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O saw ye not fair Ines ?
II. O turn again, fair Ines, Before the fall of night, For fear the Moon should shine alone, And stars unrivall’d bright; And blessed will the lover be That walks beneath their light, And breathes the love against thy cheek I dare not even write !
III. Would I had been, fair Ines, That gallant cavalier, Who rode so gaily by thy side, And whisper'd thee so near ! Were there no bonny dames at home, Or no true lovers here, That he should cross the seas to win The dearest of the dear ?
IV. I saw thee, lovely Ines, Descend along the shore, With bands of noble gentlemen, And banners wav'd before ; And gentle youth and maidens gay, And snowy plumes they wore ; It would have been a beauteous dream, - If it had been no more !
Alas, alas, fair Ines,
VI. Farewell, farewell, fair Ines, That vessel never bore So fair a lady on its deck, Nor danc'd so light before, Alas for pleasure on the sea, And sorrow on the shore ! The smile that blest one lover's heart Has broken many more !
THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER.
SUMMER is gone on swallows' wings, And Earth has buried all her flowers : No more the lark, the linnet sings, But Silence sits in faded bowers. There is a shadow on the plain Of Winter ere he comes again, There is in woods a solemn sound Of hollow warnings whisper'd round, As Echo in her deep recess For once had turn'd a prophetess. Shuddering Autumn stops to list, And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, With clouded face, and hazel eyes That quench themselves, and hide in mist.
Yes, Summer 's gone like pageant bright ; Its glorious days of golden light Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, Then melt in Time's dark-flowing river. Gone the sweetly-scented breeze That spoke in music to the trees ; Gone for damp and chilly breath, As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, Or newly from the lungs of Death. Gone its virgin roses' blushes, Warm as when Aurora rushes Freshly from the god's embrace, With all her shame upon her face. Old Time hath laid them in the mould ; Sure he is blind as well as old, Whose hand relentless never spares Young cheeks so beauty-bright as theirs ! Gone are the flame-ey'd lovers now From where so blushing-blest they tarried Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough, Gone ; for Day and Night are married. All the light of love is fled:Alas! that negro breasts should hide