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Oh! sweet is the tear on that languishing smile,

That smile which is loveliest then, And if such are the drops that delight can be


Thou shalt weep them again and again.


The beam of morning trembling,

Stole o'er the morning brook,
With timid ray, resembling
Affection's early look.

Thus love begins,
Sweet morn of love!

The noontide ray ascending,

And o'er the valley stream
Diffus'd a glow as splendid
As passion's riper dream.

Thus love expands,
Warm noon of love!

But evening came o'ershading

The glories of the sky,
Like faith and fondness fading
From passion's alter'd eye!

Thus love declines !
Cold eve of love!


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) hou, 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 Dịal 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


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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



SWEETEST Love, I'll not forget thee,

Time shall only teach my heart,
Fonder, warmer, to regret thee,
Lovely, gentle as thou art!

Farewell Bessy!

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.

Farewell, Bessy !

may meet again.

Yet I feel my heart is breaking,

When I think I stray from thee, Round the world that quiet seeking, Which I fear is not for me !

Farewell, Bessy! We may meet again.

Calm to peace thy lover's bosom

Can it, dearest, must it be,
Thou within an hour wilt lose him,
He for ever loses thee!

Farewell, Bessy!.
Yet, oh! not for ever.


Holy be the Pilgrim's sleep,

From the dreams of terror free, And may all, who wake to weep,

Rest to-night as sweet as he.

Tark! hark! did I hear a Vesper swell?

No, no, it is, my love, some Pilgrim's pray'r. No, 'twas but the Convent bell,

That tolled upon the midnight air.

Now, now again the Voice I hear,
Some holy Man is wand'ring near.
0, Pilgrim, where hast thou been roaming?
Dark is the way, and midnight's coming.

Pilgrim in Second Voice.
Stranger, I've been o’er moor and mountain,
To tell my beads at Agnes' Fountain.

First Voice.
And, Pilgrim, say where art thou going?
Dark is the way, the winds are blowing:

Second Voice.
Weary with wand'ring, weak I falter,
To breathe my Vows at Agnes' Altar.

First Voice.
Strew, then, oh, strew his bed of rushes,
Ilere he shall rest till morning blushes.
Peace to them whose days ars done,

Death their eyelids closing,
Hark! the burial rite's begun,

'Tis time for our reposing.

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Second Voice.
Here then my Pilgrim's course is o'er.

First Voice.
'Tis my Master, welcome home once more.

First Voice.
Come to our shed, all toil is over,
Pilgrim no more, but Knight and Lover.



Thou hast sent me a flowery Band,

And told me it was fresh from the field,
That the leaves were untouch'd by a hand,

And the sweetest of odours would yield.
And indeed it is fragrant and fair,

But if it were breath'd on by thee,
It would bloom with a livelier air,

And would surely be sweeter to me.

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Let the odourous gale of thy breath

Embalm it with many a sigh;
Nay, let it be wither'd to death

Beneath the warm noon of thine eye.
And instead of the dew that it bears,

The dew dropping fresh from the tree,
On its leaves let me number the tears

That affection has stole from thee!

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