime;
Pure as your spirits breathes th' elastic air.
While langour my reluctant limbs enchains,

Race with the bounding lambs, as blithe as they; Listen the rustling hedge-bird's twitter'd strains, And wreathe your hats with primrose and with may. The FATHER, whom by that endearing name

10

Ye know and worship as Essential Love, Stretch'd out yon azure vault, and He, the same,

Lighted the sun ye feel and gemm'd the grove.

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WRITTEN ON A VERNAL DAY.

Go, and enjoy the gifts his bounty sends;
And while ye sit by rock, or bank, or tree,
Think amidst books, those ever constant friends,
Time passes not uncheeringly with me.

The same kind spirit, felt amidst the wood
In the wild violet's breath or ivy's shade,

Is present with me in my solitude,

Soothing the void your absence else had made. Fancy, his gift, can lead me forth to roam With you the hawthorn lanes and mosses green; Or bring you back to my sequester'd home

To tell the pleasant wonders ye have seen. Hope too, his gift, is whispering of the day

When animating health shall set me free; When where ye now are straying I shall stray,

Climb to your cave or sit beneath your tree. And we shall bless that same Paternal Power

Who still benignant bids us smile or grieve; With wise privations heightens rapture's hour,

And never leaves us though ourselves we leave.