Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile, That smile which is loveliest then, And if such are the drops that delight can beguile, Thou shalt weep them again and again. THE DAY OF LOVE. The beam of morning trembling, Sweet morn of love! The noontide ray ascending, But evening came o'ershading Thus love declines! Cold eve of love! LOVE AND THE SUNDIAL. YOUNG LOve found a Dial once in a dark shade, Where man ne'er had wander'd, nor Sunbeam play'd. Why thus in darkness lie! (whispered young Love,) Thou, whose gay hours should in Sunshine move?" "I ne'er (said the Dial) have seen the warm Sun, So noonday, and midnight to me Love, are one." Then Love took the Dial away from the shade, And plac'd her where heaven's beam warmly play'd. There she reclin'd beneath Love's gazing eye, While all mark'd with Sunshine her hours flew by! Oh! how (said the Dial) can any fair Maid, That's born to be shone upon, rest in the shade? But night now comes on and the Sunbeam's o'er, And Love stops to gaze on the Dial no more; Then cold and neglected, while bleak rains and winds Are storming around her, with sorrow she finds, That love had but number'd a few sunny hours, And left the remainder to darkness and show ers! FAREWELL, BESSY. SWEETEST Love, I'll not forget thee, We may meet again. Yes, oh yes, again we'll meet, Love, And repose our hearts at last; Oh! sure 'twill then be sweet, Love, Calm to think on sorrows past. We may meet again. Yet I feel my heart is breaking, We may meet again. Calm to peace thy lover's bosom Can it, dearest, must it be, Thou within an hour wilt lose him, Farewell, Bessy! Yet, oh! not for ever. HOLY BE THE PILGRIM'S SLEEP. Holy be the Pilgrim's sleep, From the dreams of terror free, Hark! hark! did I hear a Vesper swell? That tolled upon the midnight air. Now, now again the Voice I hear, Stranger, I've been o'er moor and mountain, First Voice. And, Pilgrim, say where art thou going? Weary with wand'ring, weak I falter, Strew, then, oh, strew his bed of rushes, Hark! the burial rite's begun, Second Voice. Here then my Pilgrim's course is o'er. 'Tis my Master, welcome home once more. First Voice. Come to our shed, all toil is over, THOU HAST SENT ME A FLOWERY BAND. THOU hast sent me a flowery Band, And told me it was fresh from the field, But if it were breath'd on by thee, Let the odourous gale of thy breath Beneath the warm noon of thine eye. That affection has stole from thee! |