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And, when they tread the ruin'd isle,
Where rest, at length, the lord and slave, They'll wondering ask, how hands so vile
Could conquer hearts so brave?
“ 'Twas fate,” they'll say, “ a wayward fate
Your web of discord wove;
You never join'd in love!
And man profaned what God had given, Till some were heard to curse the shrine,
Where others knelt to heaven!”
LESBIA HATH A BEAMING EYE.
Lesbia hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth;
Right and left its arrows fly,
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon
Few its looks, but every one
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear! My gentle bashful Nora Creina!
In many eyes,
Lesbia wears a robe of gold, But all so close the nymph hath laced it,
Not a charm of beauty's mould Presumes to stay where Nature placed it!
Oh! my Nora's gown for me,
Leaving every beauty free
Yes, my Nora Creina, dear!
Lesbia hath a wit refined, But, when its points are gleaming round us,
Who can tell if they're designd To dazzle merely, or to wound us?
Pillow'd on my Nora's heart, In safer slumber love reposes;
Bed of peace! whose roughest part
Oh, my Nora Creina, dear!
Wit, though bright,
Hath not the light
I SAW THY FORM IN YOUTHFUL PRIME.
I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Which fleets not with the breath; And life look'd ne'er more purely bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!
As streams that run o'er golden mines,
With modest murmur glide, Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, Mary! So, veild beneath a simple guise,
Thy radiant genius shone, And that, which charm'd all other eyes,
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!
If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left thy sphere; Or, could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, MARY!
Though fairest forms we see,
Than to remember thee, MARY'!
"I have here made a feeble effort to imitate that exquisite inscription of SHENSTONE'S—“ Heu! quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse !"