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JUVENILE POEMS.

But clear up that heaven of your brow,
Nor fancy my faith is a feather;
On my heart I will pledge you my vow,
And they both must be broken together!

ΤΟ

REMEMBER him thou leavest behind,
Whose heart is warmly bound to thee,
Close as the tenderest links can bind
A heart as warm as heart can be.

Oh! I had long in freedom roved,
Though many seemed my soul to share;
"Twas passion when I thought I loved,
'Twas fancy when I thought them fair.
E'en she, my muse's early theme,

Beguiled me only while she warmed;
'Twas young Desire that fed the dream,
And reason broke what passion formed.
But thou-ah! better had it been

If I had still in freedom roved,
If I had ne'er thy beauties seen,
For then I never should have loved!

Then all the pain which lovers feel

Had never to my heart been known;
But, ah! the joys which lovers steal,
Should they have ever been my own?
Oh! trust me, when I swear thee this,
Dearest the pain of loving thee,
The very pain, is sweeter bliss

Than passion's wildest ecstasy!
That little cage I would not part,

In which my soul is prisoned now,
For the most light and winged heart
That wantons on the passing vow.
Still, my beloved! still keep in mind,
However far removed from me,
That there is one thou leavest behind,
Whose heart respires for only thee!
And though ungenial ties have bound
Thy fate unto another's care;

That arm, which clasps thy bosom round,
Cannot confine the heart that's there.

No, no! that heart is only mine

By ties all other ties above,

For I have wed it at a shrine

Where we have had no priest but Love!

SONG.

FLY from the world, O Bessy! to me,
Thou'lt never find any sincerer ;
I'll give up the world, Ó Bessy! for thee,
I can never meet any that's dearer !
Then tell me no more, with a tear and a sigh,
That our loves will be censured by many;
All, all have their follies, and who will deny
That ours is the sweetest of any?

When your lip has met mine, in abandonment sweet,
Have we felt as if virtue forbid it?-

Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet ?-
No, rather 'twas Heaven that did it!

So innocent, love, is the pleasure we sip,
So little of guilt is there in it,

That I wish all my errors were lodged on your lip,
And I'd kiss them away in a minute!

Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed,
From a world which I know thou despisest;
And slumber will hover as light on our bed
As e'er on the couch of the wisest !

And when o'er our pillow the tempest is driven,
And thou, pretty innocent, fearest,

I'll tell thee, it is not the chiding of Heaven,
'Tis only our lullaby, dearest!

And oh when we lie on our death-bed, my love,
Looking back on the scene of our errors,
A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above,
And Death be disarmed of his terrors!
And each to the other embracing will say,
"Farewell! let us hope we're forgiven!"
Thy last fading glance will illumine the way,
And a kiss be our passport to heaven!

SONG.

THINK on that look of humid ray
Which for a moment mixed with mine,
And for that moment seemed to say,
"I dare not, or I would be thine!"

Think, think on every smile and glance,
On all thou hast to charm and move,
And then forgive my bosom's trance,
And tell me 'tis not sin to love!

On! not to love thee were the sin;

For sure if Heaven's decrees be done,
Thou, thou art destined still to win,
As I was destined to be won!

JUVENILE POEMS.

SONG.

WHERE is the nymph whose azure eye
Can shine through rapture's tear!
The sun has sunk, the moon is high,
And yet she comes not here!

Was that her footstep on the hill—
Her voice upon the gale?—
No, 'twas the wind, and all is still,
O maid of Marlivale!

Come to me, love, I've wandered far,
'Tis past the promised hour;
Come to me, love, the twilight star
Shall guide thee to my bower.

SONG.

WHEN Time, who steals our years away,
Shall steal our pleasures too,

The memory of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.

Then, Chloe, when thy beauty's flower
Shall feel the wintry air,
Remembrance will recall the hour
When thou alone wert fair!

Then talk no more of future gloom;
Our joys shall always last;
For hope shall brighten days to come,
And memory gild the past!

Come, Chloe, fill the genial bowl,
I drink to Love and thee:
Thou never canst decay in soul,
Thou'lt still be young for me.

And as thy lips the tear-drop chase
Which on my cheek they find,
So hope shall steal away the trace
Which sorrow leaves behind!

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom!
Our joys shall always last;

For hope shall brighten days to come,
And memory gild the past!

But mark, at thought of future years
When love shall lose its soul,

My Chloe drops her timid tears,
They mingle with my bowl!

How like this bowl of wine, my fair,

Our loving life shall fleet;

Though tears may sometimes mingle there,
The draught will still be sweet!

Then fill the bowl-away with gloom!

Our joys shall always last;

For hope will brighten days to come,
And memory gild the past!

1

THE SHRINE.

TO

My fates had destined me to rove
A long, long pilgrimage of love;
And many an altar on my way
Has lured my pious steps to stay;
For, if the saint was young and fair
I turned and sung my vespers there.
This, from a youthful pilgrim's fire,
Is what your pretty saints require :
To pass, nor tell a single bead,
With them would be profane indeed!
But trust me, all this young devotion
Was but to keep my zeal in motion;
And, every humbler altar past,

I now have reached THE SHRINE at last!

REUBEN AND ROSE.

A TALE OF ROMANCE.

THE darkness which hung upon Willumberg's walls
Has long been remembered with awe and dismay!
For years not a sunbeam had played in its halls,
And it seemed as shut out from the regions of day;

Though the valleys were brightened by many a beam,
Yet none could the woods of the castle illume;
And the lightning, which flashed on the neighbouring stream,
Flew back, as if fearing to enter the gloom!

"Oh! when shall this horrible darkness disperse?"

Said Willumberg's lord to the seer of the cave:

"It can never dispel," said the wizard of verse,

"Till the bright star of chivalry's sunk in the wave!"

And who was the bright star of chivalry then?

Who could be but Reuben, the flower of the age?

For Reuben was first in the combat of men,

Though Youth had scarce written his name on her page.

For Willumberg's daughter his bosom had beat,

For Rose, who was bright as the spirit of dawn,
When with wand dropping diamonds, and silvery feet,
It walks o'er the flowers of the mountain and lawn!

Must Rose, then, from Reuben so fatally sever?
Sad, sad were the words of the man in the cave,
That darkness should cover the castle for ever,
Or Reuben be sunk in the merciless wave!

She flew to the wizard-" And tell me, oh tell!
Shall my Reuben no more be restored to my eyes?".
"Yes, yes, when a spirit shall toll the great bell

Of the mouldering abbey, your Reuben shall rise!"
Twice, thrice he repeated, "Your Reuben shall rise!"
And Rose felt a moment's release from her pain;
She wiped, while she listened, the tears from her eyes,
And she hoped she might yet see her hero again!

Her hero could smile at the terrors of death,

When he felt that he died for the sire of his Rose;
To the Oder he flew, and there plunging beneath,
In the lapse of the billows soon found his repose.—

How strangely the order of destiny falls!

Not long in the waters the warrior lay,
When a sunbeam was seen to glance over the walls,
And the castle of Willumberg basked in the ray!

All, all but the soul of the maid was in light,

There sorrow and terror lay gloomy and blank : Two days did she wander, and all the long night, In quest of her love, on the wide river's bank.

Oft, oft did she pause for the toll of the bell,

And she heard but the breathings of night in the air, Long, long did she gaze on the watery swell,

And she saw but the foam of the white billow there.

And often as midnight its veil would undraw,

And she looked at the light of the moon in the stream,

She thought 'twas his helmet of silver she saw,

As the curl of the surge glittered high in the beam.

And now the third night was begemming the sky,
Poor Rose on the cold dewy margent reclined,

There wept till the tear almost froze in her eye,

When, hark!-'twas the bell that came deep in the wind!

She startled, and saw, through the glimmering shade,
A form o'er the waters in majesty glide;

She knew 'twas her love, though his cheek was decayed,
And his helmet of silver was washed by the tide.

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