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And lose within so sweet a tomb

The trembling messenger of bliss !
And ah! his soul returned to feel

That it again could ravished be;
For, in the kiss that thou didst steal,

His life and soul have fled to thee!


The song has taught my heart to feel

Those soothing thoughts of heavenly love
Which o'er the sainted spirits steal

When listening to the spheres above !
When, tired of life and misery,

I wish to sigh my latest breath,
O Emma! I will fly to thee,

And thou shalt sing me into death!
And if along thy lip and cheek

That smile of heavenly softness play,
Which-ah! forgive a mind that's weak-

So oft has stolen my mind away;
Thou'lt seem an angel of the sky,

That comes to charm me into bliss :
I'll gaze and die—Who would not die,

If death were half so sweet as this?

I THOUGHT this heart consuming lay

On Cupid's burning shrine :
I thought he stole thy heart away,

And placed it near to mine.
I saw thy heart begin to melt,

Like ice before the sun ;
Till both a glow congenial felt,

And mingled into one !


In which every one that opened it should contribute something

This tribute's from a wretched elf,
Who hails thee, emblem of himself!
The book of life, which I have traced,
Has been, like thee, a motley waste


Of follies scribbled o'er and o'er,
One folly bringing hundreds more.
Some have indeed been writ so neat,
In characters so fair, so sweet,
That those who judge not too severely
Have said they loved such follies dearly!
Yet still, O book! the allusion stands;
For these were penned by female hands :
The rest,-alas ! I own the truth,
Have all been scribbled so uncouth
That Prudence, with a withering look,
Disdainful flings away the book.
Like thine, its pages here and there
Have oft been stained with blots of care;
And sometimes hours of peace, I own,
Upon some fairer leaves have shown
White as the snowings of that heaven
By which those hours of peace were given
But now no longer-such, oh! such
The blast of Disappointment's touch...
No longer now those hours appear ;
Each leaf is sullied by a tear :
Blank, blank, is every page with care,
Not e'en a folly brightens there.
Will they yet brighten ?—Never, never i
Tuen shut the book, o God ! for ever!

On beds of snow the moonbeam slept,

And chilly was the midnight gloom,
When by the damp grave Ellen wept.--

Sweet maid ! it was her Lindor's tomb}
A warm tear gushed, the wintry air
· Congealed it as it flowed away :
All night it lay an ice-drop there,

At morn it glittered in the ray!
An angel, wandering from her sphere,

Who saw this bright, this frozen gem
To dew-eyed Pity brought the tear,

And huing it on her diadem !

Oh! if your tears are given to care,

If real woe disturbs your peace,
Come to my bosom, weeping fair!

And I will bid your weeping cease.

But if with Fancy's visioned fears,

With dreams of woe, your bosom thrill, You look so lovely in your tears

That I must bid you drop them still !

HAVE you not seen the timid tear

Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not marked the flush fear,

Or caught the murmured sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,

Nor fixed on you alone ?
And can you rend, by doubting still,

A heart so much your own?
To you my soul's affections move

Devoutly, warmly true ;
My life has been a task of love,

One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,

If still my truth you'll try;
Alas ! I know but one proof more,

I'll bless your name, and die !

OH! did you not hear a voice of death?

And did you not mark the paly form
Which rode on the silver mist of the heath,

And sung a ghostly dirge in the storm? Was it a wailing bird of the gloom,

Which shrieks on the house of woe all night? Or a shivering fiend that flew to a tomb,

To howl and to feed till the glance of light? 'Twas not the death-bird's cry from the wood,

Nor shivering fiend that hung in the blast; 'Twas the shade of Helderic- man of blood

It screams for the guilt of days that are past ! See! how the red, red lightning strays,

And scares the gliding ghosts of the heath! Now on the leafless yew it plays,

Where hangs the shield of this son of death! That shield is blushing with murderous stains;

Long has it hung from the cold yew's spray; It is blown by storms and washed by rains,

But neither can take the blood away!

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Oft by that yew, on the blasted field,

Demons dance to the red moon's light;
While the damp boughs creak, and the swinging shield

Sings to the raving spirit of night!


THOUGH sorrow long has worn my heart;

Though every day I've counted o'er
Has brought a new and quickening smart

To wounds that rankled fresh before ;
Though in my earliest life bereft

Of many a link by nature tied;
Though hope deceived, and pleasure left;

Though friends betrayed, and foes belied ;
I still had hopes—for hope will stay

After the sunset of delight;
So like the star which ushers day

We scarce can think it heralds night!
I hoped that, after all its strife,

My weary heart at length should rest.
And, fainting from the waves of life,

Find harbour in a brother's breast.
That brother's breast was warm with truth,

Was bright with honour's purest ray;
He was the dearest, gentlest youth-

Oh! why then was he torn away?
He should have stayed, have lingered here,

To calm his Julia's every woe;
He should have chased each bitter tear,

And not have caused those tears to flow.
We saw his youthful soul expand

In blooms of genius, nursed by taste;
While Science, with a fostering hand,

Upon his brow her chaplet placed.
We saw his gradual-opening mind

Enriched by all the graces dear;
Enlightened, social, and refined,

In friendship firm, in love sincere.
Such was the youth we loved so well ;

Such were the hopes that fate denied-
We loved, but ah! we could not tell

How deep, how dearly, till he died !

Close as the fondest links could strain,

Twined with my very heart he grew; And by that fate which breaks the chain,

The heart is almost broken too!

How oft a cloud, with envious veil,

Obscures yon bashful light,
Which seems so modestly to steal

Along the waste of night!
'Tis thus the world's obtrusive wrongs

Obscure with malice keen
Some timid heart, which only longs

To live and die unseen!


Sic juvat perire.
WHEN wearied wretches sink to sleep,

How heavenly soft their slumbers lie!
How sweet is death to those who weep,

To those who weep and long to die ! Saw you the soft and grassy bed,

Where flowerets deck the green earth's breast? 'Tis there I wish to lay my head,

'Tis there I wish to sleep at rest ! Oh! let not tears embalm my tomb,

None but the dews by twilight given ! Oh ! let not sighs disturb the gloom,

None but the whispering winds of heaven!

GROW to my lip, thou sacred kiss,
On which my soul's beloved swore
That there should come a time of bliss
When she would mock my hopes no more;
And fancy shall thy glow renew,
In sighs at morn, and dreams at night,
And none shall steal thy holy dew
Till thou’rt absolved by rapture's rite.
Sweet hours that are to make me blest,
Oh! fly, like breezes, to the goal,
And let my love, my more than soul,
Come panting to this fevered breast;
And while in every glance I drink
The rich o'erflowings of her mind,

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