VI.

I know not if I could have borne

To see thy beauties fade;

The night that follow'd such a morn
Had worn a deeper shade:

Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd,
And thou wert lovely to the last;
Extinguish'd, not decay'd;

As stars that shoot along the sky
Shine brightest as they fall from high.

VII.

As once I wept, if I could weep,
My tears might well be shed,
To think I was not near to keep
One vigil o'er thy bed;

To gaze, how fondly! on thy face,
To fold thee in a faint embrace,
Uphold thy drooping head;
And show that love, however vain,
Nor thou nor I can feel again.

VIII.

Yet how much less it were to gain,
Though thou hast left me free,
The loveliest things that still remain,
Than thus remember thee!

The all of thine that cannot die
Through dark and dread Eternity,
Returns again to me,

And more thy buried love endears
Than aught, except its living years.

STANZAS.

I.

Ir sometimes in the haunts of men
Thine image from my breast may fade,

The lonely hour presents again

The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour

Thus much of thee can still restore,

And sorrow unobserved may pour

The plaint she dare not speak before.

II.

Oh, pardon that in crowds awhile,
I waste one thought I owe to thee,
And, self-condemn'd, appear to smile,
Unfaithful to thy Memory!
Nor deem that memory less dear,
That then I seem not to repine;
I would not fools should overhear
One sigh that should be wholly thine.

III.

If not the goblet pass unquaff'd,
It is not drain'd to banish care;
The cup must hold a deadlier draught,
That brings a Lethe for despair.
And could Oblivion set my soul

From all her troubled visions free,
I'd dash to earth the sweetest bowl
That drown'd a single thought of thee.

IV.

For wert thou vanish'd from my mind,
Where could my vacant bosom turn?
And who would then remain behind,
To honour thine abandon'd Urn?
it is my sorrow's pride

No, no

That last dear duty to fulfil; Though all the world forget beside, 'T is meet that I remember still.

V.

For well I know, that such had been
Thy gentle care for him, who now
Unmourn'd shall quit this mortal scene,
Where none regarded him, but thou;
And, oh! I feel in that was given
A blessing never meant for me;

Thou wert too like a dream of Heaven,
For earthly love to merit thee.

March 14th, 1812.

POEMS.

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.

I.

ILL-FATED Heart! and can it be

That thou shouldst thus be rent in twain? Have years of care for thine and thee

Alike been all employ'd in vain?

II.

Yet precious seems each shatter'd part,
And every fragment dearer grown,
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.

Few years

TO A YOUTHFUL FRIEND

I.

have pass'd since thou and I Were firmest friends, at least in name, And childhood's gay sincerity

Preserved our feelings long the same.

But now,

II.

like me, too well thou know'st

What trifles oft the heart recall;

And those who once have lov'd the most,
Too soon forget they loved at all.

III.

And such the change the heart displays,
So frail is early friendship's reign,
A month's brief lapse, perhaps a day's,
Will view thy mind estranged again.

IV.

If so, it never shall be mine

To mourn the loss of such a heart;
The fault was Nature's fault, not thine,
Which made thee fickle as thou art.

111

V.

As rolls the ocean's changing tide,
So human feelings ebb and flow;
And who would in a breast confide
Where stormy passions ever glow ?

VI.

It boots not, that together bred,
Our childish days were days of joy:
My spring of life has quickly fled;
Thou, too, hast ceased to be a boy.

VII.

And when we bid adieu to youth,

Slaves to the specious world's control, We sigh a long farewell to truth;

That world corrupts the noblest soul.

VIII.

Ah, joyous season! when the mind Dares all things boldly but to lie; When thought ere spoke is unconfined, And sparkles in the placid eye.

IX.

Not so in Man's maturer years,
When man himself is but a tool;
When interest sways our hopes and fears
And all must love and hate by rule.

X.

With fools in kindred vice the same,

We learn at length our faults to blend; And those, and those alone, may claim The prostituted name of friend.

XI.

Such is the common lot of man:

Can we then 'scape from folly free?

Can we reverse the general plan,

Nor be what all in turn must be?

XII.

No, for myself, so dark my fate
Through every turn of life hath been;
Man and the world I so much hate,
I care not when I quit the scene.

XIII.

But thou, with spirit frail and light,
Wilt shine awhile and pass away;
As glow-worms sparkle through the night,
But dare not stand the test of day.

XIV.

Alas! whenever folly calls

Where parasites and princes meet, (For cherish'd first in royal halls, The welcome vices kindly greet,)

XV.

Ev'n now thou 'rt nightly seen to add
One insect to the fluttering crowd;
And still thy trifling heart is glad

To join the vain, and court the proud.

XVI.

There dost thou glide from fair to fair,
Still simpering on with eager haste,

As flies along the gay parterre,

That taint the flowers they scarcely taste.

XVII.

But say, what nymph will prize the flame
Which seems, as marshy vapours move,

To flit along from dame to dame,
An ignis-fatuus gleam of love?

XVIII.

What friend for thee, howe'er inclined,
Will deign to own a kindred care?
Who will debase his manly mind,
For friendship every fool may share?

VOL. IV.-I