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The soft blooms of summer are fair to the eye,
But dearer to me is the pale lonely rose,
And thus when around us affliction's dark power
The crowds whom we smiled with, when gladness was ours,
SUN OF THE SLEEPLESS.
Sun of the sleepless! melancholy star!
TO A NIGHTINGALE.
Tbc woodman lifts towards thee his thoughtful eve,
Thou fairy amorist! in the forest singing,
Varied in accents, tremulously flinging
Fragments of wonder on my dizzy brain.
Descends upon me, even as a dream;
Each magic note of thy impassioned theme.
Of yon old oak, whose flower-embroidered trunk Rests on a soft mat where the harebells lie,
Its spreading roots 'neath mossy herbage sunk? Minstrel of heaven! is that thy leafy bower,
Where, like the queen of beauty, thou dost shade Thy gentle self in this voluptuous hour,
As in a veil of innocence arrayed ?— The feathered choir to rest their wings have made A favourite haunt near thee, and mute, and fond, They listen, scattered in the boughs beyond. Hush! 'tis the mountain echoes that descend To wander thro' the trees !—they softly blend With every pause an answer so divine, They emulate, sweet bird! that gentle song of thine.— Children of air! prolong the flowery tale,—
Fill every bough, touch every living leaf, Let soft persuasive melody prevail,
That every heart, forgetful of its grief,
Like mine, exalting for an hour may be,
THE VASSAL'S LAMENT FOR THE FALLEN TREE.
"Here, (at Brereton, in Cheshire,) is one thing incredibly strange, but attested, as I myself have heard, by many persons, and commonly believed. Before any heir of this family dies, there are seen, in a lake adjoining, the bodies of trees swimming on the water ft* several days." Camden's Britannia.
Yes! I have seen the ancient oak
On the dark deep water cast,
I saw it fall, as falls a chief
By an arrow in the fight;
At the crashing of its might!
And the startled deer to their coverts flew, And the spray of the lake as a fountain's dew.
Tis fallen! but think thou not I weep
For the forest's pride o'erthr,own;
A youthful head, with its shining hair,
He bounded by me as I gazed
Alone on the fatal sign,
He must, he must! in that deep dell,