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The spectre knight, the hellhounds and their prey,
He is now at rest;
They in thy train-ah, little did they think,
Thou art gone ;
Oh, let him pause! For who among us all,
Au! little thought she, when, with wild delight,
By many a torrent's shining track she flew, When mountain glens and caverns full of night
O'er her young mind divine enchantment threw,
That in her veins a secret horror slept,
That her light footsteps should be heard no more, That she should die: nor n'd, alas! nor wept
By thee, unconscious of the pangs she bore. Yet round her couch indulgent fancy drew
The kindred forms her closing eye required. There didst thou stand : there, with the smile she
knew, She moved her lips to bless thee-and expired.
And now to thee she comes; still, still the same
As in the hours gone unregarded by! To thee, how changed ! comes as she ever came,
Health on her cheek, and pleasure in her eye!
Nor less, less oft, as on that day, appears,
When lingering, as prophetic of the truth, By the wayside she shed her parting tearsFor ever lovely in the light of youth!
TO A FRIEND ON HIS MARRIAGE.
On thee, bless'd youth, a father's hand confers
The maid thy earliest, fondest wishes knew. Each soft enchantment of the soul is hers;
Thine be the joys to firm attachment due. As on she moves with hesitating grace,
She wins assurance from his soothing voice ; And, with a look the pencil could not trace, (choice.
Smiles through her blushes, and confirms the Spare the fine tremours of her feeling frame!
To thee she turns : forgive a virgin's fears ! To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim :
Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears! At each response the sacred rite requires,
From her full bosom bursts the unbidden sigh. A strange, mysterious awe the scene inspires,
And on her lips the trembling accents die. O’er her fair face what wild emotions play!
What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend ! Soon shall they fly, glad harbingers of day,
And settled sunshine on her soul descend ! Ah soon, thine own confess'd, ecstatic thought! That hand shall strew thy summer-path with
flow'rs; And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught,
Gild the calm current of domestic hours !
MINE be a cot beside the hill,
A beehive's hum shall sooth my ear;
The swallow oft, beneath my thatch,
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flow'r that drinks the dew;
In russet gown and apron blue.
Where first our marriage vows were given,
And point with taper spire to Heaven,
TO THE BUTTERFLY.
Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight,
Five years have past; five summers, with the length
With a sweet inland murmur. a
Once again Do I behold these steep and lofty cliffs, That on a wild, secluded scene impress Thoughts of more deep seclusion, and connect The landscape with the quiet of the sky. The day is come when I again repose Here, under this dark sycamore, and view These plots of cottage ground, these orchard tufts, Which at this season, with their unripe fruits, Are clad in one green hue, and lose themselves Among the woods and copses, nor disturb The wild green landscape. Once again I see These hedgerows, hardly hedgerows, little lines Of sportive wood run wild : these pastoral farms, Green to the very door ; and wreaths of smoke Sent up in silence from among the trees ! With some uncertain notice, as might seem, Of vagrant dwellers in the houseless woods, Or of some hermit's cave, where, by his fire, The hermit sits alone.
These beauteous forms,