FAIR INES. I. O saw ye not fair Ines ? She's gone into the West, To dazzle when the sun is down, And rob the world of rest: She took our daylight with her, The smiles that we love best, With morning blushes on her cheek, And pearls upon her breast. 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, 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, 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, V. She went away with song, With Music waiting on her steps, And shoutings of the throng; But some were sad, and felt no mirth, But only Music's wrong, In sounds that sang Farewell, Farewell, To her you've lov'd so long. 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, 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, That quench themselves, and hide in mist. M 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; As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, 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. Alas! that negro breasts should hide |