To Ida full oft may remembrance restore me, 1
While fate shall the shades of the future unroll!
Since darkness o'ershadows the prospect before me,
More dear is the beam of the past to my soul !

But, if through the course of the years which await me,
Some new scene of pleasure should open to view,
I will say, while with rapture the thought shall elate me,
"Oh! such were the days which my infancy knew.'

1806.

TO M

OH! did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.

For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem.

When Nature stamp'd thy beauteous birth,
So much perfection in thee shone,

She fear'd that, too divine for earth,

The skies might claim thee for their own:

[In the private volume the two last stanzas ran"I thought this poor brain, fever'd even to madness,

Of tears, as of reason, for ever was drain'd;

But the drops which now flow down this bosom of sadness,
Convince me the springs have some moisture retain'd.
"Sweet scenes of my childhood! your blest recollection
Has wrung from these eyelids, to weeping long dead,
In torrents the tears of my warmest affection,

The last and the fondest I ever shall shed."

Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize,
She bade a secret lightning lurk
Within those once celestial eyes.

These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze;
Thy beauty must enrapture all;

But who can dare thine ardent gaze?

'Tis said that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there, Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven.

For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear: E'en suns, which systems now control,

Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.1

1806.

TO WOMAN.

WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are naught;

But, placed in all thy charms before me,

All I forget, but to adore thee.

Oh memory! thou choicest blessing

When join'd with hope, when still possessing;

1 "Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do intreat her eyes

To twinkle in their spheres till they return."- SHAKSP.

But how much cursed by every lover
When hope is fled and passion 's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 't will last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record will for ever stand,

"Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.”
" I

TO M. S. G.

WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive;
Extend not your anger to sleep;
For in visions alone your affection can live, -
I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelope my faculties fast,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,

Mortality's emblem is given;

To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

If this be a foretaste of heaven!

1 The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this ;

If I sin in my dream, atone for it now,

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient !

When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE. 1

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from beauty's mould,
The lips which made me beauty's slave.

Here I can trace ah, no! that eye,
Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

[Of this "Mary," who is not to be confounded with the heiress of Annesley, or Mary" of Aberdeen, all that has been ascertained is, that she was of an humble, if not equivocal, station in life, and that she had long light golden hair, "of which," says Mr. Moore," he used to show a lock, as well as her picture, among his friends."]

Here I behold its beautecus hue;

But where's the beam so sweetly straying, 1 Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,
Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, Unconscious that her image there

Held every sense in fast control.

Through hours, through years, through time, 't will

My hope, in gloomy moments, raise;

In life's last conflict 't will appear,
And meet my fond expiring gaze.

[cheer;

TO LESBIA.

LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;
You say 't is I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell you why,- but yet I know not.

-

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost;
And, Lesbia! we are not much older
Since, trembling, first my heart I lost,
Or told my love, with hope grown bolder.
[But where's the beam of soft desire?

Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Love, only love, could e'er inspire.-First edit.]